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It was a Monday.
Stiles fucking hated Mondays, they are always so slow. It didn’t matter if he woke up at the same time as normal, it didn’t matter if he took an extra minute in the shower, it didn’t matter if he ate a PopTart for breakfast (which he totally did this morning). The day always seemed to go slower than the six other days of the week. He always caught himself looking at the clock and watching the hands move at a snail’s pace. He could probably learn to knit and finish three sweaters by the time it changed hours.
What made it the worst Monday though, was the fact actually nobody has talked to him all day.
It’s how he found himself just driving to the loft because someone was bound to be there and Stiles would probably find something to do with them. Well accept Peter...he’d turn tail and run as fast as possible away from that man. Even thinking about him gave Stiles the creeps. Like up and down the spine creeps someone gets from watching a horror movie.
The thought of Scott watching The Blair Witch Project is a very good example of how much Peter creeped him out. Also recalling how Scott actually cried into a blanket amused him.
A giggle left his lips at the memory, walking up to the loft door and sliding it open casually as his free hand had his keys spinning aimlessly on his fingers.
“Knock knock? Any wolves in the--?” Stiles called out, stopping short at the scene in front of him.
Tissues. There were fucking tissues everywhere, it looked like the Kleenex factory had a literal explosion in the middle of the loft. All crumpled up and strewn about without a care in the world. On top of that there was an abandoned blanket on the floor by the couch, and upon further inspection it had arm holes...it was a Snuggie. It was a goddamn Snuggie in the middle of Derek Hale’s loft.
Bottles of water, half empty (wait...or half full?) or barely touched were littering the coffee table and desk. A bowl full of something mushy looking sat on the floor between the Snuggie and the couch, looking like it’s been cold for quite a while. Much to Stiles’ surprise the TV was on for once (although muted), and to further his surprise Buffy The Vampire Slayer was playing.
His jaw hung open, slack, his chin practically kissing the ground at this point.
It took him a moment to comprehend the shuffling of feet to his left followed by a few sniffles. Stiles felt his neck nearly snap as he turned to the source of the noise finding it to be Derek.
Although it was Derek it wasn’t his Derek.
No no no; this Derek was wearing joggers, a sweater with fucking thumb holes, and to put the icing on the cake he was wearing mismatched socks. This Derek had a red nose that could put Rudolf to shame and raspy breathing that made his Jeep sound like an angel.
“Holy--what the fuck? Derek?” Stiles gasped, barely remembering to close the door before rushing to check him over. “Is it wolfsbane? Mistletoe? Something you don’t know? Should we be calling Deaton right now? Are you okay?” He babbled, running his hands over Derek to feel up any bullet, arrow, or freakin’ missile wound he may have.
Totally not copping a feel at the guy’s Adonis like physique.
Not at all.
Derek growled at him, eyes flashing blue for a second before weakly flickering back to their green...no blue...no kinda brown...whatever color they naturally were, the growl morphing into a wheezing cough that hurt Stiles’ chest just by it’s sound.
“N-No,” the older man huffed, looking at Stiles with his classic furrowed caterpillar brows, “just sick.”
“Sick? Like...me sick? Like human sick? You’re a freakin’ werewolf how are you sick!?” Stiles asked, placing his hands on his hips while simultaneously jutting his head forward to hear the impending answer.
Derek still looked unimpressed, “some strains of flu take longer for us to heal. I caught one.”
And...and that was a surprisingly simple answer. It made sense.
He took a moment, looking over Derek again before throwing himself into action. Grabbing the man’s shoulders he lead him to the couch, shoving him down until he was sitting. Of course he fluffed the pillows until they were what he would call “optimal fluffiness” before settling them in such a way which would keep Derek’s head elevated. Of course he proceeded to made it so the werewolf was laying down before grabbing the Snuggie and tucking in the guy like a little burrito, of course using the arm holes (because Stiles needed the mental image of Derek wearing it, it was necessary!).
By the time he was done Derek looked broody as usual but less green at the gills.
“I’m gonna get you water, then I’m gonna make you soup. Do you have stuff in your kitchen?” Stiles asked, pushing the sleeves on his hoodie up to his elbows. Though Derek kept glaring he sniffled and nodded, reaching out for a box of tissues. Of course being a gentleman Stiles pulled the coffee table within reach before unmuting the TV and handing Derek the remote as well.
He wasn’t out of the living space when he heard Derek say, “I like rice in soup, not noodles.”
“That’s just freakin’ adorable dude,” Stiles whined, a grin splitting his face as he entered the kitchen. It didn’t take long at all for him to gather up everything he would need, hell the man even had fancy spices to work with. Honestly up until this point he pegged Derek for a frozen meal kind of guy but then again this kitchen didn’t even have a microwave.
He chopped up onions, garlic (because honestly that was the best for sicknesses, his mother swore by it), herbs, and of course the leftover chicken he’d found in the fridge. Sure...it might’ve had a post-it on it with Isaac’s name scribbled out in chicken scratch handwriting, but hey Derek was sick. There were bigger priorities for this leftover chicken than to be shoved down that scarf wearing douche’s maw okay?
Stiles felt no remorse when he put the cubed up meat into the soup.
The longest part was the rice, but hey by the time it was done Derek finished his water and got through an episode. Carefully he ladled some into a bowl, grabbing a spoon from a drawer as well as a straw from the junk drawer before returning to the ill wolf.
“Alright,” he sighed and batted at Derek’s legs to make space for him to sit, once doing so he used the spoon and got some of the soup onto it, holding it up for Derek to eat.
“You’re not feeding me soup.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, “dude just open your mouth and eat the soup. You should rest.”
“I’m not a baby I can--,” Derek snapped, pausing as his eyes got puffy and watery. Stiles was about to get Deaton on speed dial when the werewolf let out a gnarly sneeze, face scrunching up and his snot spray literally going everywhere.
“Don’t die...I can’t have that, not after I made you really good soup,” he pleaded while grabbing a tissue and wiping at Derek’s nose where snot had almost begun to drip. The man groaned, his head falling back onto the pillows. “Yeah I know this isn’t fun, but hey...here comes the Stiles soup train!”
He held up the soup spoon again making a “choo-choo” noise to go with it.
Derek growled, “shut the fuck up Stiles.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes and shoved the spoon to Derek’s lips harshly.
Thankfully Derek took the bite, humming as he ate the soup. After that it was a fairly painless process of silent “Stiles feeding Derek soup” time, Netflix filling the void of silence, and his fingers being burnt off by the heated ceramic bowl the soup was in. Eventually Derek ate all the soup, drinking most of the broth before saying he was full.
The bowl was abandoned on the coffee table and though he wasn’t asked he moved back on the couch so he was opposite of Derek, those cute ass mismatched socks on his lap. Stiles was taking liberties here people! He took the liberty of giving Derek a foot rub which was definitely something he didn’t get when he got sick.
Although...it was kind of hard not to think about the little moans Derek would make when Stiles dug his thumbs into a certain spot, kneading the tense part of his feet. He was a big boy though and he could do his best to ignore those noises and definitely not rock a semi right now.
“Why Buffy? I kinda figured you weren’t much of a TV guy, this was more of a thing for Isaac,” he asked when the credits for an episode rolled.
Derek froze, coughing a little before answering with, “Laura used to put it on when one of us got sick.”
Stiles nodded, focusing his wide eyes on finishing his foot rub. That...that wasn’t what he expected to come out of Derek’s mouth. The guy never talked about his family, like never ever never. He understood though, he hated talking about his mom. Hated when he had to use past tense when he did…
“Well,” he said with pep in his voice to get rid of this cloud that suddenly hung over them. He searched for something else he could do because he’s basically done everything. “Operation Coddle The Shit Out of Sick Derek” was pretty much done.
Step one: snuggle him up.
Step two: feed him soup.
Step three: pamper him a lil’.
He could make a step four, he was nifty like that. So when he remembered how touchy feely Scott got after Allison broke up with him the idea of cuddling Derek was too much to resist. Gnawing his lower lip he took a chance and kicked his shoes off, one of his chucks flipping under the couch in the process. Stiles flailed a bit (obviously, duh) as he wedged himself between the couch cushions and Derek’s side, wrapping his arms and legs around the guy like an octopus.
“Stiles,” Derek said, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Cuddling you, what do you think I’m doing?” Stiles barked, arching a brow as he craned his neck up to meet with the guy eye to eye.
“Why are you cuddling me?”
He rolled his eyes, “dude I know werewolves. They get all touch hungry when they’re sad or worried...and I assume sick too. Plus if you’re worried I’m gonna get sick from you, I won’t. Stilinski’s have pretty strong immune systems.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Derek deadpanned.
“Gee thanks Der-Bear--”
“Seriously shut up and cuddle me,” Derek said, his head falling back onto the pillows once again, leaving Stiles a bit taken back.
It took a moment but his brain went from highly malfunctioning to giddy and loopy in seconds, his head resting comfortably on the rock solid chest muscle Derek possessed. They probably stayed like that forever, like honestly Stiles had no way of telling time since this loft seemed to have no clocks. Hell his phone was in his butt pocket but his hands were feeling up Derek’s side so like...checking time wasn’t a priority for him.
Of course Derek relaxed after a while, eventually leaning into the touch Stiles was giving and man was that a good feeling. A really good feeling he wouldn’t mind exploring when Derek wasn’t an ill puppy and he wasn’t hyperalert for any medical issues at hand. At one point Derek sneezed into his hair and Stiles let out a very high pitched “oh what the fuck man?”.
Derek had flicked his ear in retaliation.
Now though, the sun was almost set, giving the loft a purplish glow as they finished season 5 of Buffy. Stiles was about to reach for the remote and press accept on the next season’s episode button when a yawn vibrated from Derek’s chest, a high noise coming from his mouth.
“‘leepy,” Derek groaned, rubbing his half lidded eyes.
Stiles wanted to kiss his eyelids....he’s also never had a weirder impulse in his life.
“Okay big guy, bedtime,” Stiles nodded as he peeled himself off Derek.
He stood up, turning off the TV before helping Derek up. Stiles had to support a lot of the guy’s two hundred pound dead weight muscle, sleep obviously was much needed here. The whole situation reminded him of the pool and how he had to support the guy then too. However this time they weren’t in eight feet of water and the possibility of drowning couldn’t happen. Crossing the room he settled the werewolf into his bed, pulling the covers ...shit what is this egyptian silk?... back so he could once again tuck Derek in.
God the guy looked almost as pale as him when sick, eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his nose tinted the cutest red. Stiles was totally taken back but focused on making sure Derek was soft and warm and all tucked in.
“‘Nnghh,” Derek grunted with another yawn, burrowing into the blankets until his eyes barely poked out from under them.
“I’ll be right back,” Stiles said, wiping the matted hair off Derek’s forehead before making his way to the bathroom.
Upon looking through the drawers and cabinets he found what could be the smallest basket of medical supplies he’s ever seen. Honestly he had maybe one gauze pad but there was for some reason NyQuil was there. He didn’t question it as he pulled it out and looked at the back side for the measurements.
Wait...was it different with a werewolf? How much would he have to up the dosage? Stiles pulled out his phone, scrolling through before finding the right contact to call. After a few monotone rings the other line picked up and he sighed.
“Hey Melissssssa,” Stiles said in a sing-song voice, “how much NyQuil should you give a fully grown werewolf with the flu?”
“Are you kidding me?”