Work Text:
Growing up in a pack that was a mix of werewolves and humans should have taught Derek everything he needed to know about both species, but somehow losing everyone when he was still a teenager left some gaps in his education. He came to learn that he was mainly at a loss for what to do when a human became ill. He vaguely remembered his aunt having a cold once, but she’d just blown her nose a lot and ate a lot of chicken soup. She hadn’t even slowed down from taking care of her kids, and she’d never missed a day of work.
The morning he woke up to an empty bed and the sound of retching coming from the attached bathroom, he immediately went into panic mode. He leaped off the bed and hurried to Stiles’ side, sliding on his knees across the tiled bathroom floor. His hand went to Stiles’ back, rubbing circles as his boyfriend continued to vomit. “What is it? Who poisoned you?” Derek asked, his words slurred around his fangs. He yanked his hand away when Stiles hissed, realizing he’d accidentally scratched him with his claws.
Breathing deeply, nose wrinkling at the smell in the bathroom, he forced himself back under control. Once his claws had fully retreated, he replaced his hand on Stiles’ back. The heat emanating from his skin was alarming. “You’re burning up! We need to call Deaton.” He started to rise to his feet, but Stiles reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back down next to him.
Taking his hand, Stiles pulled it and held it to his stomach, just as he heaved again. Derek felt the muscles spasming, and he had to focus on Stiles' natural scent, which was deeply buried underneath the stench filling the room. He kept his shift in check as Stiles finally stopped and reached out to flush the toilet and fall back to sit on his butt with his back against the bathtub. His face was damp, and there were sparks of red across his cheeks.
“You don’t need to call Deaton,” Stiles muttered. “I think it’s the flu. It’s been going around at school.” He groaned. “I need my phone.”
“Why? I’ll call Deaton. Or should I call Melissa?” Derek got to his feet and hurried to leave the room, freezing in the doorway, debating if he should leave Stiles alone or take him into the bedroom. He looked back and forth a few times, at a complete loss for his next step.
“I need to call the school and tell them I’m not coming in,” Stiles said, head leaning back against the tub and eyes closed.
“You’re not going to work?” Derek asked.
“I’d rather not get anyone else sick,” Stiles said.
“I’m calling Melissa,” Derek decided, leaving the room long enough to grab his phone and return to Stiles’ side.
While waiting for Melissa to pick up, he hovered over Stiles, worrying about his ashen complexion and uneven breathing. He reached out to lay a hand on Stiles’ wrist, trying to draw out his pain, but it was minimal. Frowning, he muttered, “C’mon, c’mon,” under his breath.
“Hello, Derek. How can I help you?”
“Melissa!” Derek shouted into the phone, lowering his voice when Stiles flinched next to him. “Stiles is really sick. I don’t know what to do.”
She immediately went into nurse mode, the concern in her voice helping ease some of Derek’s panic. “I woke up, and he was throwing up. He’s burning up, and he isn’t going to work. This isn’t funny.”
“Sweetie,” Melissa said. “It sounds like Stiles has the stomach flu. It’s been going around, and I know he mentioned several of his students missing school over the past few weeks because of it.”
“What do I do?” Derek asked. He’d heard of the stomach flu, but he had no memories of how to deal with it. He couldn’t even remember if any of the humans in their pack had ever suffered from it. He studied Stiles, who watched him with an amused twist to his lips before letting his eyes drift shut with a moan before suddenly sitting up and bending over the toilet again.
“He’s going to need plenty of rest and fluids,” Melissa told him. “Wait about a half an hour after he’s done throwing up and then start feeding him sips of water or ice chips. When he feels up to it, give him some dry toast. Mostly rest and liquids and time.”
“Chicken soup?” Derek asked. “My aunt used to eat chicken soup when she was sick.”
Derek could hear the fond smile in Melissa’s voice. “You might be able to get him to drink some chicken broth later after he manages to keep down some toast. Popsicles are good, too.”
Derek huffed; he had a freezer full of popsicles because Stiles liked to torture him with the frozen treats. “What about medicine?”
“Most medicines will just make him feel worse with nothing in his stomach and can cause issues as well when taken on an empty stomach,” she explained. “If you can think of some natural or super natural remedies for the body aches, I would recommend those.” Derek heard someone call for her and realized he’d called her at work. “If his fever gets any higher or he doesn’t start feeling better by tonight, call me again.”
With that, she hung up, and Derek returned to rubbing at Stiles’ back until he stopped heaving. Helping him stand up, he tried to pick him up to carry him to bed, but Stiles stopped him. “I want to take a bath.”
Nodding, Derek hurried to fill the tub with water, hoping it wasn’t too hot, but when he helped Stiles into it, he was still shivering. Derek hovered while Stiles tried to relax. Eventually, Derek heard his heartbeat slowing down and his breathing evening out in restless sleep. Derek bit into his lip every time Stiles let out a small, pained sound.
Derek ran his hand through the water after a bit of time had passed, and Stiles began to shiver even more. Frowning, he moved to drain the tub and grabbed his most oversized and fluffiest towels to wrap Stiles up in a while, patting him dry. Wrapping him up in the ugly blue robe that Stiles had bought Derek as a gag gift back before they were dating but that he used daily because it was so soft and fluffy, he carried him into the bedroom, shushing him when he objected despite still being half-asleep.
Once he’d tucked Stiles back into the bed, Derek stood watching over him at a loss for what to do next. He wanted to crawl into the bed next to him, remain close in case he got sick again, but he also wanted to get water and ice chips. He needed to check if there was any chicken broth on hand as well. Hesitating, he pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. He wrinkled his nose at the heat still radiating from him.
Hurrying downstairs, Derek opened and closed all the cupboards looking for some chicken broth, slamming the final cabinet shut when he couldn’t find anything. Opening the freezer, he spotted the chicken he’d pulled out the night before to make dinner. Pulling it out, he laid it on the table and began gathering the other ingredients he would need.
While he worked, he kept his ears focused on the bedroom above his head. He heard Stiles moan a few times, freezing each time until he settled down again. When the mixture was simmering, he took some ice out of the freezer and crushed it into chips with the meat tenderizer. He gathered them into a plastic container and put them into the freezer after filling a glass with some of them. He filled another glass with water, added a straw, and carried everything upstairs.
Stiles was struggling to sit up when Derek entered the room, and he hurried to his side to help him. “Ice chips or water?” It had been more than half an hour since Stiles had been sick, so, according to Melissa, he could start hydrating him.
Stiles closed his eyes and groaned but pointed in the ice chips’ general direction and opened his mouth. Smiling, Derek grabbed one and laid it on his tongue, waiting for it to melt before giving him another one. When he picked up a third, Stiles pressed his lips together and turned his head away.
“C’mon, Stiles. Just a couple more,” he said.
“No,” he whined as he slid down against the pillows. “Sleep.”
Derek sighed, the ice melting over his fingers as he tried to figure out what to do. Grabbing his phone, he redialed Melissa. “Derek, is Stiles alright?”
“I don’t know,” Derek said, blinking back tears. “He slept a little while I made chicken broth, and then I gave him two ice chips, but he won’t take anymore, and now he’s trying to sleep again.”
“Derek, you need to calm down. Remember, I said he needed rest as well as hydration. His body is resting to fight the illness.” She paused before continuing, her voice growing even softer. “DIdn’t any of the humans in your family ever get sick?”
“Not like this,” he said. “Colds. Sniffles. They took medicine and went about their days. They didn’t look like they were dying.” Melissa gasped as he choked out the last word. “He can’t die.”
“He is not going to die,” she said, voice firm. “It is the stomach flu. Millions of people get it and recover. Stiles is a healthy young man who caught a bug. With any luck, it will run out of his system in twenty-four hours, and he’ll be talking non-stop, and you’ll be begging me to help you shut him up.”
“If he gets better, I’ll never tell him to shut up again,” Derek vowed.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Stiles whispered, his voice rough as he blinked his eyes up at Derek. His face was devoid of the smirk that would typically accompany such a comment, so Derek didn’t feel any relief at his words.
“I’ve got to go, Derek, but I’ll stop by on my way home from work and check on him if that will help you feel better,” Melissa offered.
“Please,” he said, and they made arrangements before ending the call.
Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, but he was asleep again, so Derek stood and hurried to clean up the bathroom before taking a shower. He came back into the room to find Stiles had rolled over onto his side and curled into a ball. He was shivering under the sheet, so Derek added another blanket and moved to take his pain again.
The rest of the day, Derek moved between the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen, keeping an eye on Stiles and worrying every time he made a pained noise. He was ready to call Melissa when he’d brought some broth upstairs, and Stiles had thrown the covers off. His body was drenched in sweat, and his eyes were glassy. Thankfully, there was a knock at the door before he dialed, and Melissa was already coming up the stairs before Derek could go down to open the door.
She greeted Derek with a quick hug and a pat on the cheek before making the way to the bathroom to wash her hands. Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the back of her hand to Stiles’ forehead. She hummed, smiling and greeting him when he blinked his eyes open. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey,” Stiles responded, his voice rough, and Derek hurried to offer him a cup of ice chips, but Melissa stopped him.
“Let’s get his temperature taken first,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a forehead scanner. “I figured you didn’t actually have one, so I picked this up for you on my way over.” She ran it over Stiles’ forehead until it beeped and then checked the display. “98.9. It looks like his fever has broken.” She looked at the blankets and up at Derek, who was twisting his fingers together. “He’s getting better, Derek.”
“Can I have soup?” Stiles asked, eyeing the bowl Derek had set on the nightstand, his nostrils twitching.
Melissa nodded and helped him sit up. “I’ll let Derek feed you; the boy looks like he’s about to go out of his mind if he doesn’t find something to do. Promise me, after this, that you’ll teach him about human illness. I know he likes to read as much as you do.”
“Flu bug 101, got it,” Stiles said, grinning when she rolled her eyes.
“Thank you,” Derek told Melissa.
She hugged him and ran a hand over the back of his head. “He’s going to be fine, and he’s fortunate to have someone to take care of him when he’s ill.”
After she’d left, Derek sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the bowl. “I can feed myself,” Stiles argued but obediently opened his mouth when Derek held out the spoon. “Thank you,” he said when the spoon scraped the bottom of the empty bowl. “I’m going to get more sleep, now.”
Derek’s breath caught. He’d been asleep most of the day. His fingers itched, and he started to reach for his phone, but Stiles laid a hand over his. “Just come lay with me,” he said, and there was no way Derek would refuse his request.
The following day, Derek awoke to an empty bed again, and he had a moment of panic before the sound of the shower and Stiles’ terrible singing reached his ears. Falling back against the bed, he wrinkled his nose at the bitter scent of sweat and sickness on the sheets. He got up and pulled everything off the bed, adding it to the laundry hamper in the corner to wash after he’d checked on Stiles.
Stiles exited the bathroom just as Derek finished making the bed. “Morning,” he said, his voice still a bit rough and his eyes a bit dull, but he looked better than he had the day before. “I called off work again.” Derek straightened, but Stiles was right there with a hand on his arm. “I’m feeling better, but I’m not quite up for dealing with a bunch of hormonal teenagers. I’m just going to take it easy today.”
Derek nodded. He started to pull Stiles into a hug but hesitated. Chuckling, Stiles pulled Derek’s arms around himself and snuggled against him. “Plus, I need to introduce a certain Sourwolf to the mysteries of influenza.” They stood like that for a few minutes before Stiles’ stomach growled. “Perhaps, we can start with breakfast.”
Derek nodded and led Stiles down the stairs to prepare a light meal of tea and toast. A few weeks later, when Stiles came home from work sniffling and sneezing, Derek was on his feet and in the foyer in minutes. Before he could open his mouth, Stiles slapped a book against his chest and headed toward the kitchen.
Holding the book out, Derek’s eyes traced the cover. “Seasonal Allergies and You,” he read aloud. Moving into the library, he added it to the shelf with the ones on the flu and the common cold. He wondered if they would ever come across an illness that didn’t have a book written about it, but he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t.
Turning away from the shelf, he found Stiles standing in the doorway with a cup of tea and another book. “Something other than allergies?” Derek asked, trying to tamp down the worry rising in his stomach.
“You could say that,” Stiles commented, stepping forward and holding out the book. “This one you might be able to help me with.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Derek looked down at the cover.
“Lovesick?” he read, laughing and pulling Stiles close to him, careful not to spill the tea as he pressed their lips together, looking forward to this particular illness being a lifelong affliction.