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There were still burns from where the electrodes what been attached to his skin. Every move he made brought a grunt of pain from him, because he wasn’t going to let himself believe that the sound coming from himself were whimpers. He had to convince himself that he was healing normally, that what the hunters did to him hadn’t actually caused so much damage that his supernatural healing wasn’t healing it.
That was probably how he ended up on Stiles’ doorstep, blood still oozing some of the deeper cuts. He was exhausted and running on instinct. For some reason his instinct told him that he would be safe with Stiles, even though his brain didn’t trust the teenager.
Stiles drove up, parked and jumped out of his jeep. He looked like he was raring to yell at him for being a creepy guy stalking him even when he wasn’t there. His anger fell from his face when he got closer and was able to see the damage that was wrought onto the werewolf.
Stiles dropped his bookbag and rushed forward just as Derek was about to collapse forward. He held him up carefully, slipping his arm around him and pulling one of Derek’s over his shoulder.
“I’ve got you.” Stiles said softly, helping the injured wolf into the house.
They struggled up the stairs because they couldn’t just sit downstairs with the chance that Sheriff Stilinski showing up at any given moment. After all, Derek was still not thought of in a favorable light by the sheriff. Stiles got him to his bedroom and got him sat down on the bed before rushing off.
He returned several minutes later to see Derek laying flopped on his side on the bed. The werewolf almost looked dead and Stiles’ heart started racing as he approached carefully.
“Derek?” He asked softly, reaching and putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
Derek growled softly, opening his eyes a little, but he was too exhausted to do anything else. Stiles crouched a bit, the first aid kit that he grabbed from the bathroom balanced on his knees. He pulled out all manner of medical stuff and began taking care of the werewolf, his lip pinched in his teeth to keep from babbling his concerns.
Derek did little moving, laying there and allowing for Stiles to tend to him. His healing was slowly starting to take care of a few things, but his body was still too traumatized to be able to fix itself.
Stiles finished patching up what he could and started pacing nervously. He kept unusually quiet, looking over to the wolf every couple of minutes before going back to pacing. Derek growled weakly, pushing himself up a bit.
“Would you stop that, it’s making my head hurt.”
“My worried pacing is giving you a headache?” Stiles whipped around. “Do you even realize how much I am FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW?!”
Stiles was clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides, taking deep breaths before he sunk bodily into his computer chair. He was shaking hard, his hands balled into tight fists against his lap.
Derek watched him, frowning a bit before pushing himself up to a seating position. “Stiles.”
Stiles’ head jerked up and there were tears streaking down his face. He was breathing through his teeth, glaring at Derek. “What.”
Derek reached over and took his hands carefully, wincing as the movement and effort made his body scream in protest. He carefully uncurled Stiles’ fingers and stroked the bright red crescents in his palm with his thumb.
“I need you to breath with me.” He said softly, his stroking thumbs following the pattern of his breathing.
Stiles gritted his teeth but slowly he managed to get his breathing under control with the help of the werewolf. It had taken several minutes but they were both breathing evenly and relaxing. Derek continued to stroke his thumbs over Stiles’ palms.
“I am sorry that I scared you.” He said softly, watching his thumbs instead of looking at the teenager. “I don’t know why I ended up here. I knew I needed help and instinct brought me here.”
“I thought you didn’t trust me.” Stiles said warily.
“I don’t. But—I guess that my instincts are smarter than I am.” Derek looked up, offering a weak, tired smile.
“Don’t you ever do this to me again.” Stiles said, swallowing. “I thought you were going to die. I thought—”
The teenager shook his head, taking a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of the thumbs across his palms. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. You’re not allowed to die on me. I can’t lose someone else, you hear me, Hale?”
Derek nodded a bit and looked back to the teenager’s hands. It had never occurred to him how big and boney Stiles’ hands were. There were callouses on his palms from lacrosse practice and his fingers were chewed on, almost as if the teen had a nervous habit of peeling the skin away from his fingernails.
Stiles swallowed and watched him. He pulled one of his hands away from Derek’s hold and reached out, tracing a healing cut on his jaw. The teen was frowning, his head canted a bit.
“What happened to you…?” The question trailed and hung in the air.
“I ended up on the wrong end of a hunter fight.” Derek admitted, closing his eyes as Stiles traced over another cut. “I need to eat something, that will accelerate the healing.”
“Lucky for you I’m a damn good cook.” Stiles said, getting up from the chair, his body taking a moment to acclimate itself to not be falling over. “Stay here.”
Derek watched him go before carefully laying himself back down. He was asleep when Stiles came back into the room, though the smell of food drew him out of his slumber.
Stiles had a plate with mashed potatoes, some meatloaf, and green beans. He also had a big glass of milk on a lap tray. Derek groaned and sat up, easing himself back so his back was against a wall.
“Here you go.” Stiles said, putting the tray over his lap. “It’s leftovers from last night. Meatloaf is always better the second day in my opinion.”
“I haven’t had meatloaf in years.” Derek said, laying into the food like he was half starved.
“It’s my mom’s recipe.” Stiles flushed a bit. “But I had to substitute some stuff because my dad doesn’t eat healthy and… Well this is better for him to eat.”
“Taste like turkey.” Derek said, licking his lips.
“Yeah, substituted turkey for the pork in it. Dad doesn’t like it.” Stiles shrugged a bit. “Still eats it though.”
“It’s not bad.” Derek nodded and continued to wolf [excuse the pun] it down.
He finished the plate, gulping down the milk and licking his lips. Already the more minor wounds were healed up, quickly followed by the more severe ones. He stretched himself languidly on the bed and let loose a jaw cracking yawn.
He was tired, full, and felt completely safe. It took a great amount of discipline on his part to keep from curling up and falling asleep.
Stiles took the tray and the dishes downstairs, coming back and grabbing clothes from his dresser and presenting them to Derek. The werewolf raised an eyebrow at the teenager.
“We already know those aren’t going to fit.” Derek snorted.
“I know, but you should shower and sleep.” Stiles replied, shrugged with one shoulder. “Besides, I can wash your clothes so when you leave you have something to wear.”
“I can’t sleep here.” Derek said, frowning.
“Yes you can and you’re going to. Go shower.” Stiles frowned back. “You need somewhere safe to stay for the night, where else is going to be safer than the Sheriff’s house?”
Derek had to concede that point. He got up, taking the clothes and crossed the hall to the bathroom. He got in the shower and ignored the sound of Stiles sneaking in to take his dirty clothes out to be washed.
There was an extra toothbrush, new in the package, lain out on the counter when he got out. He smiled a bit and set about brushing his teeth and pulling on the slightly too small clothes. He crossed the hall again to find Stiles hunched over his homework and the blankets pulled down on the bed.
“Just to let you know, Scott says I cuddle.” Stiles said, working on what looked like math.
“So we’re sleeping together?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to sleep on the floor, sourwolf. My house, my rules, remember?” Stiles looked over, smiling a little.
Derek shrugged and climbed into bed. He was barely settled before he was completely asleep. It was hours later, probably closer to two in the morning when Stiles finally climbed into bed with him.
He opened an eye, watching as the teenager tossed and turned a bit. He growled and slipped his arm under him, drawing him so that his back was against his chest.
“Stop moving, it’s making it hard to sleep.” Derek garuffed against the teen’s buzz-cut hair.
Stiles relaxed a bit, yawning. His hand slipped over Derek’s and their fingers laced. He was asleep before Derek was able to make a comment about it.
He lay there awake for several minutes, allowing himself to process what had all happened. He had sought out Stiles for aid; Stiles had freaked out because of his injuries; he had been fed by the teen; and now they were laying together in the same bed, fingers interlaced. It had been an odd day and there was a strange feeling in Derek’s chest.
He huffed against the back of Stiles’ neck, closing his eyes and nuzzling his face against the teenager’s skin. He took a deep breath and all the tension in him escaped with the soft sigh that left his lips as he fell asleep.