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Derek can't sleep.
Not that his sleep has been good since losing his entire family, and it probably never will be. But before this he could at least fall asleep for a while before the nightmares would wake him up. Now he just lies there, in the dark, feeling more tired than he thought it possible to be, and yet somehow not sleeping.
The good news is that his wolf abilities make up for at least some of the negative effects of the insomnia, so he doesn't crash his car or forget things or feel any significant physical effects. The bad news is that he can't fucking sleep, and his mood sure as hell wasn't good before this.
“Jesus Christ, Derek, what crawled up your ass?” Stiles asks after yet another pack meeting that ended in a screaming match, all his betas slinking out meekly, leaving only Stiles behind brave enough to confront their irate alpha. Derek wants to roar at him and punch the nearest wall, and the fact that he doesn't should really earn him some brownie points.
“Oh, I dunno. Every single member of my family is dead, except for the shitty one, I've been assaulted, abused and tortured, and there's an evil tree sending new horrors my way every few months. You know, the usual,” Derek snarls, and Stiles blinks at him.
“Well yeah, but you're not usually this much of an asshole. You made Erica cry, Derek.”
That is blatantly untrue, he'd smell tears if that was the case. He hasn't gone that far. Yet. He's stepped in it enough to make Isaac cry a few times, but not Erica. “She was not crying.”
Stiles rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. “No, but she will be in about, oh, I'd say ten minutes? She'll go home, put on Leverage or Buffy, eat a bowl of sugary cereal and start posting sad memes on her Tumblr. She'll hold it in so you don't see it, Derek. She wants so badly to make you proud. They all do,” he adds, and it makes Derek feel sick. Because he knows. He knows they do.
“Fuck,” is all he can say at that point, and falls back into the couch, rubbing his tired eyes.
Stiles plops into an arm chair, and folds his hands in front of him. “Yeah, pretty much. So what's going on, Derek? Nightmares getting worse?”
Once again, Stiles know so much more than he's supposed to. Derek hasn't told anyone about having nightmares, not since Laura. And while it isn't the biggest leap to take for a traumatized person to have bad dreams, it's still a sign of Stiles inserting himself into everything, invited or not. It makes Derek feel both annoyed and weirdly flattered. Annoyed, because he likes his privacy, but also flattered because Stiles making that kind of effort to figure him out feels like being worth something. In a fucked up way.
“I'd have to actually sleep for that to happen,” Derek huffs, defeated.
“Insomnia? Can werewolves even get insomnia?”
“Apparently.”
Stiles makes a face of almost sarcastic acceptance, and if Derek wasn't so damn tired he'd comment on it. But all his snappy comebacks died about a week ago.
“Okay, well. How long has it been since you slept?”
“About three weeks.”
Stiles' jaw drops open. “Three weeks?! How are you not dead?!”
Derek just throws out his hands, because he's wondered that same thing too. Maybe being a werewolf is enough to keep him from death, but he's not at all sure the same thing goes for his sanity.
“Well. Okay then. What have you tried?”
“Closing my eyes and lying down,” Derek says, because what else are you supposed to do? He's never had issues sleeping before, and no one in his family did either. The concept is so utterly foreign to him.
“Ha ha, wolf's got jokes,” Stiles says, but then realizes the sad truth. “Wait, you're not joking?!”
Derek shrugs. “What else is there?”
Stiles flails with agitation, and it's almost enough to make Derek smile again. Almost. “Dude! So much! Sleeping pills won't do anything for you, probably, but there's a million things! White noise, weighted blankets, knee pillows, routines-”
The sheer storm of words is rapidly giving Derek a headache, and he pushes his palms against his eyeballs. “Ugh, slow down, please.”
“Honestly, I'm tempted to keep going just to punish you for not even thinking about doing just one google search, but I've been where you are, so. Gonna cut you some slack, I know you're probably all outta common sense by now.”
Derek manages to crack a single eye open, and directs it at Stiles. “You've had insomnia?”
“That and tons of other sleep problems. ADHD is a harsh mistress,” he huffs, and then whips out his laptop as if this is just another supernatural problem to solve. Which... maybe it is.
“Could I be cursed or something?” Derek wonders, and Stiles shrugs.
“Not gonna rule it out, for sure. I'll look into it. For now I'm setting you up a spreadsheet of things to try. One new thing every night, and if none of them work we start combining.”
“Uhh,” is all Derek gets out before Stiles starts talking again, and this time Derek doesn't even try to keep up. It's just a blanket of words washing over him, and he's so tired.
“Yo!” Stiles says eventually, and Derek snaps back in.
“What?”
“Did you hear even a- no, never mind, I know you didn't.” He snaps his laptop shut, tucks it into his backpack and heads for the door. “Lie down for a while, I'll be back before bedtime.”
As per usual he doesn't stop to wait for any goodbyes, he's already deep in his research groove, and if he ever stands still long enough Derek's gonna have to remember to try and thank him for his efforts.
If he doesn't kill him first.
Bedtime for Stiles apparently means showing up around nine p.m. With bags and bags of items, and sends Derek to the jeep for even more things.
“Alright, I've set up a schedule for you. I know you're running on nothing but rage and sugar right now-”
“I don't eat a lot of sugar, actually.”
“Oh god, no wonder you're exploding all over the place,” Stiles says with another massive eye-roll, and dumps something heavy on Derek's bed. “I've made you a schedule of things to try, and we're gonna start simple with just a weighted blanket. I've brought three different fans to try for some white noise, I've made you some playlists with various sleep inducing stuff. No whale song, don't worry. Unless you like that stuff. God, I bet you'd sleep like a baby to some humpback whales bellowing.”
Derek rubs his eyes, and wishes he had anything to say to that. He actually does love deep sea documentaries, it's not out of the realm of possibility that he'd like some whale noises to sleep to.
“Gonna put your schedule on the fridge,” Stiles continues without even glancing at him, slapping a piece of paper onto his fridge door. “Every morning you can put a tick in yes, no or maybe for every item, and once you get through it all we'll see what we got. If you find a perfect thing along the way, then just use that and move on with your life, I dunno.”
As Stiles goes back to unpacking his many bags of items, Derek studies the list. “Plushie? Really?”
“Hey, anything's worth trying once. And it's an avocado, for the record. Andy the Avocado,” Stiles says, holding up a very round and plush thing with sleepy eyes that Derek will fall asleep snuggling when hell freezes over.
“Right,” he says instead with the last shred of politeness he has left, because Stiles IS trying to help, and Derek appreciates it. “Thanks.”
“I'd say you're welcome, but it's honestly a matter of self preservation. Who knows how many more sleepless nights it'll take for you to actually make good on your threat of ripping my throat out with your teeth?”
“Not many,” Derek says, even though he's fairly sure it'll never get to that point. He likes Stiles, for some bizarre reason, and murdering the one person who always steps up and has his back just seems like bad life choices. Because Stiles does that, even though he's not really in the pack. He's not Derek's beta, and doesn't miss a chance to remind Derek that he doesn't want to be. He claims he's in Scott's pack, but Scott barely has a pack, and Stiles is there for all of Derek's pack meetings, so Derek secretly believes that Stiles is actually his. His pack member, that is. Not...
He needs sleep.
“My point exactly,” Stiles says, putting down the last fan in the corner of Derek's living room. “Alright, ready for a few weeks of very scientific sleep studies. Here's some info on why these things might work, and suggestions on how to make them work best for you,” Stiles says, slapping down what looks like a medium sized essay on Derek's coffee table. “I've listed them in the same order as the sheet on the fridge, so all you need to do it look up the next entry.” He stops talking and sends Derek an apologetic look. “Hey, look, I know you're the type of dude who reads War and Peace for fun, but when I was a couple of weeks into no sleep I could barely read three words in a row, much less paragraphs, so I swear I'm not insulting your intelligence or anything here-”
“Stiles,” Derek cuts him off. “It's great. This is all great. Thank you.”
“Oh. Alright. Cool,” Stiles says, and Derek can't say for sure if it's because his vision is going blurry from tiredness, but it does kinda look like Stiles is a little flushed. “And before you go to sleep, call Erica and apologize for being a dick!”
“I already did.” It comes out as more yawn than words, and Stiles grins at him.
“Alright mighty alpha, time for bed.”
“... It's nine thirty.”
“Like I said, time for bed. You can't tell me you're not exhausted.”
That's a good point, Derek has to grant him that. “Fair enough.”
“Sleep tight!” Stiles calls, gathering up his bags as he goes, and shutting the front door behind him awkwardly, his hands full.
Derek is left in his loft, surrounded by things that may or may not help him sleep, so tired he feels like he can barely stand up.
In bed by ten it is. He goes to brush his teeth and hopes this weighted blanket is the solution.
It's not.
Neither is the white noise, the several different types of fans in several different positions, the soothing tea, the hot bath, the playlists or even the whale song that Derek tries on his own initiative. He's warily eyeing the stupid avocado plushie, as Stiles goes through the list, noting every single no.
“Bummer. But don't worry, we've got so much more to try,” he says cheerfully, and Derek wonders if he can get away with shredding Andy by 'accident' before getting to his position on the list. But knowing Stiles he probably has backups. Probably shaped like pineapples or sushi or something. So it could be worse.
That's what Derek tells himself anyway, as he keeps going. One thing after the other. Five different types of pillows in even more configurations. Sleeping positions, bedtime routines, ASMR videos, new sheets, old sheets, pajamas, birthday suit, breathing exercises. The avocado looms.
“Nothing at all?” Stiles asks, once again checking the list, and his face does fall briefly before he slaps a smile back on. “No worries, you're working with a master here.”
“What ended up working for you?” Derek asks, slumped into the couch again, because he feels like his limbs are barely working at this point.
Stiles shrugs. “Getting the right ADHD meds for one thing. White noise. Sometimes I point the fan my way for some air flow, but not always. Weighted blanket works well on days where I've been very hyper.”
The thought that results may vary depending on the day sounds very depressing to Derek, and he shoves that thought deep into the back of his mind.
“No avocado?”
Stiles doesn't look at him, pretending to focus very hard on the list. “His name is Tim and he's a twinky. And don't you even start, or I'll move Andy up a few notches.”
Derek holds up his hands in surrender. Though, honestly, out of all the increasingly intricate methods on the list, snuggling a stuffed toy is at least very simple.
Stiles ends up hanging around for long enough that they order pizza, and put on a movie. Not that Stiles watches it, he's too busy working on the sleep rituals, coming up with more things and researching likely combinations that might work, while Derek dozes next to him. It's the closest he's gotten to sleep in over a month at this point, and he lets the sounds of the movie wash over him, lets all the small noises Stiles is making mesh into a comfortable mosaic of typing, chewing, erratic heartbeat, uneven breathing and clothes rustling with his jittery movements.
Suddenly it's morning.
For almost a full minute Derek is very confused, it's been so long since he's slept, and even longer since he slept without nightmares that he needs a little time to process what just happened.
He slept. And not just a fitful ten minutes or a few hours. He slept an entire night through.
Once he rubs the sleep out of his eyes he spots Stiles' untidy scrawl on a piece of paper left on the coffee table, but no actual Stiles in the room. So not only did Derek sleep a full night's sleep, he slept so soundly that Stiles, of all people, could get up and leave without waking him up.
If Derek believed in miracles, this could very well be labeled as such.
“YOU'RE ASLEEP!” the note proclaims in big letters, making Derek crack a smile. “I'm gonna try and sneak out. If it works, then first of all, sweet dreams, Sourwolf. :) Second of all, as soon as you wake up, TAKE NOTES! Anything you can think of that you did different last night! Something worked, and we'll figure out what it was!”
Despite feeling pretty sure that it was just a fluke, Derek follows the advice, and writes down everything that was different. The following nights he tries pizza and a movie again, but no luck. He tries pizza by itself, he tries the movie by itself, and still nothing. He wonders if having company made the difference, and invites Boyd over for a sleepover. All that gets him is nausea from too much pizza lately, and the joy of listening to someone else getting a good night's sleep.
He's ready to declare it officially a fluke when Stiles pops over with lunch to discuss their options, and Derek somehow falls asleep on the couch while Stiles types up Derek's meticulous notes.
Once again, Stiles manages to leave without Derek waking, and it's enough to make him wonder if it happening a third time will show a pattern he's gonna love or hate.
He's loving the sleep, definitely. Every hour of rest his brain gets improves his mood by several degrees. But nothing else seems like an obvious solution, and if it's gonna remain a fluke, or influenced by so many factors it becomes an impossible scenario to replicate, he's gonna be very unhappy.
But this time he doesn't have to wait long for the answer, because Stiles comes over again that very same evening to discuss the event, and Derek nods off while Stiles is still talking.
This time when he wakes up it's still dark, and Stiles is asleep on the other end of the couch, neck twisted in a very uncomfortable position. But not nearly as uncomfortable as the realization Derek is forced to have.
Stiles is what makes him sleep.
He's the only thing these three events have in common, and it makes guilt and frustration battle for a prominent spot in Derek's gut.
How the hell is he supposed to work with this? Stiles can't be here every night, and even if he could, Derek can't see how he could function long term if his sleep depended on the presence of a specific person. It's depressing, and while he feels like he could easily nod off again with the soothing sounds of Stiles' heartbeat and breathing right there next to him, he stays awake for a good hour just pondering the matter. But since no solution is coming to him, he eventually gets up and rouses Stiles enough to make him groggily stretch out on the couch to at least spare his neck. Derek puts a blanket over him, and can't help his small smile as Stiles snuggles into the pillow he was just asleep on, and settles down with a satisfied sigh.
Derek goes to bed, and stops briefly at the small pile of the last, sad sleeping implements to try. Glancing at the couch where Stiles is already back in deep sleep, Derek swipes the stupid avocado plush off the pile, and takes it to bed before he can think too hard about why.
He's asleep again in minutes.
Maybe it's because he's sleep deprived, or maybe Stiles has just always been this smart – Derek is leaning towards the latter – but he doesn't get to have time to freak out about it, because he wakes up to Stiles sitting on the other side of his bed, typing away on his laptop.
“Good morning,” Stiles says, not even looking at him. “So the only common denominator is me, right, so I'm making a list of shit that's pretty specific to me we can try. I'm thinking maybe recording my heartbeat, we can get one of those teddy bears where moms can record their heart beats for their babies, or you can have something I sleep with for my scent – not Tim, though, he's off the table, don't even think about it. Maybe if I sleep with Andy for a few weeks-”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek murmurs, and rubs his face against said avocado. It really is very soft and nice, fuck his life.
“Shutting up. Get some more sleep.”
Derek would, but he's too awake right now, and he settles for just lying there for a bit instead while Stiles keeps typing.
“Oh, also, you're not cursed. Not by any magical means, anyway. By life itself, though? A definite possibility.”
“Great.”
By some miracle, Stiles actually stays quiet after that, giving Derek's brain time to wake up and allow him to think about the matter. He's not actually an emotional brick, he's had a lot of therapy and done a lot of soul searching in his life, and he's well aware that this is all tied into his conflicted feelings about Stiles being not quite pack and also being not quite a friend. But he's lost on how to solve it, and the sun slowly crawling up the sky isn't offering any answers.
Stiles' ideas are fine, but it feels like a bandage on a bigger issue, and Derek is still just so tired. The thought of going through several more weeks of trying various Stiles-infused measures makes him want to jump out the window.
“I think we need to talk,” he says eventually, completely unable to hold back his distasteful grimace at the notion.
“Yikes,” Stiles says dryly, and keeps typing for a while before shutting the laptop and putting it aside. He doesn't even look at Derek, just clasps his hands in his lap, as if trying to keep calm, but he's completely betrayed by his foot wiggling at the end of the bed.
It gives Derek a moment to take him in, to get a read on how he feels about this. It can't be a great realization to have, that someone you barely like depends on you for a very basic life function. It's not fair to him.
He smells nervous, but not afraid or angry. His heart is going quite fast, but not even close to panic levels, and he seems... calm. And then there's also the fact that he just climbed into bed with Derek, so he can't be that afraid of Derek's reaction to waking up and finding him there. He must have been thoroughly aware of how unlikely Derek is to actually hurt him. That, or he has a distressing disregard for his own safety.
Could be both.
“You need to pick a side,” is the first thing Derek says, and he wishes he could be more delicate about it than that, but he's never been very diplomatic.
“I know,” Stiles says, heaving a sigh. “I know, okay? But how do I tell my best friend, my brother, that his pack is a joke and I don't want any part in it?”
That's not what Derek expected to hear, and he sits up slowly. “You... want to be in my pack?”
Stiles looks at him just long enough to roll his eyes at him. “Duh. I know I said I didn't, but what else was I supposed to say in front of Scott?”
“That he sucks,” Derek can't help but mutter, and Stiles kicks him with a socked foot. He deserves it. “Scott never actually made you a beta?”
“Dude, I don't think he knows how. He never asked, and he never looked it up. And, you know... I wasn't about to tell him,” Stiles says, guilt rolling off him.
It's not even a complicated thing to get a human as a beta. You literally just need to ask if they accept you as alpha. And Scott... well, it's no surprise to Derek that he never even thought to ask. Just expected Stiles to be there. Like he always has been.
“You think you're not sleeping because I'm fucking things up between the packs?” Stiles asks, his voice heavy with meaning, and Derek reaches over to squeeze his thigh in support.
“No. I think I'm not sleeping because I'm... getting better.” Derek has to force it out, because it's something he's always struggled with. Moving on when his entire family don't get to have that will always be a major hurdle for him, one he's worked on in therapy before, and if he hadn't been robbed of all good sense as his sleep deprivation worsened, he might have realized it before this point. “I think I'm starting to... want things. And it's hard to want things when my family will never be able to want anything ever again.”
“I get that,” Stiles says with a slow nod. “After mom, I felt that way too.” He looks over at Derek. “You think that if you accept wanting things that you'll sleep?”
Derek shrugs. “Probably not. But it's a start.”
“And...” Stiles starts, but then trails off, his throat moving as he swallows. “And I'm... something you want? In your pack, I mean.”
“Yeah.” He needs to be honest about this, or he's not gonna get anywhere. Even though jumping out the window still feels very tempting. “In my pack and... in general.”
Stiles stares at him. “... as a friend, right?”
To make sure he's not coming off as flippant, Derek holds Stiles' gaze, and his eyes are so lovely in the morning sun, dotted with golden flecks in the brown. “As whatever you'd like.”
Stiles scoffs, tearing his eyes away. “Dude, don't say that. You know that if you give me an inch I'll take a mile.”
“If you come clean with Scott, you can take as many miles as you want with me,” Derek says, as honest as he feels he can possibly be. He doesn't have words for any of this. All he knows is that he wants. And he can't imagine Stiles taking anything he isn't completely prepared and willing to give.
Stiles is fidgeting now, fingers twirling and foot bopping, making the bed shake, and Derek presses his palm more firmly against his thigh. “I mean it,” he says, and Stiles nods.
“Okay, I'm just. I need a minute to digest the fact that you might not wanna kill me as much as I thought. Or, like. At all.”
“I definitely don't want to kill you. But tell anyone, and I'll claw Tim to shreds.”
Stiles snorts, and a burst of nervousness wafts off of him as he reaches over to put his own hand on top of Derek's, giving it a shaky squeeze. “I dunno how you think dating works, but most people don't want to kill each other when they're a couple, so good luck keeping that under wraps.”
“Oh no,” Derek says flatly, and something settles deep inside his chest at how Stiles laughs, fingers slotting in between Derek's like they belong there.
Which they do.
“Your hair is a mess,” Stiles points out, much later, and it's true. Turns out deep sleep followed by enthusiastic making out isn't great for looking put together.
“Damn. Good thing I still have my winning personality.”
Stiles laughs until his eyes water, and Derek can only smile. He might not magically get back to sleeping every night, but he's already gotten enough rest that he can banter properly, and that's half the battle won. The other half will involve making Scott pretty upset, and it's gonna be a difficult step for Stiles to take. But he seems sincere about wanting it, and Derek knows for a fact the betas will be ecstatic to have him officially in the pack. So while it's never easy for him to trust any good thing in life will happen, he allows himself to hope.
And that's enough for now.
Plus, all the naps he gets to take curled up with Stiles now are definitely helping the matter.
End.