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Stiles doesn’t know how long they have run for, 30 minutes…an hour maybe? Or it may be longer than that. He’s too anxious to stop and think at the moment. He looks up to see where Derek is heading. Every 5 minutes or so the guy will point at tree branches or some stupid bushes to warn Stiles not too accidentally walk into them.
“Stiles, you are too loud.” Derek stops and turns to see Stiles.
“Oh?” Stiles looks up, panting then adds, “Sorry, big guy. I’ve never prepared to run in the woods for hours.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Derek says, handing Stiles a half-drunk bottle of water. Normally Stiles would say ‘Ew, cooties.’ But of course, this is not what Stiles would call normal. He’s running for his life after all. He chugs water quickly and hands the bottle back to Derek.
“This is the stupidest plan ever,” Stiles complains. Luring a monster to the end of their territory by running away on foot is stupid and wild.
“It’s your plan.” Derek talks back.
“Well, I said that I’m good at coming up with plans. I didn’t say I’m good at coming up with clever plans.” Stiles shrugs.
“It’s the best we can do. There, turn right over there.” Derek points to the tree not far ahead and runs faster.
“Ugh.” Stiles throws his hands up in the air but nevertheless, he follows.
“I didn’t imagine that my winter break would end up like this.” Stiles sighs, dropping on the ground. He feels the dampness of the grass on his back, but Stiles is too exhausted to care.
“And how did you imagine it?” Derek pokes the lit firewood.
“For starters, well-fed, well-rested, no supernatural entities in sight.” Stiles is adding fingers to a list as he speaks.
“Scott is one of the supernatural entities, though.” Derek slowly chews the jerky that he took from his backpack (Dude was packing his bag like he’s on a field trip. They’ve met many supernatural creatures that this is so normal for them). “I am one as well, but I don’t think I’m on the same list as Scott.”
“Dude! Of course, I want to see you during the break! Well, What I meant was ‘no dangerous supernatural entities.’ Alright? You guys are exceptional.” Stiles makes a kissy face and Derek just rolls his eyes.
“According to Deaton, that monster cannot move after the sunset. We can rest until morning, so I think we’re safe to sleep here tonight.”
“Here? Here as in you, me—we are going to sleep on this damp grass and hard rock?”
“Well, you are lying on that damp grass right now, and it’s not like we’ve never done that.”
“Derek, I’m not a teenager anymore. I have a chronic back pain problem!” Stiles’ voice gets higher.
The werewolf rolls his eyes, “You’re 20. You don’t have chronic back pain.”
“I do!” Stiles complains. “And look! I even have scratches and bumps from running earlier. Ouch.”
Derek sighs, “That’s because you’re clumsy and stupid. I already cleared the way for you and you still crashed into trees and nothing. How can a person bump into nothing and still get wounded?” The alpha talks without breathing. Stiles would be mad at him if it’s not for the hand that reaches to touch his arm and takes some of the pain away. Plus, there was no heat in Derek’s voice. Not since that night in the pool a long time ago.
“That was unnecessary,” Stiles says after Derek is done taking the pain away from him. It really was unnecessary. Stiles just whined but it didn’t really hurt that much.
He acts like it’s all fine but the smile creeping up on his lips kind of betrays him. Stiles grins happily at the scratches on his pale skin.
“You’re welcome,” Derek smirks.
Stiles checks his phone and look at it for a while before going back to just stares at the flame. It’s been a while since he gets to just sit quietly and think of nothing at all. Being in college with a double major while also fighting supernatural creatures part-time has been killing him.
The wind is not friendly when you wander in the woods at night, and no matter how much Stiles has joked that he is an abominable snowman, he isn’t one. He’s cold as fuck.
“Dude, do you get cold? I remember you ran hot.” Stiles speaks to Derek, who turns his back to the fire and has been reading on his kindle (that Stiles gave him as a Christmas gift last year because Derek Hale is a nerd—and who in their right mind would take a kindle with them while running away from a monster? Derek, that’s who).
“I do, sometimes.” Derek answers. He takes off his leather jacket and gives it to Stiles.
Stiles moves closer to the fire and covers his body with Derek’s jacket.
“So what are we going to do tomorrow?”
“Wake up, run, and not get caught?” Derek looks around.
“Great plan. I mean, what are we gonna do after we chase the monster out of the territory.” Stiles yawns. He thinks—no scratch that, he knows that they’ll get out of this safely. It’s what they have done so far. Plus, he trusts Derek (17-year-old Stiles would probably gasp).
“Breakfast?”
“Can we go to that diner?”
“The one with a ‘fantastic milkshake that you would totally trade your soul for’?”
“Yeah, that one.” Stiles sighs happily and goes back to just staring at the flame.
“Do you hate fire?” Stiles asks when he cannot bear the silence anymore. He notices Derek’s face when he looks at the flickering flame. He thinks of the distressed face of the boy in the photo from the Beacon Hills Newspaper years ago. Sometimes Stiles notices Derek’s eyes still look like that boy’s when he stares at the flames or when he smells something that reminds him of the past.
“I wouldn’t say I hate it.” Derek says after a while, tilting his head. “It’s kind of a mixed feeling. Some days I hate it. Some days I’m so scared I can’t even look at it, but some days it’s just fine.”
“And what kind of day is today?”
“An I’m-too-tired-to-be-scared kind of day.” Derek smiles softly. “Come on, let’s catch some sleep.”
Derek, being raised by a wolf (literally), lies on the ground like it is a normal thing to do. He shifts a little and points to the empty space next to him. “It might get colder during the night.”
Stiles doesn’t need to be reminded. He crawls to the tiny space between Derek and some rocks. Of course he won’t throw away a chance to get closer to Derek. The last time he is this close to Derek was during his first year of college when Derek sneaked into his dorm because he needed Stiles’ help, and they just ended up sleeping on a messy bed with piles of books and papers.
Derek curling up around Stiles’ body and the books was really adorable—vulnerable, but in a good way, the way that doesn’t mean he’s weak or an easy target but because he trusts Stiles. It’s like that feeling when you are short-sighted and you’re in the car but you can take the glasses off because you trust that the driver won’t drive you off the cliff.
Stiles always thinks of Derek’s sleeping face when he’s lonely in his dorm ever since.
Stiles throws his arms around Derek and shifts closer to the werewolf.
“What? It’s cold.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Derek answers nonchalantly.
“Hm.” Stiles closes his eyes, using Derek’s jacket as a blanket.
After a while when everything is so quiet that there’re only the sound of them breathing and the sounds of nocturnal creatures walking around, Derek is moving closer to Stiles.
“When I’m cold and too scared of the heat from the flame, you are the one who keeps me warm.” Derek whispers softly, as if it is an afterthought that is not meant to be heard by anyone but himself.
If anyone asks, Stiles would probably be embarrassed and just say that he is asleep and doesn’t know what he’s doing. But no one’s here and Stiles can do whatever he wants. He subtly fastens his arms around the alpha’s body, recalling the face of the boy in the newspaper.
He wishes that he could take Derek’s pain away by a mere touch.
Derek knows Stiles is awake, but he pretends not to notice as he sinks closer to his packmate, his friend, his…something, as his nose brushing Stiles’ hair softly.
And maybe, maybe Stiles can really take Derek’s pain away.