Work Text:
“Stiles, wait.” Derek catches the teenager just as he’s about to hop into the rust bucket he calls a car.
“Can we not do this tonight?” Stiles grumbles wrestling with the door. It’s late, he’s tired and his hand hurts like a bitch after that damn pixie had tried to take a chunk out of it. “I’ve got to drive back to Berkeley tomorrow and I really don’t feel like listening to you complain about your token human.”
“What? No,” Derek hesitates mid-step. “I was just going to say good work tonight.”
“Oh.” Stiles seems taken aback as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Uh, thanks.”
“I mean it,” Derek says, folding his arms across his chest. “Drive safe tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you too— uh,” Stiles shakes his head. “I mean, not drive safe since you’re not going anywhere. I just— be safe… in general, or—” he manages to rein himself in. “Yup, okay. See ya.”
***
“Wait, you did all of this?” Derek asks, flipping through the notebook.
“Yeah, I got just a little carried away.” Stiles grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure it’s not completely accurate, you know. You can’t trust everything you find on the internet, and I don’t have your wolfy senses, so it’s probably full of mistakes. You don’t have to keep—”
Derek cuts him off before he can fall too far into his self-deprecating spiral. “This is great.”
“I—” Stiles lets his hand drop. “Thanks man. You really don’t need to—”
“Stiles, will you just take the compliment?”
“I guess I’m just not used to hearing them,” Stiles says, laughing a little self-consciously. “It’s usually more along the lines of ‘why were you messing around instead of studying for your exams?’ Which, was kinda the case here.”
“You should get them more often.”
“Oh, really big guy?” Stiles’ laugh is more genuine this time.
“Yes. You put so much work into keeping the pack safe. You deserve to hear nice things about yourself.”
“I—” Stiles stumbles over the words, his face flushing. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
***
“What were you thinking?” Scott growls, storming over to Stiles, skirting around the rogue Alpha who had come to steal their territory.
“Oh, I don’t know Scott,” Stiles bites back. “Maybe that my pack needed help?” He lets the bat in his hands drop. Now that the fight is over, the adrenaline rush is fading and he feels shaky with relief. It had been close. Too close.
“You always jump in without thinking.”
“Pretty sure we just established that I do think,” Stiles argues, scanning the clearing for familiar faces. The pack look mostly okay—a little bruised and battered, but alive.
“Not helping Stiles.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Stiles asks, rounding on Scott. “Just sit around in the car and wait while you guys get killed?”
“We had this.”
“No, you didn’t. Dude, you guys were getting your asses handed to you.”
“Because we were busy trying to protect you!”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Tell that to Derek.”
Stiles’ gaze lands on the werewolf in question as the words tumble out of Scott’s mouth. He’s standing with one hand braced against a tree, the other pressed against his side.
“Derek?” Stiles jogs over to the beta wolf. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” It’s more grunt than word, but Derek straightens up as Stiles approaches. His shirt is stained with blood, but he waves off Stiles’ concern. “I’ll heal.”
“Not as fast as usual,” Stiles reminds him. “Injuries from an alpha take longer. Let me see it.”
Derek lifts his hand allowing Stiles to take a look at the slash across his ribs, wincing as Stiles picks bits of shirt away from the wounds.
“I’ve got a first aid kit in the Jeep,” Stiles says. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”
Derek lets Stiles manhandle him towards the car. The human is quiet, his scent picking up sour notes of guilt as they walk.
“Scott was wrong,” Derek says, watching Stiles rummage around for the first aid kit. “About you needing protection.”
“Yeah, well Scott is often wrong about a lot of things,” Stiles jokes. He grins up at Derek, brandishing the box full of first aid supplies, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, take your shirt off.”
Doing as he’s told, Derek pulls off his ruined shirt, wincing as the movement tugs at his clawed ribs. He sits on the edge of the trunk, holding his arm out of the way while Stiles cleans him up.
“This wasn’t your fault.”
“It was a little bit my fault.” Stiles reaches for some gauze. “Hold this.” He directs Derek to hold the gauze in place while he tapes it up. “I know I’m a liability, but—"
“You’re human,” Derek reminds him. “You don’t bounce back as fast as the rest of us, but that doesn’t make you weak.”
“Derek—”
“No.” Forcing him to put down the tape, Derek takes Stiles’ hands. “You’re strong Stiles, stronger than all of us. Braver too.”
“I don’t know about—"
Derek laughs. “You just went up against an alpha werewolf with nothing but a baseball bat to protect your pack and won. That takes balls.”
“Yeah, well you’d know all about balls,” Stiles teases, ducking Derek’s playful swipe.
“You’re appreciated Stiles. The pack appreciates you.”
Stiles looks at him for a long second.
“No, the pack doesn’t appreciate me.” He holds up his hand before Derek can argue with him. “You appreciate me. And, honestly,” he licks his lips, heart stuttering in his chest, “that’s better.”
He steps up between Derek’s legs, hands clenching and unclenching as his heart races.
“Good,” Derek says, dragging Stiles in, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Because I can keep going.”