Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Summary: Stiles is a babbler. Stiles is a babbler and his big mouth leads to him getting hurt, and the fact that he's bleeding onto Derek's floor doesn't make it any less true.
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt!Stiles, Bisexual!Stiles, mentions of Lydia, minor Stydia background, I suck at tagging really
A/N: To all the Sterek shippers that might read this: I'm a Stydia shipper and I will be until my dying breath but Sterek means something to me as well. I don't see Sterek romantically in canon but I do think that their relationship has evolved with time and that their friendship should have been more explored in the show. Regardless, I think Sterek has great potential in fanon and I've read countless Sterek fics to the date. AUs are my favorite. I think there are immense possibilities to write Sterek in alternative settings, let alone the fact that there are amazing Sterek fics' writers out there, so a shout out to them. Besides, to me Stiles is clearly bisexual even if they've been ignoring it more and more in canon. It was written from the very beginning, they just didn't go for it. In my honest opinion, Stiles/Lydia/Derek could have been quite the trio.
This is not my first time writing fanfiction and I'm still relatively new to writing it (going on 11 months now), but I've only written for Stydia. And even though I've written quite a few fics so far, this is my first time writing for Sterek, so please go easy on me. Still, I'd love to know what you think about it. And pleasekeep in mind that English is not my first language.
That said, this little birthday drabble is dedicated to Leonie (leetje on tumblr/twitter) and it's set three years in the future, when Derek is back in Beacon Hills. Even if I'm more comfortable with Sterek AUs, I tried to write this closer to canon. I hope you like it :)
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"The planet is fine. The peopl-" Stiles winces when Derek helps him take off his plaid and touches his bicep to check the bleeding wound. "The people are fucked."
Derek tries his best to keep his mouth shut since Stiles can't seem to be able to. At least he hasn't in the last twenty minutes; he's been talking his ears off ever since Derek picked him up. Derek would take it for shock if it wasn't Stiles' usual blabbering self.
"Seriously though," Stiles continues. "Who the fuck just tries to rob a guy? And with a knife?" he asks, almost incredulous. "What kind of world are we livin' in?"
Derek rolls his eyes, gesturing for Stiles to sit on the couch while he goes look for the first aid kit. "It's not like we're in Beacon Hills or anything," the werewolf remarks sarcastically, raising his tone a little bit so that Stiles can hear him from the other room.
Derek doesn't hear a response but ignores it, grabbing the kit and a couple of small towels from the bathroom, along with a bowl with clean water from the kitchen. After placing everything on the coffee table in front of Stiles, he goes back to bring out a small metallic container and a bottle of vodka as well, returning to the living room to find Stiles pacing around the loft, dripping blood to the floor like he doesn't even notice he's doing it, flailing arms and a hyperactive stance that Derek would see on Stiles on any normal day. But Stiles doesn't bleed as a general rule, not if Derek or anyone else from the pack can help it. "I thought I told you to sit."
"You know I can't just stay still," Stiles quips, continuing walking back and forth and tripping on his own two feet like the clumsy little bastard he is because of the adrenaline. As a reflex, Derek grabs his elbow so that Stiles doesn't fall on his face and Stiles winces in pain again, the blood staining Derek's hand where he's touching Stiles.
Derek relaxes his grip on him to a gentler grasp, but still firm enough to direct Stiles to the couch and make him sit. Stiles mumbles something incoherent but Derek dismisses it, opening the first aid kit on the coffee table and taking out several items, taking a seat as well. "You are supposed to be still. You haven't stopped moving your arm ever since-"
"I was almost stabbed to death?" he asks exaggeratedly. "I'm aware."
Derek does groan this time, pulling the sleeve of Stiles' t-shirt up to his shoulder and taking a better look at the wound. "That's barely a scratch, Stiles."
It isn't. He knows that it isn't but making Stiles more anxious won't play in his favor. Stiles is already pale as it is.
"I know it's not, okay? Just..." Stiles lowers his head, focusing his gaze on anything but his hands, dirty with his own blood. His head is pounding. "Just fix it." There's a moment of silence between them, an uncertainty and almost shyness settling itself in the quiet room that makes the silence seem bigger than it is. Derek almost thinks of teasing Stiles further to distract him when Stiles murmurs almost inaudibly "You can fix it, right? Please?"
There's a tremble of pain in his voice, Derek notices, and he doesn't hesitate in placing one of his hands on Stiles' arm to ease it. Stiles turns to face Derek quickly, jolted at the contact, but realizes it's only to relieve him from the ache. He can't help but to be a little disappointed at that.
Derek doesn't say anything, just waits for the black lines to disappear in between deep breaths. "Better?"
Stiles blushes despite himself, more so when Derek's fingertips brush softly on his arm as he pulls his hand away. If deliberately or just a coincidence, Stiles wouldn't know. "Y- Yeah. Thanks."
"Shouldn't you call your dad?" Derek asks, genuinely curious as to why Stiles decided to call him and not someone else. If anything, to know if Lydia was right.
"Just because I'm 21 and still living with him, doesn't mean I have to tell him everything," Stiles replies a little more bitterly than intended, the adrenaline starting to wear off.
"I meant as in he's the Sheriff and someone just tried to rob you. Attacked you, actually. What the hell were you thinking, trying to fight back? You're human, Stiles."
"Hey, I'm not defenseless!"
"Could have fooled me." Because why not provoke Stiles a little bit? It's not like their conversations are 90 to 95% snark and banter all the time, anyway, and Stiles obviously could use the distraction. "Do you still faint at the sight of blood?"
Derek regrets asking it the second Stiles pales visibly at his question and avoids his gaze, looking down at his own stained hands this time. It takes him a moment to reply. "I wish I did."
The words are hushed with such honesty that Derek stills. He knows exactly what Stiles means. Maybe if he hadn't seen so much blood in his life, nothing would have changed. Fainting at the sight of blood would be a blessing contrasting with what they're faced with constantly in a world of supernatural creatures and danger hiding in the dark.
Derek doesn't say anything, choosing instead to pour some vodka on the metallic recipient and disinfecting the equipment, then soaking the end of one of the towels with some more of it to clean Stiles' wound. He doesn't say anything when Stiles snatches the bottle from his hands and takes a swig either. The cut is deep enough that it'll need stitches, but Stiles had been adamant in not wanting to call anyone for this, not even Melissa. Anyone but Derek, that is.
Stiles gulps and straightens up when the alcohol burns the open flesh of his bicep, hissing through clenched teeth and muttering curse words that Derek wouldn't have caught if he wasn't a werewolf. When the thread is in the needle, Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles in question and Stiles just nods silently in response and looks away, his hands in closed fists on his lap because of how anxious he actually is about this. He may not faint at the sight of blood anymore but it doesn't mean that's he's that much stronger in that department. It still makes him uneasy.
If Derek didn't need both his hands to stitch Stiles up, he'd reach out to him and offer some comfort. At least, he thinks so.
Okay, he knows so.
At least, it's what he feels like doing.
How Stiles would take it is another matter entirely.
It takes him a few minutes to close the wound and bandage it up. By the time he's finished, Stiles is eerily quiet.
"All done."
His voice seems to break whatever reverie Stiles was in. "Oh." Stiles examines his arm, how neatly the bandage is arranged over the cut. He nods curtly. "Thanks."
"What were you doing in this side of town anyway?" Derek asks nonchalantly as if he doesn't know the answer already, or thinks he knows, gathering all the items so that he can start cleaning his living room.
"I uh..." Stiles fidgets on his lap, refraining from touching the wound since it feels a little numb. "I thought I could stop by. No one else is in town."
"So you came here out of boredom?" Derek asks, furrowing his eyebrows to disguise his amusement.
"No!" Stiles gets up, helping Derek return the items to their rightful places and throwing the towels into the laundry basket. "Scott is still at UC Davis and Lydia at Stanford. They're only coming back next week, so..."
"So it's the first week of summer break and you're all by yourself back home. You were bored," Derek says pointedly.
"Okay, so maybe I was bored," he spurts out. "But-"
"You got mugged because you were bored."
Stiles scratches the back of his neck, flushing good-naturedly. "Don't remind me. Just... Please don't say anything to my dad. He's got plenty on his hands already and this is nothing. And Scott and Lydia too. No one really needs to know." If Lydia finds out about this, she's gonna kill him. This wasn't part of the plan.
"It wasn't nothing."
"I managed okay, right?" Stiles asks, trying to change the course of the conversation. "I mean, it was only a gash. Could have been worse, right?"
Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Stiles really doesn't seem to know how much he means to everyone from the pack sometimes. "Next time you run away from trouble, not into it. Not if you're alone."
Stiles' mouth falls open. "The guy wanted the keys to my Jeep. What was I supposed to do?!"
Stiles kept saying on their way to the loft that the robbery was about the vehicle in itself, because Roscoe is a gift from the gods on Earth. Derek is a 100% sure that it was because Stiles had his laptop on the backseat for everyone to see.
"Hand them to him and finally get rid of that piece of junk," Derek snorts, making his way to the fridge to find it almost empty.
"You know what? I'm regretting coming here already," Stiles decides. Right.
"Why did you, then?"
"I couldn't drive, obviously. And you were my only chance at not getting into more trouble, so I called you."
Derek leans against one of the counters, crossing his arms at his chest in defiance. "I meant before. Why did you want to come here in the first place?" Stiles ignores the best he can that he knows Derek heard his heart skip a beat just then.
It hadn't even been his idea, really. It had been Lydia's, but Derek already suspected as much anyway. It's not like the redhead had been shy about praising Stiles' prowess in bed, either regarding herself or the many other adventures Stiles has been living in college, with girls and boys alike, adventures that she keeps hearing about constantly from some of their classmates. College is a time for experimenting anyway, right?
Granted, she hadn't explicitly said that Stiles wants Derek but she had been blunt enough that the werewolf could take the hint. In the last two months alone, Derek can easily recall at least five occasions where Lydia would make a comment or leave the two of them alone to deal with their tension - god knows it's unbearable and the attraction, both ways, is more than obvious.
Still, until now, neither had made a move so Lydia took it upon herself to fix it, sending Stiles home early without her as she finishes her endless exams, promising him a summer of torture if he didn't go and meet Derek during the whole week they'll have by themselves in Beacon Hills.
Stiles takes Lydia's threats very seriously.
"Honestly, I'm not sure." And he isn't, because obviously there's something there but Stiles doesn't really know what to make of it, let alone the fact that Derek is a freaking werewolf. And even if Lydia swears on her life that this is mutual, that it isn't just something one-sided, Stiles isn't really feeling like having his throat ripped out unless he's sure this goes both ways.
Derek understands, though, mostly because Lydia had spent the best part of the last two days nagging his patience about how "I should be studying but no. This is important, Derek, you have to listen to me. For the love of god, just do something about it!" followed by "You know you want to" before she proceeded to explain lightly how Stiles feels about the situation. But then again Derek knows that a big part of her concern is because Stiles is just wearing her off, and not in a way that pleases her. "He'll be home soon and just... Just do something, Derek. I can't hear him talking about you all day anymore, it's maddening. You do something about it or so help me, I will."
Derek takes Lydia's threats very seriously as well.
Besides, she's a certified genius. He trusts that she knows what she's talking about. Derek surprises even himself. "Well, we have a week to find out."
Stiles gawks at him incredulous once again, his blood painting his cheeks so quickly that he's almost ashamed of it.
Almost.
It's not like he can really control the way his body reacts in certain situations. "Lydia talked to you, didn't she?" Stiles doesn't even let Derek reply when he sees the hint of a smile. "I'm gonna kill her."
"You might want to wait until the end of the week for that. Who knows if you're gonna thank her..."
Stiles should have a comeback for that, he should! But then he's distracted with the way Derek slowly wanders around the loft to grab a mop, walking back to Stiles leisurely like most of their lives aren't spent running. It's absurd that Stiles doesn't have a comeback but he excuses it with being momentarily dazzled.
It's perfectly understandable, he thinks.
And then Derek is extending the mop to him and Stiles can't help but to frown at how Derek can frustratingly change the way he feels about him in an instant. "Go ahead and clean up your mess. I'll order something for dinner. You're paying."
"Bossy," Stiles mutters, trying to keep his heartrate steady at the prospect of having dinner with Derek, only Derek, and failing miserably.
"I heard you like it" is the only thing Derek replies with, and he has to laugh at the way he can almost feel the warmth emanating from Stiles' cheeks. Lydia can be fairly descriptive when she puts her mind to it.
He can only be thankful for the banshee, helping them out when they don't seem to be able to help themselves. He reminds himself of thanking her later. Her plan didn't pan out exactly as it should - he wasn't expecting Stiles to get hurt in the process in any way and he's sure Lydia didn't either - but if anything, Derek knows he's in for a week of fun, even if it means messing with Stiles in ways he hasn't been able to before. Not until now.
"Sourwolf," the human murmurs under his breath, pretending to ignore Derek's words as if they aren't true. Right.
Stiles doesn't see the smile on Derek's lips when the werewolf makes his way to the bedroom to find Stiles a shirt that isn't stained with blood, but he sure sees it when they both thank Lydia a week later.