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Stiles fell back on the hospital bed with a sigh. He blinked at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since he’d last looked. Three in the morning, and despite the painkillers, he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. His dad had to work that night, and Stiles’ injuries weren’t serious; he was just there for observation.
Unfortunately, his dad hadn’t been able to run home and get his pillow before he’d left for work, so Stiles knew sleep would be impossible. He turned his head and saw the full moon centered in the window. He wondered what the Pack was doing. He growled at the cast on his arm and jumped when he heard shuffling near the door.
Turning, he didn’t see anything except shadows, and then something flew across the room and hit him in the face. He flailed and nearly fell off the bed, but someone grabbed him by the arm, saving him from further injury. Once he recovered, wondering why the craziness of his heart monitor didn’t bring a nurse running, he discovered the projectile and savior were familiar.
“My pillow!” Stiles shouted, grinning at Derek, who looked exhausted. His eyes were half-lidded, and his hair stuck up on one side. Stiles thought he spotted a twig sticking out of the collar of Derek’s jacket. “How?”
Derek shrugged and sat in the chair next to the bed, resting his elbows next to Stiles’ legs. His face contorted, and Stiles realized he was holding back a yawn. “The Pack ran you ragged tonight?” Stiles asked, wrestling to get the pillow behind himself. Derek reached out to help without rising from the chair.
Stiles settled back against the pillow with a sigh. “Sleep, now,” Derek muttered, resting his chin on his arms. Usually, Stiles would argue, but the magic of his pillow was too strong, and he fell asleep within moments.
When he woke up the following day, he found his dad standing next to his bed, looking between Stiles and the door to the room. He had his sheriff’s face on, but it disappeared when Stiles muttered a greeting.
A few days later, Stiles walked through the loft door to find Derek standing at the windows, his back to Stiles. “Dude,” Stiles said, frowning when Derek jumped slightly before turning. “You look like hell.”
Derek’s frown deepened. “Thanks for the commentary,” he remarked, his voice less snarky than exhausted. “Did you need something?”
Stiles shrugged and waved his cast in the air. “I got bored at home. I can only rewatch Wednesday so many times.”
“And you decided to come here?” Derek asked, turning and heading towards the kitchen area. He started the coffee maker as Stiles came to stand next to him.
“Scott’s with Kira,” Stiles said, nudging Derek with his uninjured elbow. “Or he probably is; I didn’t check. I thought I’d come to thank you for bringing my pillow to the hospital. Although, I had to tell my dad not to arrest you for breaking and entering.”
Derek yawned. “Technically, it was just entering. You need to learn to lock your window,” he said.
“How would you get in while I’m sleeping if I did that?” Stiles asked, laughing when Derek choked.
“W-what?”
“Dude, I’m just yanking your chain,” Stiles said, laughing when Derek growled at the unintentional dog joke. “It’s your preferred entry point when you need somewhere to hide or help with research.”
“It’s not safe. Anyone could climb through that window.” Derek rubbed both hands over his face and grabbed a mug from the hooks on the wall, filling it with coffee. “Want some?” Stiles nodded; Derek grabbed another cup and filled it.
They moved to the couch, drinking quietly while Derek flipped through the pages of a book he’d been reading. Stiles pulled his laptop out of his bag and pulled up the electronic bestiary he’d been working on with Danny.
He’d worked through a couple of bugs that had been plaguing him and turned to share the good news with Derek. The words died on his lips when he noticed that Derek had fallen asleep with his book on his lap. One hand rested next to Stiles’ leg on the couch, the warmth of his skin burning through the denim. Stils was surprised he hadn’t noticed before that moment. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he returned to the bestiary.
The following weekend, Stiles sat on his bed staring at the wall. He’d spent the day playing video games with Scott before he headed out to dinner with Kira and her parents. He’d had fun but had struggled to play with the cast, so his mind had wandered. He was now stuck in the mental equivalent of a Wikipedia rabbit hole, thinking about all the monsters they’d dealt with over the year.
He’d been doing alright until he’d come to the nogitsune. Now he kept staring at the posters on his walls to be sure he could still read the words. Logically, he knew he was safe, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie back on his pillow to fall asleep. After a couple of hours, a crick started in his neck, and he knew he had to lie down. He tossed his pillow on the floor and picked up his red hoodie. He bunched it into a ball before lying down on it and turning his attention to the ceiling.
Stretching, he reached over and turned off his light, yawning but not feeling the pull of sleep his pillow gave him. He risked closing his eyes for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t sleep without his pillow.
Not much time passed before he heard his window open. He saw the clock from the corner of his eye, just after two in the morning. He knew it was probably Derek, but he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the bat handle he’d taken to keeping between the headboard and mattress.
Before he got a good grip on the bat, a heavy weight fell into the bed at his feet, rocking the mattress slightly. Alarmed, Stiles scrambled to sit up, surprised to see Derek sprawled across the blanket, one arm stretched out, fingers brushing Stiles’ leg.
“Derek!” Stiles hissed, surprised when Derek lifted his head, eyes wide and swollen. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“Shit!” Derek scrambled backward off the bed, stumbling to his feet and wavering. He took a couple of unsteady steps toward the window, stopping when Stiles’ bedroom door opened to reveal the Sheriff, gun drawn. “Sir! Sorry!”
John sighed and lowered the gun. “Derek,” he said, voice soft and resigned, reminding Stiles of whenever his Dad wasn’t sure what to do to help his son. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep on your feet. What are you doing climbing in second-floor windows?”
“I…I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, looking at his feet. “I hoped that maybe Stiles could….”
“Research insomnia?” John suggested. He shook his head. “Well, since he’s up, I’ll let you get back to it.” He took a step out of the door.
He left Derek and Stiles looking after him in shock. Once they heard John’s bedroom door close, Stiles looked at Derek, still swaying slightly. “Dude, sit down before you fall down.” Derek dropped down on the foot of the bed, putting his face into his hands.
“Why is your pillow on the floor?” Derek asked as he leaned over and picked it up, tossing it towards Stiles, who caught it and set it against the headboard.
“Don’t want to sleep,” he answered.
Derek frowned. “Nogitsune?” Stiles nodded, refusing to look at Derek. Here he didn’t want to sleep, and Derek looked like he wanted nothing more. “Would it help if we cuddled?”
Stiles whipped his head around. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Never mind,” Derek muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
Stiles grabbed him by the arm, throwing him off balance. Derek fell onto Stiles, pressing him into the bed and back onto his pillow. Stiles immediately yawned and felt panic run through him. “No…No…” he said, lifting his head off the pillow, freezing when Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and pressed his face into Stiles’ chest. A soft snore sounded, and Stiles gaped. “You were serious about the cuddling,” he said, fighting a laugh.
He waited a few minutes, but Derek seemed content to use Stiles as a pillow. He thought back to the hospital, Derek showing up with his pillow, and the confusion on his dad’s face the next morning. Then the day at Derek’s loft when he’d fallen asleep with his hand pressed against Stiles.
A noise at the door drew Stiles’ attention. John leaned in the doorframe, smiling. “Looks like someone else can’t sleep without his pillow,” he said. “Not sure how I feel about that.”
“I would say ‘I can explain,’ but I really can’t,” Stiles told him as he ran a hand over Derek’s head, smoothing his hair where it had been sticking up.
“I always slept better with your mom there,” John said, his voice wistful.
“Derek and I aren’t-”
“Yet,” John said. “The two of you might be able to lie to yourselves, but I’ve been a cop for a long time, and I know what I see.” He gestured towards them. “This…is something.” He tilted his head. “You two are good for each other.”
“Dad-”
“Good night, son,” he said, turning to leave. “Don’t let Derek sleep through breakfast. The three of us need to talk.”
Stiles ran a hand over his face. “I think the two of us need to talk first,” he muttered.
“Talk later. Sleep now,” Derek said, and Stiles looked down to see him watching him through barely open eyes. Stiles nodded and let his head fall back against the pillow, sleep taking over quickly.