Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/593550.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey, Erica_Reyes,
      Vernon_Boyd, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Peter
      Hale, Alan_Deaton, Melissa_McCall, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Human!Derek, Wolfsbane_Poisoning, Nurse!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional
      Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Baggage, First_Time, First_Kiss, sexy_times_are
      coming, I_promise, Post_Season_2, Hurt!Derek, Wolfsbane, Sheriff
      Stilinski_Knows, Awesome_Sheriff_Stilinski
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-15 Updated: 2013-05-07 Chapters: 3/? Words: 7766
****** Let Me Lick Your Wounds. ******
by TobyRosetta
Summary
     Derek shows up at Stiles house, bleeding, and hurt, and... human.
     After a surprise attack from a beta, Derek is poisoned with a strain
     of wolfsbane that completely suppresses his wolf, and makes him human
     for an indefinite length of time. (This originated as a drabble on my
     tumblr. www.tobyrosetta.tumblr.com )
***** Please. *****
 
 
Gasping, shuffling, lurching, Derek was focused on one thing only.
Stiles.
Get to Stiles.
Stiles was safety. Stiles could help him.
Derek was familiar with pain. He’d been shot, beaten, burned, hit by cars,
broken, and he always healed. For some reason, this time, he wasn’t. He didn’t
know why, but he was weak. He was no longer strong, or quick. His muscles felt
like lead weights after running, and fighting. His blood was drying on his
skin, and hardening into scabs, instead of healing, and fading away into
nothing.
He was…. human.
It had something to do with the frosty blue dust that covered his jacket. That
he’d inhaled, and swallowed. Something about it made his body… wrong. After the
rogue Omega who had seen fit to attack Derek had shoved a handful of the dust
onto his mouth and nose, things had changed. He’d come very close to dying
tonight, and that scared him.
His car was parked haphazardly at the curb in front of the Stilinski house. He
could come here, he was safe here, because he’d personally asked Deaton to help
Stiles ward his home against wolves. It was up to Stiles alone if he, or even
Scott, could come in, anymore.
Already, he was wishing that he could smell. It was like the world was suddenly
bland. His senses were dulled, making him feel hazy and sluggish. In the back
of his head, somewhere, he wondered if this was what a cold felt like. He’d
never been sick before, not like this. The only reason he could tell that
Stiles was home alone, was the presence of his jeep in the driveway, but a
distinct absence of the sheriffs Police Cruiser.
On any other day, Derek wouldn’t have cared. He’d have gone around the back, to
hop onto the roof and tap at the teens door, to be let in. Seeing as that was
out of the question, he shuffled his way, stiffly, to the front door. His foot
caught on one of the steps, but he caught himself at the last moment, by
slumping against the front door. A few desperately weak raps of his knuckle
against the wood went unanswered. Unheard. He tried the doorbell, but couldn’t
hear if it had gone off or not. Was there cotton in his ears? This was
ridiculous.
Unanswered again. Inhaling shakily, he pulled his phone free of his pocket,
with a shaky left hand. The Alpha’s right arm was cradled against his chest.
Fumbling, trying to get his eyes to focus on the cell phone screen, his fingers
went everywhere he didn’t want them to, smearing blood on the glass. He’d only
gotten one word typed, when at last the door swung open. Derek toppled over,
into the foyer, sprawled out on the floor with a whimper of pain.
The strip of mountain ash lain across the entryway hadn’t effected him. Was he
really human?
Coughing, and trying to move, it took Derek a few moments to tune in to Stiles,
and the freakout the teen was having.
“OHmyGOD Derek!? What the hell man?! What the… Whats wrong? Dude, why are you…
Oh God is that blood? Why are you bleeding on my floor?! I mean, I didn’t mean
it like… It’s just you’re not healing… Why aren’t you healing?!” Letting out a
growl, Derek was finally able to lever his left hand beneath him, rolling over,
and struggling up into a sitting position, releasing a trembling exhale.
He was embarrassed. Weak. Pathetic. Groveling. Hiding from weaklings of his own
kind at a humans home… Swallowing hard, he cast his eyes to the side, and
pressed the heal of his palm against his throbbing temple.
“I… need your help… Stiles..” He whispered, a wave of dizziness overcoming him.
But this time, it didn’t flicker, and pass. It overwhelmed him, and soon, it
carried him away to a world of grey, and then black.
Derek wasn’t passed out very long. No more than a few minutes on the floor,
when a rush of cold water over his face had him gasping in surprise, and then
again, in pain. “FUCK! STILES! Dammit!” He cursed, rolling onto his side,
dripping water from his face onto the hardwood floor. He had to take a moment
to blink it out of his eyes, beads of water clinging to the tips of his dark
eyelashes, enhancing the drama of them, when the mans hazel orbs fastened onto
Stiles face. Or rather, one eye glared. The other was nearly too swollen to
open, at the moment.
“Sorry, man, jeeze. You’re too heavy to move and you wouldn’t wake up! I
panicked!” The teen exclaimed in a strained, anxious voice. He…. Derek couldn’t
smell him…Immediately, he was swallowing, inhaling, flinching away. Just that
fact… It was like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Again.
“….Help me up.” He demanded. For a moment, Stiles stared at him. Derek
“Grumpyface McPissypants” Hale was asking (commanding, really) for help? An
inmpatient lift of his eyebrows let Stiles know that Derek was waiting, and on
autopilot, the teen jumped forward, grabbing the alpha under the arm, helping
to haul him up to his feet. Dereks other hand was latched onto the banister of
the stairs to add some extra leverage.
“So, you wanna explain to me a few things? Like, A) Why are you here? B) Who
fucked you up? And C) Why aren’t you healing?!”
I already regret coming here…
“Well, Stiles. I’m here because I’m hurt and need help, does it really matter
who did this right now? And if I KNEW why I wasn’t healing, I’D FIX IT!” Derek
snapped. Stiles jerked back, letting Derek sway, and rest his wait on the
railing for a moment. The younger male had never seen the wolf snap like that.
Normally, though, that level of anger, and irritation would be accompanied by
red eyes, and fangs. But there was nothing. Nothing but bruises, scruff, and
pain.
“…Shit… Man… Come on…” Sighing, Stiles stepped forward, and ducked down to loop
Dereks arm over his shoulder. It was a bit of an uncomfortable position at
first, since they were the same height, practically, but after a few steps,
they were able to adjust their weight, and make it work.
Sort of.
Climbing the stairs was a hue hassle, and in the midst of it, Stiles verbally
noted that this had to be the longest it had ever taken him to go up a flight
of stairs.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I inconveniencing you?” Derek drawled out. It was Stiles
turn to bristle in irritation from sarcasm.
“Yeah, you kind of are you ungrateful gimp. Shut up and focus. 5 more steps.”
He grumbled before pursing his lips, physically straining to haul Derek up, and
towards the bathroom across the hall from his room. Using his foot to tap the
lid down all the way, Stiles almost lost his balance, but out of sheer
willpower, he didn’t fall.
Derek slumped onto the closed toiled with a hiss, arm cradled protectively
around his sternum.
“Crap… Umm… Okay…. I guess, first aid, first. Take off your shirt and jacket.
They’re ruined anyway… Are those claw marks? Was it other werewolves?” Stiles
was talking and moving at the same time. He’d dug out an old first aid kit. A
big one, in a white case, with a big red cross on the front and everything.
Knowing Stiles awkwardness and his tendency to be less-than-stable on his own
feet, Melissa had probably insisted on giving them a medical grade kit.
Derek had stayed still, watching for a moment, before resigning himself to
obey, pulling his garments off painfully slowly. Stiles had to try really
REALLY hard to not tap his toes. His… bare toes. Derek only just realized, when
his un-hindered eye focused on the ground, hunched over to wriggle out of the
shreds of his formerly grey shirt, that Stiles wasn’t wearing shoes, or socks.
He could see each of the boys long, but not freakishly so, toes. When he wasn’t
shifting around from foot to foot, those toes curled, clenched, and relaxed
many times.
Straightening just enough that he wasn’t staring creepily at the human teens
feet, Dereks gaze swept upward, taking in the other details. Like the fact that
Stiles was wearing black, baggy, cotton pajama pants with an energy drink logo
printed in an annoying neon color all over them. His upper body was covered in
a long sleeved thermal shirt, a t-shirt over that. Was the boy so self
conscious of his own body that he wore this much, even when he was alone? It
wasn’t cold in the Stilinski house, so he couldn’t rationalize it that way….
“OW, FUCK!” The sting of pain wrenched Derek out of his thoughts. He felt like
a dog with his hackles up. Stiles had instinctively jerked away, holding up a
alcohol saturated pad of gauze in his hand, stained just faintly, with blood,
from a claw mark on Dereks shoulder that he’d started to clean.
“….Quit being a pussy, man. Hell, I’ve seen you break bones without too much of
a flinch.” Stiles sounded like he was in disbelief. Seeing this side of Derek
was foreign to him. Derek took in an attempt at a calming breath through his
nose, nostrils flaring as he repeated it, and forced himself to relax back onto
his seat.
“I wasn’t expecting it, okay? I just got mauled, I’m a little out of sorts.” He
rasped out,licking his dry lips. Stiles just chuckled, and leaned in again, to
go back to what he’d been trying to do. His hands were a little more hesitant,
until he finally pressed the sanitizing fabric against the wound. The only sign
that Derek registered it was the telling flex of a tendon in his pronounced
jaw. Like he was biting back on his teeth to keep in his reaction.
“Mauled is an appropriate term. You look like a couple of bears decided to play
catch, and you volunteered to be the ball. Now, are you going to explain what
happened to me, or are you saving it to pantomime to me in a bracing game of
charades, later?” Derek didn’t answer for a long time as Stiles systematically
cleaned all of his wounds, practically sponge-bathing him in alcohol.
“I was investigating something. Erica had been running through the forest, and
thought she’d smelled someone. A new werewolf. If there’s a wolf in my
territory, I need to know about it. Well, it turns out that there’s a few
wolves in my territory, and they have some new tricks up their sleeve. Namely,
a silvery blue powder that smells like candy, and seems to have made me
completely human.” The mans tone was a little bitter.
Okay, ‘a little’ is kind of a big understatement…. Stiles thought quietly, as
he started bandaging the scratches. After a few moments, it seemed more like he
was trying to create a mummy.
“…I think I over did it a little…” He mused out loud, only to receive a
disparaging glare.
“You think?” Was the retort. Stiles rolled his eyes, and took off the
superfluous wrappings, so that Derek was only as bound as he absolutely needed
to be.
“Alright… So how are we getting you home?” Stiles asked curiously. “Do I have
to take you in my jeep? Does this mean I get to drive the Camaro?!” He suddenly
lit up, only to deflate when Derek shot him a look that plainly asked ‘are you
a fucking idiot?’
“There’s no way I’m going home. It’s not safe. I’m human now, but I think I
know why. The wolves that did this to me were beta’s. They’re trying to get me
weak, so they can kill me. Whatever this is, I’m betting it’s temporary. Making
my wolf dormant long enough that they can kill me, and claim my alpha power.
I’ve got to wait this out, and I can’t do that if I’m not safe. Do you want
another batshit crazy alpha out on the loose, like Peter?” He could practically
hear Peters insulted retort to that.
“What, you mean… You think you’re staying here?! Nu uh, buddy! Not happening!
My dad had you in HANDCUFFS, and has had warrants for your arrest, TWICE, now.
You think he’s just gonna… Believe you’re a reformed criminal, and let you
sleep over? No. Not happening. Go stay at Scotts, you guys are furry brothers.
What about your pack? Isaac, or Boyd? Wouldn’t you be safer around a werewolf,
not a human?” Derek could see the panic that Stiles was going through at the
suggestion, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. He felt so numb, and daze. Like
there was a blanket over him, and it was just sheer enough that he could hear,
and see through it, but everything was unclear.
Stiles, to him, had always been a beacon of feeling. His pulse was always
jumping all over the place, his scent changing, sometimes by the second. He
felt emotions so strongly, and so quickly, that he was never boring to be
around. Even if he did have some bad talking habits…
Desperate, Derek reached out, grabbing Stiles wrist to press his fingertips
into his pulse, forehead pressed against the teens fabric covered ribs.
“…Please.” He whispered.
Close, like this, he could feel the life inside of Stiles, and that calmed him
more than anything else could.
***** You got some explainin' to do. *****
Chapter Summary
     It's a long over-due talk.
“Woah… Easy…” Stiles directed quietly as he guided Derek into his bedroom.
Cleaned up, for the most part, Stiles wanted to get Derek laying down, and
resting, so he could clean up the bathroom and try to figure out what to tell
his dad.
“What are you doing?” Derek demanded to know, as he sank onto the edge of
Stiles bed, looking around. Normally, whenever he was in this room, he was
overwhelmed with the stench of teenage hormones, and an aroma that was uniquely
Stiles. Today, though, it was just a room. Under-whelming and plain. A little
bit messy too. As if he could read the thoughts on Dereks face, Stiles rolled
his eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting company, okay? As for what I’m doing, I’m cleaning up, and
trying to think of what I could possibly tell my dad, to make him okay with
this. Right now, there’s blood in the foyer, and the bathroom, and a currently
broken werewolf in my bed! So… you just… lay down, and sleep, while I take care
of this situation.” Stiles ranted irritably, all the while scooping up clothes
that littered the floor into his hamper. While he was at it, he knocked a few
empty energy drink cans into his garbage bin.
“Stiles-“
“That’s not sleeping, that’s talking.” He cut in sharply, before leaving the
bedroom, door closing behind him. Derek sighed roughly, staring at the door
where he’d just been looking at the outline of Stiles body.
“-Thanks.” He finished quietly. Gingerly, Derek shifted back and nudged his
shoes off onto the floor, before laying down. He had to admit, Stiles bed was
comfortable. More comfortable than the cot he had set up at his burnt shell of
a house. The cold pillow on the back of his neck was soothing, and despite the
glow of Stiles computer screen, he was able to drift off into an exhausted,
dreamless slumber.
Stiles, on the other hand, was so keyed up, sleep was the farthest thing from
his mind. The first order of business was throwing away the bloody cloth he’d
used to mop up the blood from Dereks flesh, and clean his wounds. He made sure
to shove them to the bottom of the bathroom garbage bin, and stowed the first
aid kid carefully back where it was supposed to go. A quick rinse of the sink,
and the toilet where Derek had been sitting found Stiles satisfied that there
was no evidence to be found in the bathroom.
Practically running down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Stiles pulled
the bleach out of the laundry room, filling a bucket with water, and some of
the cleaner. “As if I don’t already do enough for his wolfy-butt…” Stiles
grumbled as he got on hands and knees, scrubbing the hard wood of the entryway.
Engrossed in his chore, Stiles didn’t hear the car door, or the footsteps
guiding up to the front door. When it swung open, nearly hitting him in the
head, he had to jump backwards and pull the bucket out of the way, before it
got knocked over.
“….Stiles…. What in God’s name are you doing?” The Sheriff asked his son as he
stood there, staring down at him.
“Uh… hey Dad. You’re home…ea-Right on time! Wouldya look at that!” He exclaimed
after craning his neck to glance at the clock in the living room. “How was
work? Careful the floor is wet.”
“I can see that. Would you mind telling me why the floor is wet? And  why it
smells like bleach? You’re not cleaning up blood, are you?” His father was
still standing in the doorway, staring down at Stile who was grimacing at him
quietly, before looking away and sighing.
“Actually… I am…. Not mine! I’m alright!”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse, Stiles. Who was bleeding
in our house? Is Scott-“
“No, it wasn’t Scott. Scott’s fine. Scott’s at home, or something, I don’t
know.” At last, the Sheriff stepped in, carefully skirting around the freshly
cleaned section of hard-wood floor. Stiles carefully stood up, drying his hands
off on an old, ratty towel.
“I’m waiting for an explanation, Son.”
“I’m trying to think of one, Dad.” That got him a withering glare from his dad,
so Stiles sighed and lifted a hand to rub over his face, but stopped short with
a wrinkled nose when he smelled the bleach on his hand.
“Alright… Okay. So… umm… Why don’t you go and get changed, and lock your gun up
for the night, then I’ll explain everything, okay? Are you hungry? I’ll make
some food.” He started to leave the foyer, before turning back around and
grabbing the bucket of bleach-water, to carry into the kitchen. Dumping in the
sink, he was actually surprised to hear his dad walking upstairs, to do as he’d
suggested. Of course he wanted the Sheriff to put his gun away before he told
him that Derek was asleep in his bed.
Shit… Derek was asleep in his bed!
Stiles went as still as a rock, listening intently for the tell-tale signs of
where his dad was in the house. He knew every floor board creak, every groan
this old house made. Relief flooded him when he heard the high pitched squeak
of the loose board next to his father’s bed. Tossing the empty bucket into the
laundry room again, Stiles quickly scrubbed his hands and started to make his
dad a steak. A real one, though it was lean meat. If he was going to give his
dad bad news, he might as well butter him up first. It was halfway done by the
time the Sheriff surfaced in the kitchen at last.
“Stiles, I think you left a movie or a game on in your room. I could have sworn
I heard snoring when I walked past.
‘Goddammit, Derek, of course you would snore.’ Stiles mentally whined, flipping
the burger.
“Uh… Right, well…” Stiles grabbed a beer out of the fridge and handed it to his
father. “That’s… actually a person, in there, snoring. The person who was
bleeding in the entry, remember?” Sighing, Stiles dad sat down at the table,
and took a long drink off of his beer.
“Alright. I’m sitting, I’m placated, I’m unarmed. Tell me what’s going on.”
Swallowing thickly, Stiles licked his lips anxiously and lifted his hands,
mouth open and poised to speak. He was prepared to spin this beautiful, winding
tale, but the look on his dads face was too much for him, and he sagged
visibly.
“Derek Hale is asleep in my bed right now.”
“….Come again? I think I misheard you. You said Der-“
“Derek Hale. Tall, dark, grumpy, yeah, you heard me right.”
“The same Derek Hale that I’ve had in prison, and a warrant to arrest after you
and Scott accused him of murder, twice?” Blanching at the reminders, Stiles
turned back to the stove, nudging the cooking steak around.
“Derek didn’t kill anyone, dad. There’s… a lot of stuff that’s been going on
this year, but Dereks a good guy. Scott and I didn’t know him that well, when
all of that stuff happened, but he’s saved our butts a couple of times since
then, and we’ve helped him out too. I wouldn’t… say were exactly friends, yet,
but we have mutual friends and… He’s not a criminal. Besides, Laura, and the
janitor at the school were both determined to have been killed by wild animals,
remember?”
Stiles could feel his dad staring at him. He just knew It was one of his
disappointed stares too, and it hurt.
“Alright. Fine. So he’s not a criminal. But he isn’t… I don’t know him. You
don’t talk about hanging out with him, what am I supposed to think? What do you
mean he’s ‘saved’ you and Scott? Stiles I overlook a lot of shit but-“
“Dad, stop. Look, I’ll tell you everything, okay?” The seemed to surprise the
Sheriff into falling silent. Stiles finished making his dads dinner, pairing a
salad with the steak and setting it down in front of the tired looking man.
Stiles sat across the table from him, and folded his hands in front of him,
though his fingers still tapped and wiggled anxiously.
“Okay. I’m listening.” Waiting until his dad started eating, Stiles took a deep
breath.
“It all kind of started that night that everyone was out searching for the
other half of Laura’s body. Scott and I were out looking together. I know I
told you I was alone, but you already knew I was lying. Anyway, when you caught
me, Scott went to go back home alone. He got attacked by something out there
though. The same ‘wild animal’ that killed Laura. It bit him, on the side. I
saw the wound, in all its bloody glory, myself, the next day at school. The
next day though… It was gone. Complete. Not even a scar….”
It took an hour to explain everything. He didn’t leave out a single detail
except for the fact of Peter coming back from the dead. That one was a little
too hard to explain. And the whole time, his dad remained silent, eating his
dinner. His poker face was perfect, and left Stiles a little scared.
“So… uh… that’s where we are now. Werewolves, and stuff.” He finished lamely,
sighing. For another long minute, silence reigned between the two Stilinski
men, until at last the Sheriff looked up, setting his beer bottle aside.
“Okay. So, assuming I believe all of this… werewolf stuff… You’re telling me
that werewolf Derek Hale is asleep in your bed, and he was the one that was
bleeding on our floor? But you said werewolves can heal and… “ He was lost for
words as he tried to make sense of it.
“I can call Scott over here to prove it to you, Dad. It’s not make believe,
okay? I’d wake Derek up to have him show you but… he’s kind of broken right
now, and won’t be healing for a while. I have to take him to see Dr. Deaton
tomorrow, and find out more about this.  But basically, some new Werewolves are
in town, Beta’s, and they’re trying to kill Derek. Derek’s an Alpha, and one of
the way’s a Beta werewolf can become an Alpha is by killing an Alpha. The
problem with that is, Alpha’s are incredibly strong. Too strong for a regular
Beta to take down alone. So they drugged him with some kind of weird Wolfsbane
that makes it so he can’t… wolf out anymore.”
“Stiles, I know you’re really into your video games and comics but-“
“Dad! I’m being completely serious here, okay? Completely. Tell me it doesn’t
fit together? Everything I told you fills in the holes that you’ve been trying
to figure out, right?” Stiles was trying to not get angry. He couldn’t blame
his dad for having a hard time believing.
“Look, it’s…”
“Mrs. McCall knows, too. She saw Scott transform, at the police station. You
were unconscious. Matt had shot Scott right in front of her, and… If you won’t
let me call Scott over, then call her, and ask her. She’ll tell you it’s true.”
That seemed to resonate with his father. Melissa McCall was one of the most
levelheaded, down to earth individuals he knew, a longtime friend, thanks to
Stiles and Scott’s friendship.
“…Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Stiles?” He asked finally. That was the
question that had been pressing on him. Stiles face fell a little bit, and he
buried his face into his hands.
“Because…. It was easier having you confused and in the dark than scared for me
24/7. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy, or to hate Scott. It’s his secret
more than it is mine. There are people who kill werewolves for the simple fact
of what they are. It’s more and more dangerous with every knew person that
finds out about all of this.” He replied in a thick voice, before reflexively
clearing his throat, hands slipping from his cheeks to fold together loosely in
front of his face. Gently, he rested his chin on his fingers and looked up at
his father’s concerned face.
“Stiles, I’m your dad. It’s my job to be scared for you 24/7. For Godssake, I
thought you were doing drug, or petty crime.” He exhaled as it he was at least
a little relieved. The thought of that made the Sheriff laugh inwardly. “God…
I’m actually happy that you’re… running with werewolves, instead of doing
drugs.” He muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well, you know, Werewolves are a gateway mythical creature. Before you know
it, I’ll be riding unicorns and slaying dragons; hosting weekly poker games
with leprechauns.” Stiles suggested with a bit of a grin. Joking his way out of
a tense situation always worked best for him. This time, his father actually
did laugh a little.
He sobered soon enough though, and stood up to carry his cold plate over to the
sink, to rinse it off.
“So how long are we playing host for Mr. Hale?” He asked stiffly. Stiles
relaxed with a visible sag to his shoulders.
“Just until his wolfliness comes back, and he can protect himself again. It
shouldn’t be very long. You’re the best, Dad.” Stiles jumped up, taking the
plate and shooing his dad away. “Go to bed. I’ll finish up the dishes.” He
ordered, already grabbing the pan to start scrubbing it.
“Stiles… What else aren’t you telling me?” His father asked after a long
silence. Stiles only faltered for a second, before continuing to scrub the
brillo-pad over the pan.
“Too much honesty for one night dad. Anymore, and I’ll start having an allergic
reaction. That’s… a talk for a different day. Just… take comfort when I say
it’s perfectly mundane and not life threatening in anyway at all.” Finally,
after another minute, the Sheriff slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Stiles to
sigh in relief, slumping over the dishes. That went way better than
anticipated…
Thump! Jumping at the muffled sound, and a curse from his dad, Stiles shut the
water off, about to investigate when his dad reappeared suddenly, setting a box
on the table, with a single labored breath.
“The air mattress… So… you know… you don’t have to share….. yeah.” Stiles
cheeks almost immediately flared red as he gaped at his father, glancing
between him and the box.
“I… Wha… Dad… Thanks, but… Ugh, go to bed will you!? I’m fine.” Stiles
brandished a soapy spatula towards the door, snorting a little when some suds
flung onto his dads arm. The Sheriff just grumbled at him, wiping it off and
shuffling out. Stiles had only just started to turn back to the sink when his
dad’s head poked around the door-frame.
“Do you want me to clear out the old guest room? We can set the futon up in
there for him instead, and that way you wouldn’t have to sh-“
“Dad! Seriously! I love you, go to bed! You have to be up in…. 6 hours for
work! “ Stiles lectured in exasperation. Pursed lips, Sheriff Stilinski
conceded defeat with a hand raised in surrender.
“Alright, alright. Goodnight, son.” He replied, finally. Stiles heard him
shuffling towards the stairs. At last, he could relax again. He was rinsing out
the pot when he realized that he hadn’t heard the stairs creak yet. Quietly, he
glanced to his left, and caught his father, mid shuffle, back into the kitchen.
“What are you…” Stiles frowned, in confusion, looking his dad over. The sheriff
winced out a grin as he reached out and set a bulky black object down on top of
the air-mattress box.
“I’m just gonna… leave this here, if you want to put it under your pillow…
Okay, going to bed, goodnight!” This time, it seemed like his dad couldn’t get
upstairs fast enough. In seconds, he could hear him opening, and closing his
bedroom door. Another glance at the object his father had put on the box made
Stiles released a strangled groan, and exclamation.
“A taser?! Really, dad?!” He knew his father would hear him, through the thin
walls of the house. The muffled laughter that followed proved it. “Jesus….
Christ… seriously. He’s a werewolf, not a face eating alien.” He grumbled
silently as he finished loading up the dishwasher.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles and Derek finally get a few answers.
“Fuck...” Stiles grunted out, panting softly as he pushed again. How was he
supposed to fit it through such a tight opening? He realized now that he really
should have thought a little bit harder before fully inflating the damn thing
and then trying to get it in. Thrusting his hips a little, he was trying to get
at least some kind of headway, but he was close to giving up when the thing
didn’t budge. The last thing he wanted was to wake Derek up.
 
At last, Stiles hand an idea. He stepped back, wiping a few beads of sweat off
of his forehead.
 
Tugging the fully inflated air mattress out from the door frame, he angled it a
little so it was more diagonal than vertical, sliding it effortlessly into his
bedroom. Luckily, his grunting and cursing hadn’t woken Derek, or his father.
Quietly, Stiles shuffled into the room, sliding the air mattress across the
floor until it flopped down flat between his bed, and his desk. Derek was sound
asleep, looking like he was literally trying to become part of the mattress
with how loose and relaxed he was. It was like he’d lain down, and fallen
asleep the moment his head rested back on the pillow. He didn’t even have the
blankets on him. Rolling his eyes, Stiles glanced out the window at the full
moon. Any other time, and he would have been pretty freaked out about having a
werewolf on his bed, sleeping, on the night of the full moon. “I hope you’re
not broken for long, buddy, you’re seriously cramping my sleep-style.” Tugging
his blankets up over Dereks legs, Stiles justified his next action with how
nice he’d been to cover Derek up.
 
Stiles stuck a tongue out between his teeth in concentration as he slid a hand
beneath Dereks scalp, and lifted, slipping one of his pillows out from under
his head. Gently, he lowered him back down, and leaned away, breathing out a
sigh of relief. Derek let out a rumbling snore, as he shifted, and settled down
again.
 
“Man I really should be a ninja.” He whispered to himself with a fist pump in
celebration. Depositing the pillow onto the air mattress, Stiles silently got a
spare blanket from his closet, and surrendered himself to the slight comfort of
his temporary bed. He’d almost expected to have a hard time falling asleep that
night after everything that had happened. But the clock hist 2 am just a few
moments later, and he was already on his way to snoring.
 
                                                     
===============================================================================
 
 
 
“Mnnnn yeah.... put that nut...ella.... on...spread it...” Stiles muttered in
his sleep, shifting as he unwillingly started to wake up.
 
“...Nutella?” Derek asked incredulously as he sat, stiffly at the edge of the
bed. He’d just come back in from a trip to the bathroom. Stiles jerked awake at
his guests voice, sitting upright with a bit of a dramatic flail.
 
“Oh God Derek! You scared the shit out of me!” He exclaimed, resting a hand
over his pounding heart. Derek frowned slightly when he realized he couldn’t
hear it... That jack-rabbit pace that was undoubtedly aiding in the way Stiles
face was coloring pink. He let out a soft breath, and scratched his collarbone
with that same hand.
 
“...You talk in your sleep.” Derek replied, causing Stiles to pause where he
had been shimmying off of the air mattress.
 
“O-oh? I hope I didn’t say anything too embarrassing. Knowing me though I
probably did.” He muttered the last part to himself, grunting as he hauled
himself up to his feet, wincing as he stretched, back popping.
 
“You didn’t have to let me have your bed last night, Stiles. You should have
woken me up and traded spots with me.” Derek watched the teen’s stiff movements
as he warmed up and got his joints moving.
 
“Derek, really? Shut up. Like hell I’m letting you sleep on the floor, all beat
to shit like you are. Come on, let’s get some food.” He grumbled, glancing one
more time at Derek and his ridiculously disheveled hair. He snorted out a
little laugh and grinned, heading out his room and down the stairs. It pleased
him, somewhere deep down, to know that Derek didn’t just wake up with perfect
hair and a sexy smolder on his face. Maybe he was a little bit normal.
 
Derek followed after Stiles, a little slower. If this was how it felt to be
human, Derek was suddenly very grateful to have been born a werewolf. This
human world was dull, and slow, and painful. It gave him a new level of
admiration for Stiles. The human boy who somehow managed to keep up with a pack
of werewolves. Hobbling around the banister and walking into the kitchen, Derek
watched Stiles snatch up a dry pancake from a plate loaded with them.
 
“Looks like Dad made breakfast.” He muttered, just loud enough for Derek to
catch. Beside the plate was a note, scribbled out in the Sheriff’s handwriting.
Stiles leaned on the counter, eating the pancake he’d grabbed with his hand,
while reading it. It didn’t take him long, before he was crumpling it up and
throwing it in the trash. “Dad cleared out the guest room for you to stay in. I
can’t tell if he’s trying to keep you from killing me, or fucking me.” Stiles
announced, his mouth full. Derek was glad he hadn’t started eating, or he would
have choked.
 
“W-woah woah woah, hold up. Your dad....” Derek started. Stiles had
unceremoniously shoved the rest of his pancake into his mouth, making his
cheeks puff out ridiculously. After a few deliberate chews, Stiles gulped the
lump down and pulled down another plate, splitting the pancakes and cooked
bacon equally in half between them, grabbing some syrup from the fridge.
 
“Uh... Yeah. Dad came in last night while I was.... you know... just innocently
cleaning your blood off the floor by the door. He had a few questions,
naturally... So I told him everything.” Stiles shrugged, as if it was nothing.
Really though, he was tense, and nervous, not wanting Derek to flip out over
this. After a moment of pouring waaay too much syrup over his pancakes, Stiles
glanced up. Even human, Dereks glare made his stomach clench in fear.
 
“You...told him....everything?” Derek gritted out between his clenched teeth.
Stiles gave a hesitant laugh and set the syrup aside before it overflowed off
of his plate.
 
“Ummm..... If I say yes, will you try to not kill me?” Stiles asked in a
hopeful voice.
 
“Youtold him?! Stiles! How could you be so stupid! Your dad is the Sheriff! He-
” Derek had started in on him, getting worked up.
 
“He deserves to know!” Stiles yelled, slamming the plastic bottle on the table.
It made a lot more noise than he anticipated, and his grip around the bottle
earned him ending up with a healthy spurt of maple flavored sugary liquid all
over his face and chest. For a moment, he gaped at Derek in surprise.
 
Derek tried. He really did try very hard to not laugh. Yet when Stiles
surprised face turned to one of pure offense as he looked accusingly down at
the bottle, he broke and started to laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.
Even though it made the claw marks on his chest ache and pull. It made his
whole body ache, but still he couldn’t stop until tears were welling at the
corners of his eyes, and Stiles had joined in against his will. He’d tried very
hard to maintain an angry stance against Derek but seeing the other fall apart
into laughter was rare, and infectious. Finally, they managed to sober and
Stiles started to clean himself off at the sink.
 
“Fuuck I’m gonna have to take a shower.” He chuckled out as he stripped his
overshirt off, leaving him in just his long sleeved undershirt. Finally, he sat
at the table, and faced Derek.
 
“Look... Stiles.” Derek started, but the teen interrupted him.
 
“Derek, I know we need to keep your secret as best we can, but I can’t keep
lying to my dad. You know what he thought? He thought I was doing drugs, or
 getting broken into some kind of crime syndicate with you as this big bad
mafioso. He knew something was up, and you’re going to be staying here for a
while... He has a right to know what’s going on. Being Sheriff... This could be
a good thing. He understands what’s going on, he can help us. He knows the
details, so he understands what’s going on, he’s not going to point straight to
you the next time a murder happens. Derek.... You need to trust people.” Stiles
finished. Derek had taken a few bites while Stiles had ranted off on his own
tangent, but he stilled with that final comment. “You trust me, right? Well, my
dad raised me. He’s a good man, who will always do the right thing, even if it
kills him. I know.” He stared at his soggy pancakes, and cut off a huge piece,
shoving it into his mouth. After a while of silence, Derek finally sighed.
 
“Okay. I’ll.... I’ll trust him.” Stiles hadn’t actually expected Derek to give
in so easily. After a moment, he smiled, and nodded. The rest of their meal was
spent idly trading idea’s and theories about what happened to Derek, and how
long he’d be like this. Finally, Derek shrugged with one shoulder. “We’ll go
talk to Deaton. I’m sure he knows something about this. He... he knows a lot
more than he lets on sometimes.”
 
“Yeah.... I still don’t know what to make of Deaton. I mean... He knows so
much, so why won’t he just tell us shit before it’s an emergency with someone
bleeding out or high on some weird wolfsbane catnip, or sprouting scales?”
Stiles complained, face scrunched up a little as he pondered his own question.
 
With breakfast finished, Stiles showered, and managed to find some clothes to
fit Derek. Clothes that weren’t bloody, or a god-awful shade of blue and
orange. Stiles honestly didn’t know why he even had that shirt. The only time
he’d ever worn it was after Derek had tried it on, and reminded him he had it.
 
Okay maybe he’d put it on because it still kinda smelled like Derek and he
possibly had worn it to bed that night... That was beside the point.
 
Dressed, and clean, Stiles gave Derek a few painkillers, regular store-bought
brand, before they climbed into the jeep. As a last minute thought, he had
grabbed Derek’s ruined leather jacket to bring with them..
 
The drive to the vets was silent, but not awkwardly so, as it had been in the
past when Stiles was stuck driving the Alpha around. Granted, this time it
wasn’t truly a situation of imminent life or death peril. They even let the
radio play a little bit. Stiles learned that Derek liked rock music more than
anything.
 
“I guess that makes sense. I didn’t take you much for an N*Sync fan.” Stiles
had commented with a laugh, when Derek picked a station playing some good old
Queensryche.
 
“Ugh. No. Backstreet boys were tolerable at least. Laura listened to them when
we were in Junior High.” He offered easily.
 
“Are you kidding me? Come on, Spice Girls is where it’s at, man!” Stiles
insisted, playfully arguing with him as they sat, parked at the Animal Hospital
now. Rolling his eyes, Derek huffed.
 
“You’re deranged, and I’m not sure I feel safe staying with you now.” He said,
in a deadpan tone, before he climbed out of the car. Stiles swore he saw a bit
of a grin as he turned to walk inside. Flopping out of the Jeep, the teen ran
to get past the door before it swung shut behind Derek.
 
===============================================================================
 
“.....So you’re telling me that this could be permanent.” Stiles said flatly.
Derek hadn’t spoken since he’d explained everything that had happened during
the attack, to Deaton. Leather jacket spread out on the metal exam table,
Stiles watched Deaton examine it. Derek was sitting quietly on the Vet’s
rolling chair from his office desk, watching as well.
 
“It might be, Stiles...” Deaton was never one for sugar-coating things. Sighing
roughly, he dragged his hand over his face.
 
“Best case scenario?” He asked finally, hoping for something even remotely
optimistic.
 
“Best case scenario, if Derek had only inhaled the powder, it would have worked
it’s way out of his system in a matter of days. He was wounded, though, and
it’s inevitable that it was introduced directly into his bloodstream.” The
elder man replied, looking up. He’d managed to find some of the power on the
jacket, hidden in a few crevices. Enough of it to scoop into a small glass
vial. Putting a stopper in it, he lifted it to the light, looking at the
silvery blue powder.
 
“You see, boys, the thing about Wolfsbane, is that it contains a very powerful
neurotoxin called Aconitine. It’s very dangerous to cultivate and process,
especially for humans. With Werewolves, there are simple ways to get it out of
the symptom. Ingesting the ashes, or introducing the ashes to the bloodstream.
The chemical compound produced by heating various strains of Aconitine to the
point of combustion is essentially like an antivenom. It even helps the wolf
it’s administered to, to begin developing their own natural immunity. But, if
it had be Stiles, or any other human, who had inhaled the amount you say you
inhaled, Stiles would most likely have gotten very, very ill, possibly even
died, without proper treatment of certain antibiotics. Wolfsbane, Aconite, has
over 250 different strains. Almost every one of them has a different effect on
wolves. Some have similar effects, but most end in death after prolonged
exposure.” That’s when Deaton fell silent, obviously hesitating.
 
“And?” Derek gruffed out, looking unhappy with this biology lesson. Stiles, on
the other hand, had been paying rapt attention. There was another long pause,
as Deaton studied Derek’s face.
 
“And.... I’ve never heard of a strain of Wolfsbane that could essentially cure
a wolf from his... nature. You are indeed without your wolf powers, that much
is obvious, but I’m not certain that this is truly a ‘cure’. It might be a new
hybrid strain, with some chemical augmentations perhaps.” He trailed off, and
let out a hum. “Perhaps Aconitum Reclinatum... Trailing White Monkshood. It’s
found most predominantly in the South-Eastern states, but it’s used as a potent
tranquilizer for Werewolves. If they augmented it just right, it could possibly
have put Derek’s inner wolf into a sort of.... Coma, if you will, leaving him
unable to heal, or shift.”
 
Derek nodded gently, taking his words silently still. It made sense.
 
“Okay well that’s great and all. So we just have to wake up his wolf? Or will
it wake up on it’s own?” Derek almost didn’t want to know. He tensed in his
chair, until Stiles subconsciously slid his hand over his unharmed shoulder. It
was like an immediate calm washed over him.
 
“That is something I honestly cannot tell you for sure Stiles. It could wake on
it’s own, it might need a jump-start of some sort.... Or it might not wake up.
It’s very difficult... No, it’s impossible really, to know for sure. Honestly,
all we can do is wait, and see. I know this isn’t... what you wanted to hear,
Derek, but... I suggest you find somewhere safe-”
 
“He’s staying with me.” Stiles interrupted, though he sounded disconnected, as
if he were deep in thought. Deaton honestly looked surprised.
 
“Well, great. That’s good. Just... keep it up, and check in with me. I’ll run a
chemical analysis, and try to find more answers.” He promised.
 
When the vet escorted them out to the door, he tried to offer Derek his jacket
back. After a moment of considering it, Derek shook his head. “Throw it out.
It’s ruined. I won’t cling onto it anymore.” He said firmly, and thanked
Deaton, before heading to the Jeep. Stiles couldn’t help but feel like Derek
looked a little strange.... A little more vulnerable without the coat. It must
have been an even bigger safety blanket than he’d ever realized. Stiles stopped
Deaton from going in just yet.
 
“Don’t throw it away. I’ll come for it later.” He promised softly.
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