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There was a blanket wrapped around his thoughts. It was warm and heavy, but not unpleasant. Stiles wanted to sink deeper and sleep there forever. A rumble disturbed him, it was low and gravelly, right at his ear, but distant all the same. He felt something nudge him, maybe some words were murmured. Stiles tried to reply to the voice, but the words didn’t form on his lips. He didn’t really care as long as he could keep snuggling his pillow.
‘Genim.’
No one calls him that. Not since . . . The haze in his mind cleared a little. His limbs were heavy. Last night was freezing, icy and just plain unwelcome. He couldn’t remember the last time it was so cold in Beacon Hills. He refused to get up, pulled the covers over his head and tried to think warm thoughts.
Stiles felt a kiss on his forehead and extra blankets being piled on top of him.
‘Love you son.’
Stiles listened to the car pull back out the driveway, his dad off to another double shift. He came back just to make sure his son had enough blankets. Stiles missed talking to his dad. He was starting to forget just how alike there were. Even with everything going on and all the lies, his dad still came back home to make sure he had enough blankets. Stiles felt a warmth spread in his chest, but his extremities weren’t buying it. No matter how much he rubbed his feet together, it didn’t make a difference. He wasn’t sure how long he was curled in that ball for, trying to think of anything but the biting cold.
His pillow sighed and that wasn’t something he’d ordered. Did pillows sigh? Stiles couldn’t get his brain to wake up, he was happy where he was, sighing pillow be damned.
He thought maybe the pillow was talking to him, saying his name. It smelled different too, not like him, more like . . . more like Sourwolf. More like Derek Hale.
Derek. Hale.
Well you know what? Stranger things had happened. In fact, it panicked him that it didn’t panic him. Stiles was far from Platform Panic. He was fairly sure that his own heart rate didn’t skip a beat.
He tried to say, ‘Derek, what are you doing in my bed?’ But it came out more like, ‘MmmmmmphhmMmm.’
Stiles thought back to last night. He was sure that Derek wasn’t there, because he was too busy freezing to death in his own bed. He was wishing that he had a heater, wishing it so hard that he started to warm up and was finally able to doze off.
Stiles tried to operate his mouth again, frankly it was embarrassing that he couldn’t articulate his stream of consciousness.
His words were muffled, ‘Derek . . . what are you doing . . . in my bed.’
He could feel a pulse under his lips . . . was he snuggling into Derek’s neck? Oh god, he actually felt his Adams apple bob up and down.
‘Last night was the coldest night on record for beacon hills in the past ten years.’
‘Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight,’ Styles murmured, not moving away, not really wanting to, still kind of hoping that this was a dream so that he didn’t have to.
‘I could hear your teeth chattering from the petrol station.’
‘Am I dreaming?’
There was a pause, ‘No.’
Stiles sighed, he wasn’t going to push his luck with a werewolf in his bed. Wait, not push his luck? He was fucking Stiles Stilinski, pushing luck was like a part of his job description. He rolled onto his back, comfortable in the warm haze.
‘I think I know what your secret is Derek.’
He could feel the wolf stiffen beside him.
‘You’re actually a nice person.’
Derek snorted.
It was a nice moment, one that he would commit to memory. He basked in it for a moment before moving onto his side, his back to the Sourwolf. Stiles swallowed, trying to calm down. He knew that his pulse was rising, and that of course Derek would notice. God damn werewolf super powers, he hoped that Derek would just think he was embarrassed, or something. He was going to say this now, damn it. Right now while he could still tell himself that he was under the effects of the warmth.
‘I . . . I’m sorry Derek. I am. I still feel like a such total asshole for turning you into a murder suspect and I’m . . .’ Stiles voice was quiet, but he knew Derek could hear. ‘I’m sorry that I dug up your sister’s grave. I’m sorry.’
Stiles shut his eyes. This was going to be the part where Derek leaves. Derek doesn’t do feelings. He’ll go back out the window like how he snuck in. It wasn’t Derek’s fault he came across as emotionally constipated. Stiles couldn’t believe he still talked to him.
But Derek didn’t leave.
‘Thank you.’
It was the softest he’d ever heard Derek speak. Stiles let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He rolled back onto his other side, faced with Derek’s eyes. He was just looking, not glaring, or maybe Stiles was too tired to tell the difference.
Stiles couldn’t meet his eyes though, it was too much.
He let half his face be buried in his pillow as he continued, ‘And thank you for not . . . hating me. Well completely hating me, ‘cause I would assume that you wouldn’t be stoping me from turning into a Popsicle if you did. So, thanks.’
He could feel Derek raise his brow, ‘Idiot.’
‘Sourwolf.’
Derek chuckled. Actually chuckled.
He stilled, ‘I thought you were the one that hated me?’
‘What? Hate? Well yeah – okay, we didn’t get off to the best start. And what with, you know, your complete lack of communication skills and throwing me into walls, or threatening to rip out my throat-’
‘With my teeth.’
‘Yes with your teeth, thaaaaaank you for reminding me.’
He chanced a look at Derek, but like Stiles he was staring down at the pillow.
‘I couldn’t get anyone to help me . . . not without, without threatening them.’
Stiles felt his heart in his throat. Derek sounded so raw, he wasn’t even hiding the pain.
He waited until Derek met his gaze, he spoke softly, like he was soothing a cornered animal.
‘I’m going to hug you now.’
Stiles propped himself up on his elbow and reached around Derek. He hugged him. Squeezed him. He wasn’t going to let Derek run away, even with his super strength. Stiles’ face was scrunched up as he tried to convey everything he felt.
Derek’s breathing hitched, becoming shallower. He didn’t move for a minute or two. But Stiles wasn’t letting go. He was still holding him with the same intensity. The tension between Derek’s shoulders finally lessened. Stiles felt strong arms wrap around him, tentative at first, but then he was hugging Stiles back just as hard.
‘I forgot what it was like . . . to be hugged.’
Stiles mind ceased to function as those words sunk in.
His chest felt tight. Stiles couldn’t bare it. He finally started to see things from Derek’s perspective. Well he thought he did before, but now it was just clearer. Derek’s first love murdered his family. His surviving uncle ripped his sister in half. He then had to kill said uncle. Derek tried to help Scott when he was bitten, he really fucking tried. But did Scott listen? No. No he did not. Did Stiles? Not enough. Instead they framed him for murder. The only way anyone would help him after that was to threaten them into submission. Of course he wasn’t going to be very fucking trusting. Of course he wasn’t going to let himself become close to anyone.
Stiles chest hurt so much that he used humour, it really was his only defence.
‘What? A guy built like you? I thought you’d be getting hugs all the time.’
He could feel Derek suppress a chuckle.
Stiles held him for a few more moments before pulling back. He wasn’t sure what to say next. But then Derek was kissing him, it was quick, chaste and vulnerable. Stiles was taken completely off guard. He just stared back at Derek like a moron.
He could see the mask come over Derek’s face so quickly that it was like a slap to the face. Stiles blamed the warmth, making him so slow. He caught the front of Derek’s shirt, like he could actually stop a werewolf.
‘Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait!’
Thankfully, Derek paused.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, ‘Running away?’
Stiles used the leverage from the shirt to lift up to kiss Derek just as quick. He let their noses touch and linger before he released his grip and fell back down on the bed.
He smiled lazily, ‘Well alright, just make sure to close the window on your way out.’
The mask was gone. Derek’s eyes flicked from Stiles to the window, and back to Stiles. He looked so confused. Stiles tried hard not laugh. He really, really did.
Derek looked down at the boy he’d been keeping warm all night. Who snuggled up to him. Murmured incoherently in his sleep and made the ache in Derek’s heart both ease and become a little sharper.
Derek’s voice didn’t sound like it was pleading, he didn’t plead. He didn’t.
‘Can I hug you now?’
Stiles grin was as wide as his outspread arms. Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck and just hugged. Breathed and hugged.
‘So Sourwolf, what do I smell like?’
He could feel Derek’s smile against his neck.
‘Home.’