Work Text:
When Derek crawls into Stiles’ room after dealing with the younger werewolves, he looks tired. He looks worn and his shirt is torn and bloody and Stiles is suddenly very caught up in the need to hug him and hold him and make everything better because he just really looks like he’s had enough. The puppies, as they fondly call Isaac, Boyd, and Erica, have given him hell tonight, and Stiles wants to make it all better. Derek looks up at him, with the kind of open, vulnerable look he gives no one else, and Stiles just kisses his lips softly before reaching to pull his wifebeater over his head.
Then he unzips his jeans and pushes them down, untying his shoes and peeling off his socks. Derek just watches him fondly, with wide pale eyes, the shadow of a smile on his lips. Stiles motions for him to sit and walks to the bathroom, grabbing a wet rag and a box of band-aids. Derek’s look shows amusement and more fondness, but Stiles does it anyway, wiping down his wounds carefully, and covering them with the multiple sized band-aids.
He then returns to the bathroom to grab a few advil, handing them to him, before holding out one of his Dad’s T-Shirt’s that he’s stolen for Derek. Derek slips it on, and Stiles promises to be right back. He returns a moment later with Beacon Hills PD sweat pants, and a cup of tea, both of which he hands to Derek in turn. When his werewolf has been patched up, dressed, and thoroughly calmed down, Stiles pulls him over to the bed, laying him down and tucking him in, kissing his forehead before stroking his hand through his hair.
“You don’t have to baby me after every full moon.” Derek murmurs sleepily. “I can take care of myself.”
“But you were dealing with the puppies.” Stiles said softly, “You deserve to be babied.” His eyes were fond.
To the outside world, Derek was some kind of monster, scary and fierce and not someone to care about or think about.
But to Stiles, he’s just a tired wolf, eager to return to his den and his mate, and Stiles is all too happy to provide.