Work Text:
"No!"
Jumping awake, Stiles blinks. His eyes are burning and his throat is tight. Another nightmare. Damnit. Slowly waking up and eyes adjusting better to the dark, Stiles frowns. He reaches over and turns the lamp on his nightstand on.
And suddenly Stiles has never been more thankful in his life that his father is taking the night shift at work.
Other times he had been glad, sure. But right now... He does NOT need his dad walking in on this.
If one gathered all the werewolves in the world and asked them to do a lie detector test on Stiles, 100% of the results would be true if Stiles said he had no idea how the hell this all started. What you could describe the state of which Stiles' room is in, it's chaos. Everything lighter than ten pounds is either floating midair or being moved in an invisible circle that's five feet off the ground and carried by green swirls.
Slightly terrified because he has no idea what the fuck is happening, Stiles manages to grab his phone (which had been flying around with just about everything else in his room). Plus, he's still on the verge of having a panic attack so seeing this isn't exactly calming him down.
Stiles dials Scott first. Even if Scott is just as clueless as Stiles about this whole thing, he needs to get the teenage werewolf over here so he can see it with his own eyes. Scott, the assbutt, doesn't pick up.
A small feeling of annoyance, anger even, grows in Stiles' stomach. The one time he needs Scott for something weirdly supernatural, Scott isn't there. Just as he feels annoyance sprout in him, the floating objects around his room that are being moved by the green thread-like swirls begin to move quicker.
This has to be a dream! It can't be real. The green swirls, he's seen them before. He saw them when he had been at his mother's funeral. That realization made Stiles lean more towards a panic attack. The objects move quicker around him. "What the hell?" He asks quietly, his voice cracking as he says the unsure question to himself.
Stiles fumbles to unlock his phone again. He calls a number other than Scott's and only has to wait three rings before his call is answered.
"What?"
"D-Derek.." God, why did his voice need to break? He already feels weak, why does his voice need to be a reminder that he is.
There's a very brief moment of silence on the other line. Derek seems to be doing something. Stiles interrupted him. Idiot! "Stiles," Derek speaks. "Are you alright? Where are you?"
Is Derek... concerned?
"I'm.... I'm at my h-home," Stiles says, dodging a flying phone charger and it's plug. He doesn't answer Derek's first question.
"I'll be there as soon as possible." And then he hangs up, leaving Stiles alone once again.
The silence creeps over Stiles. He's always hated quiet. It's less than three minutes before Stiles, with any panic attack meds in the bathroom on the other side of the house, is in full on panic. Tears that never completely dried his face since he woke were back and streaming. The thought of Derek arriving soon lingers in the back of his brain but God that nightmare was so realistic, and fuck those green whisp things are giving him bad memories, and Jesus Christ he doesn't know what's happening to his room, and crap, doesn't he have school in, what, five hours?
Stiles pushes the blankets off of him, hugging his legs close to his chest to make himself as small as possible while his possessions fly around him. He isn't being hit by any of the objects. Some come worryingly close, but it's like he's the eye of the hurricane, unaffected by the whirling storm of objects,
He doesn't hear the creak as his window is shoved open. Or perhaps he does, he just elects to ignore it.
Derek stands at the edge of his bedroom now. For a moment, he's still; taking in the sight of Stiles's stuff flying around the room at a pretty high speed. And then he notices Stiles himself. Scrunched up tight in a ball, shaking and sobbing. Instantly, his concerns change.
Grunting every time something hit him (which happens quite a lot for the five seconds he's in the way), Derek makes his way across the room. Slowly, hesitantly, he sits down beside Stiles. He doesn't touch the boy, knowing that could make things worse. He lets Stiles cry for a few minutes, just let everything out. Hell, he's not even sure if Stiles is aware he's there or not.
"Stiles," comes Derek's voice, calm and collected. "Stiles, hey. I want you to look at me."
After seconds without response or movement, Derek begins to wonder if Stiles even heard him at all. But the teen boy proves Derek wrong when he (unsuccessfully) wipes the tears from his face and turns to face the other. Stiles doesn't look him in the eye but turning to Derek made it easier for the werewolf to examine him. Stiles is still crying, but trying to hold it back, likely out of embarrassment.
Derek, who knows how to handle other people's panic attacks pretty well, slowly takes Stiles' hands into his. Slow enough that Stiles can pull away if necessary. But no such thing happens. "I want you to try breathing with me, okay? Follow my breaths."
Still not look up at Derek's face, Stiles nods his head in a small movement before copying the werewolf's deep breaths. Slowly, very, very slowly, Stiles begins to calm down with Derek's help. After some time, Stiles nods. "I-I think I'm okay now... Thank you." His voice is quiet and unsteady.
Derek gives a single nod, his way of saying "you're welcome". There's a moment of silence between the pair before Derek gets hit in the head by a flying pen. Stiles has to stop himself from chuckling. Around the pair, the flying objects have slowed their speed ever so slightly.
"So," Derek starts, rubbing the back of his head and looking over at Stiles. "You woke up to this?" He asks, glancing at Stiles' banana-themed pajamas.
Stiles nods. "Woke up from a nightmare everything was just floating around my room."
The initial reply Stiles gets is a thoughtful hum. Derek is looking up at the flying objects. He reaches out and touches one of the whisps of green flying by. He turns to look back at Stiles, who is watching him. "Are you able to alter anything or has it all stayed at a constant? Have you noticed?"
Pausing, Stiles takes a moment to answer. "Y-yeah, actually. I think, I'm not really sure, that the speed of the moving objects changed when I got more upset."
"If we calm you down, then I assume the moving will stop and possibly even the floating," speculates Derek. Stiles must be of magical blood. Human, at least, mostly. Though the Sheriff never showed any potential in magic... Stiles' mother. Oh, of course.
Stiles frowns. "But I am calm now. Or at least, as calm as I am on most days."
The werewolf eyes Stiles. "Then we'll just have to try something else."
And then Derek does something Stiles— and Derek, if we're being honest— didn't expect. Derek leans in, closing the gap between himself and Stiles, and kisses the him. Almost instantly, the floating and flying objects around them fall to the ground. But they stay together in the soft kiss, closing their eyes and taking in the wonderful moment. Stiles's face is still wet from tears, Derek doesn't care though. He'd been waiting for so long to do that. And Stiles, he couldn't be more happy that Derek kissed him. Stiles had wanted Derek for so long, and to know Derek felt the same...
The pair finally pull away from each other. If it had not been for the need to breathe, their kiss would've lasted much longer.
Stiles stares at Derek, his face bright red. He hadn't thought that there was even a chance that Derek would do something like that. "That..."
"It worked," Derek points out, looking over at the mess Stiles' room turned into. The werewolf turns back to the other boy. He frowns at Stiles, noticing the way he's still in shock. "Sorry, I thought if—"
He's cut off by Stiles leaning up to him and connecting their lips once more. This one is much shorter but just as nice. Derek is the one to pull away, although not because he doesn't like it, rather because he sees something that catches his eyes. There are green sparks surrounding them now. Derek and Stiles look at the sparks for a few moments, before all the sparks fade away and disappear.
Stiles frowns. "What... Am I doing that...?" He looks at Derek, wondering if he has the answers.
"We'll deal with it tomorrow, okay? You need to sleep," says Derek, his voice quieter.
"You'll... you'll stay?" Stiles asks, doubting that Derek will agree.
The werewolf nods. "I'll stay."
Stiles smiles at him before laying back in bed, pulling the covers back over himself and falling asleep. Derek would stay the night, as promised and be there when Stiles wakes up from one of the best night's rest he's had in a while.