Entry tags:
TW fic: Care | Derek/Stiles pre-slash | PG
Title: Care
Characters and/or pairings: Derek, Stiles; pre-slash
Rating: PG
Warnings, kinks & contents: Spoilers for the s2 finale.
Status and length: ~700 words; complete; first in a series.
Author's note: Many thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elf for the quick beta!
Summary: Derek delivers Stiles a message.
*
The window to Stiles's room suffers from a very convenient flaw of design: if Derek pulls on the frame and uses his claws in the right angle and with just the tiniest bit of force, he can get it to unlock. A useful skill that Derek's used time and time again, but wouldn't teach the wolves in his pack when they'd asked.
The flaw is only convenient when Derek picks his way in, slides his way in and shuts it behind him again. He doesn't know why the sheriff hasn't put better windows in the house, and at this moment he doesn't care.
Like the rest of the house, Stiles's room is dark, and his breathing reverberates softly from the walls. Derek hasn't expected Stiles to have gone to bed already, not after the events of the day -- Derek wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he tried.
He turns on the light in the hopes it will wake Stiles up, but no such luck; Stiles is just as asleep as before, blanket only mostly covering him, and wearing a t-shirt that's several sizes too big for him, face smushed in his pillow in a way that hides the cuts and bruises.
"Stiles," Derek says.
Stiles harrumphs sleepily and burrows deeper into the pillow.
"Stiles!"
Snorting in surprise, Stiles shoots up to a sitting position. "Wha-- what?" He squints up at Derek, blinks, holds his hands up to cover his eyes from the sudden light. Several short moments later, he risks taking his hands off his eyes. "Derek?" he asks dumbly, voice rising with shock. "Holy--what are you. Why are you. What?"
Derek would roll his eyes at him, but he's really not in the mood. Now that Stiles is sitting, Derek can clearly make out the swelling on his cheek and lip, the cut at the corner of his mouth and purpling over his cheekbone. The image of them makes Derek grind his teeth together, clench his jaws. He's angry.
"I'm not going to ask you what you're doing here, because I'm not sure I want to know," Stiles says. "Except that I kind of really do want to know. Derek, what the hell are you doing here?"
Derek gestures at Stiles with his chin. "Argent did that."
Stiles lifts a hand to the side of his face, places his fingers on his cheek. He's quiet, doesn't look Derek in the eye, and then says, "Yeah."
"Don't let it happen again," Derek says.
Stiles flinches. His hand drops back to his lap as he gapes at Derek, and then he shoots up to his feet and there's color high up in his good cheek. "Don't let it happen--?!" Stiles hisses. "I didn't offer Gerard my face, if that's what you're implying, and I think it really is what you're implying. Do you think I wanted this to happen? He kidnapped me; I didn't go to him!"
Derek bites his tongue. He won't say No kidding, like I didn't know that. He won't.
"Then don't get kidnapped," Derek says. "It's simple."
"Do you even know what you're saying? It's not like I have control over getting kidnapped!"
Derek shrugs. Stiles's vulnerability had almost cost him Scott and Isaac's help today. "Figure it out." He glances toward the window, takes in the darkness and the glow the unseen moon sheds on the street.
"Figure it out," Stiles says. "Figure it out."
Derek still has matters to take care of. Derek needs to hunt Gerard down. Needs to make sure his pack is fine. He thinks about Erica and Boyd -- they still feel like they're part of his pack, but he doesn't know where they are.
He's done here.
Incredulous, Stiles asks, "You're just going to go? Message dropped and now you're off?"
"Yes," Derek says and prepares to leave, but Stiles's hand on his shirtsleeve stops him short. Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles.
"Got it," Stiles says flatly and lets go of his sleeve.
Derek flounders -- this isn't what he expected. He wants to say something to make sure that Stiles understands him, but he find that he has nothing to add. Instead he nods, says "Good." He climbs out of the window, jumps down to level ground.
Hears the soft snick when Stiles locks the window behind him.
Characters and/or pairings: Derek, Stiles; pre-slash
Rating: PG
Warnings, kinks & contents: Spoilers for the s2 finale.
Status and length: ~700 words; complete; first in a series.
Author's note: Many thanks to
elf for the quick beta!Summary: Derek delivers Stiles a message.
*
The window to Stiles's room suffers from a very convenient flaw of design: if Derek pulls on the frame and uses his claws in the right angle and with just the tiniest bit of force, he can get it to unlock. A useful skill that Derek's used time and time again, but wouldn't teach the wolves in his pack when they'd asked.
The flaw is only convenient when Derek picks his way in, slides his way in and shuts it behind him again. He doesn't know why the sheriff hasn't put better windows in the house, and at this moment he doesn't care.
Like the rest of the house, Stiles's room is dark, and his breathing reverberates softly from the walls. Derek hasn't expected Stiles to have gone to bed already, not after the events of the day -- Derek wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he tried.
He turns on the light in the hopes it will wake Stiles up, but no such luck; Stiles is just as asleep as before, blanket only mostly covering him, and wearing a t-shirt that's several sizes too big for him, face smushed in his pillow in a way that hides the cuts and bruises.
"Stiles," Derek says.
Stiles harrumphs sleepily and burrows deeper into the pillow.
"Stiles!"
Snorting in surprise, Stiles shoots up to a sitting position. "Wha-- what?" He squints up at Derek, blinks, holds his hands up to cover his eyes from the sudden light. Several short moments later, he risks taking his hands off his eyes. "Derek?" he asks dumbly, voice rising with shock. "Holy--what are you. Why are you. What?"
Derek would roll his eyes at him, but he's really not in the mood. Now that Stiles is sitting, Derek can clearly make out the swelling on his cheek and lip, the cut at the corner of his mouth and purpling over his cheekbone. The image of them makes Derek grind his teeth together, clench his jaws. He's angry.
"I'm not going to ask you what you're doing here, because I'm not sure I want to know," Stiles says. "Except that I kind of really do want to know. Derek, what the hell are you doing here?"
Derek gestures at Stiles with his chin. "Argent did that."
Stiles lifts a hand to the side of his face, places his fingers on his cheek. He's quiet, doesn't look Derek in the eye, and then says, "Yeah."
"Don't let it happen again," Derek says.
Stiles flinches. His hand drops back to his lap as he gapes at Derek, and then he shoots up to his feet and there's color high up in his good cheek. "Don't let it happen--?!" Stiles hisses. "I didn't offer Gerard my face, if that's what you're implying, and I think it really is what you're implying. Do you think I wanted this to happen? He kidnapped me; I didn't go to him!"
Derek bites his tongue. He won't say No kidding, like I didn't know that. He won't.
"Then don't get kidnapped," Derek says. "It's simple."
"Do you even know what you're saying? It's not like I have control over getting kidnapped!"
Derek shrugs. Stiles's vulnerability had almost cost him Scott and Isaac's help today. "Figure it out." He glances toward the window, takes in the darkness and the glow the unseen moon sheds on the street.
"Figure it out," Stiles says. "Figure it out."
Derek still has matters to take care of. Derek needs to hunt Gerard down. Needs to make sure his pack is fine. He thinks about Erica and Boyd -- they still feel like they're part of his pack, but he doesn't know where they are.
He's done here.
Incredulous, Stiles asks, "You're just going to go? Message dropped and now you're off?"
"Yes," Derek says and prepares to leave, but Stiles's hand on his shirtsleeve stops him short. Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles.
"Got it," Stiles says flatly and lets go of his sleeve.
Derek flounders -- this isn't what he expected. He wants to say something to make sure that Stiles understands him, but he find that he has nothing to add. Instead he nods, says "Good." He climbs out of the window, jumps down to level ground.
Hears the soft snick when Stiles locks the window behind him.