Changing Patterns

• 9 •

    "What?" He questioned copying the motion. Then realizing the darker contrast of his window sills. His head swiveled to the door as well. Which was know one of those old ones that could split to open the top half and bottom half. The scent of fresh paint hitting his nose subtly, as it was already there.

    "I thought you might want some protective measures. Mountain ass locks- and window frame. And the door, Deaton only had the half door so..." she drew off studying my face.

    "Thank you..." stiles muttered softly. Then pushing to a stand and moving to stand before her. "Thank you." He said more sternly and pulled her up into a hug.

    "I also forced the boys to give you soundproof..." she finished as they pulled apart. Stiles drop his head and chuckles to himself at the words. She could force anyone to do anything.

   "Thank you." He said again. She smiled and patted his right bicep. Then spinning to the side and disappearing around the corner, door closing behind her. Stiles lets a sigh escape his lips as he fell back on his bed. Finally closing his eyes again and wriggling his way further into his bed. A small sting and then a single tear released from his eye.

    'Pathetic... he thought to himself. He couldn't bare to think of himself into crying, he could hold off a little longer. And he would. 'I can...

    Stiles curled over on his bed and let himself slip off, him mind in and out of resting. Almost a half asleep comatose state. Stiles inhaled sharply as his dream brought him reeling back to the real world for the fourth time. A stern knock on his door sent a jump up his back and he quickly rolled over to stare at it. Before he'd been able to call out that the door was open, only know his room was sound proofed.

    The human groaned almost annoyedly as he kicked off the end blanket that had tangled over his legs, one pillow -that had already been on the edge-falling over and flopping on the ground. Stiles pushed himself up wincing tightly at his arms and chest. His hands scattering over his forearms and chest trying to figure out which one to hold as he sluggishly approached the door. Stiles pushed it open with his eyes still lidded and tired. Stiles looked up to meet green and almost wide eyes. His own expression matching Derek's slightly. Eyes parting wider and stance frozen for a moment with all too loud silence seeping in.

    "Derek?" Stiles pipped in a surprised tone that shocking the older man from his faze.

    "Hi..." he muttered quietly. "Dinners here, I ordered." Derek's fingers drummed lightly as his hand held the outside of the doorframe, his other arm hanging loosely at his side.

    "Oh I'm not-" stiles is interrupted by Derek stepping toward him.

    "Stiles you haven't eaten since I've been back- for one. And two, I smell blood, we need to change your bandages, and check your rids." Derek spent no hesitation speaking, then stepping forward again and causing the younger to back into his room.

    "I can do it." Stiles answered immediately. His hand finding his forearm as he continued to back away from Derek's approaching steps.

    "You know how to look for injured rubs. Or think you'll be able to wrap your arms up properly again. Or chest." Derek placed a single hand to Stiles's shoulder/collarbone and pushed back. Stiles fell down to his bed.