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This sharing a bed thing is new but Stiles likes it, despite the fact that he’s a little concerned Derek might have a nightmare and accidentally claw his face off. It’s nice though, when his dad is working double shifts and gone for twenty four hours at a time, to have someone there with him. Stiles didn’t realize how lonely he had been until there was an alternative to the loneliness.
He’s still not sure how to label their relationship. He knows it’s partly instinctual; the need for closeness and pack and all that wolfy stuff that’s fast becoming a big part of all their lives. But Stiles feels like what’s between him and Derek is more than that. He’s pretty sure Derek isn’t climbing through Isaac's bedroom window at night and crawling under the covers with him. At least he hopes not. Actually, the thought of that makes Stiles growl a little. Clearly he’s been spending way too much time with werewolves.
“Did you just growl?” Derek mumbles into the side of Stiles’ neck.
“Yeah. Was it scary? Are you intimidated? You’re not sneaking through Isaac’s window to cuddle with him, are you?”
Derek tightens his grip around Stiles’ waist and squeezes a little.
“Go to sleep, Stiles.”
Stiles huffs out a breath and leans back, slotting their legs together and tangling his fingers through Derek’s. He’s getting better with the whole touching thing too; doesn’t flinch anymore when Stiles reaches for him. So whatever it is, Stiles knows that it’s good. For both of them. Being wrapped up in Derek like he is now quiets his mind; slows everything down. Makes him feel safe and needed. He kinda has a feeling that it does the same for Derek.
Stiles must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing he knows he’s startled awake by the sound of...barking? There is definitely barking happening.
Stiles blinks. It reminds him of when Scout, the beagle they’d had when he was younger, would chase rabbits in her sleep. And suddenly Stiles remembers that he is, in fact, sharing his bed with a dog. He rolls over and sees Derek curled up on his side, his fingers twitching like he’s running. He’s whining under his breath in between letting out quiet little barks.
Stiles is honest to god going to lose his shit.
He doesn’t mean to shake the entire bed with his silent laughter, but Derek jerks awake anyway and looks confused for half a second before narrowing his eyes at Stiles.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks.
“I’m not laughing at you, I just...you might have been barking in your sleep,” Stiles tells him, trying to be serious because he’s really not laughing at Derek at all, just the situation. His life has become so absurd. It’s delightful.
Derek scrubs his hands over his face and huffs. “There was a cat. In my dream. I was chasing it.”
“Dude. That is probably the most adorable thing ever. Did you catch it?” Stiles grins, knowing Derek can see his smile in the dark. Derek just grunts and flops around so he’s facing the window, away from Stiles.
Stiles continues to smile as he wiggles his hand under Derek’s tightly crossed arms and drapes himself across his back.
Derek doesn’t fall back asleep, and Stiles starts to feel a little guilty as he tosses and turns uncomfortably. He keeps his mouth shut and lets himself be manhandled into approximately 27 different positions in the hopes that Derek will eventually settle down. He doesn’t, though, and suddenly there’s a flurry of sheets and pillows and Stiles is being unceremoniously dumped off the bed.
“Ow, Derek,” Stiles yelps as he rolls onto the floor with a thump. “What the heck are you doing?”
Derek ignores him and begins to frantically muss up the sheets and push the pillows around on the bed. He moves from one side to the other at least four times while Stiles sits on the floor with his mouth hanging open.
“Are you like, doing that circling thing that dogs do before they lay down?”
Derek stops in the middle of punching a pillow and stares at Stiles before blinking and dropping the bed linens.
“I, uh,” Derek stammers. “Maybe. I guess.”
Stiles makes a waving motion with his hands. “Please don’t let me stop you.”
Stiles can feel the eyeroll that’s directed at him, but Derek goes back to making his nest for another couple of minutes before finally crawling back into bed and motioning for Stiles to get up off the floor. Once he’s settled, Derek wraps himself around Stiles and lets out a huge breath.
“Better?” Stiles asks as he melts into the solid warmth behind him.
“Yes. I’m sorry I rolled you onto the floor,” Derek replies groggily as he turns onto his back, bringing Stiles with him so that he’s tucked up into Derek’s side.
Stiles starts to absentmindedly trace soft patterns across Derek’s belly and rib cage and he can feel the tension slowly evaporate from Derek’s body.
“I don’t really sleep when I’m not here,” Derek says softly. “Not deep enough for anything besides nightmares.”
Stiles’ heart breaks a little. (This has become the norm lately, his heart feeling all kinds of emotions for Derek. It’s unsettling. He revels in it. Wants to roll around in it like Derek rolls around in his sheets.) He knows how it feels when the nightmares are relentless. When you’re so haunted you can’t rest. How it feels to be at home but still completely alone. Derek is starting to make him realize that maybe home isn’t always an actual house.
But he doesn’t say all that. Not yet. It’s too big and too fragile and he knows Derek gets it anyway, without Stiles having to say it out loud. So instead he just nuzzles into Derek’s neck and matches his breathing to the cadence of Derek’s heartbeat.
They both sleep through the rest of the night.