H5-0SuperWolf

He can't help his eyes from drifting shut at last at the sound of Derek discussing some history fact he learned. It's anything but boring, though, and it's so comforting that Stiles finally feels at ease enough to sleep.

Derek watches his breathing even out with a small smile of his own, and lays the phone down next to his own pillow while he and Stiles sleep in sync from thousands of miles away.

-

They're on an airplane for a pack vacation, and the turbulence is terrible. Stiles has the window seat and is gripping onto Derek's hand for dear life. Lydia's occupying the aisle seat with Derek in the middle, and the two are chatting about something Stiles isn't even aware of. 

All he feels is Derek squeezing his hand and Derek's jacket draped heavily over his shoulders, Derek's leg pressing comfortingly against his.

They've been in the air for hours now and there's nothing to do but get through it. Stiles wishes he could sleep but he doesn't have the patience to listen to another fucking podcast, and none of his music is loud enough to drown out the baby crying a few rows up.

So he squeezes his eyes closed, focusing on Derek's warm hand in his and Derek's soothing voice in his ear. He can't make out any words, but just the tone and rhythm of Derek's voice is comforting enough. 

Soon his body is relaxing, melting into the seat, as the turbulence falls away and his muscles unclench while he listens to his favorite sound. Derek.

Derek's thumb brushes back and forth against Stiles' hand, and Stiles is finally asleep before he knows it, head falling onto Derek's shoulder. He’s not awake to feel the press of Derek’s lips against his hairline, but Derek does it just the same.

-

Stiles has been throwing up all morning. He has the flu, and his head is currently aching and settled in Derek's lap on the couch. Derek's fingers are combing through his hair and the TV in the background is too loud and the blanket over him is too hot and he feels sick.

But he's trying to sleep, and he needs the noise as background din, but it's horrible. His throat is scratchy and raw from the illness and he can't lift his head to ask Derek to turn off the TV. So he grips Derek's other hand where it's settled on his chest, and squeezes as hard as he can in his feeble state. The touch is barely there, but Derek feels it anyway, tuned in to Stiles as always.

With Derek's attention on him, Stiles widens his eyes and sticks out his lip in the most pathetic pout he can manage, but it's enough for Derek to understand. A lingering kiss is pressed to Stiles' forehead and the loft turns quiet as the TV is shut off.

"Will you read to me?" Stiles whispers croakily, and Derek obeys at once as if he knew Stiles would ask, picking up his copy of The Hobbit from the coffee table and starting up from the beginning, stroking Stiles' hair all the while. 

With Derek’s soft voice drifting in and out of Stiles’ ears, Stiles is asleep before the third page.

-

They've just finished another battle with the monster of the week, and the pack is in various states of pain, healing, and elation at their success.

Stiles has it the worst, of course, and is currently clutched in Derek's arms on the muddy ground of the preserve. His side is bleeding sluggishly and his hand presses lightly against the wound as if that will stop it while they wait for help. Black veins crawl up Derek's own hand where he grips Stiles as gently as he can. They breathe together, Stiles sweating and shaking slightly, Derek's brows arched in a worried expression, eyes filled with fear.

Stiles will be okay, but he's in a lot of pain, and help can't come soon enough.

Stiles tries to comfort him, as he looks up and sees Derek's concerned face.

"'m okay, Sourwolf," he breathes out, and this time when he asks Derek to talk, it's to soothe them both. If Derek's talking, the silence and what ifs won't catch up to him as quickly.

So Derek talks, slowly, with his voice gentle despite his fear. He talks about their after-battle plans, the diner they'd have gone to if Stiles weren't waiting to be rushed to the hospital, what he’d order. The shower they'd share when they got home, how Derek would take his time cleaning Stiles off and kissing him.

He talks about what they'd watch on TV, what they'd make for dinner tomorrow, the groceries he keeps putting off getting. Derek talks about how much he loves Stiles, how much he treasures holding him in his arms, feeling his warmth against his, gazing into his maple eyes. How much he loves Stiles' scent, even now, when it's tinged by pain.

There's sirens wailing in the distance, and help is almost here. But the last thing Stiles hears before he passes out is Derek's voice reassuring him that he won't leave, will stay with him through it all, won't let anything happen to him. Stiles believes him, and closes his eyes feeling safe and loved, his fingers tangled with Derek's.

-

+1

The air is freezing. Stiles' eyes burst open as something stabs through the bottom of his foot, and he cries out in pain. He's in the preserve, but it's dark as hell and he can hardly see. He's been sleepwalking, and has no clue how to get home, not without his jeep, or shoes for that matter—

Stiles' breath comes quicker now as the bottom of his foot feels wet with something — blood, probably. He's sleepwalked enough times to be slightly used to this by now, but it's still disorienting, and he just wants to go home, to be safe in bed with Derek wrapped around him.

Stiles counts his fingers to make sure he's truly awake, and sure enough, there's ten accounted for. He pats the pockets of his hoodie, gasping with relief as he feels his phone against his hip. Thank god it was cold enough in Beacon Hills to wear his hoodie to bed.

The battery is at 5%, but Stiles doesn't hesitate to call Derek immediately. The phone rings once before he hears Derek's worried voice. Stiles never calls in the middle of the night unless it's an emergency, or he's just had a nightmare.

"I'm okay, I swear," he promises Derek, shivering a little now in the cold night. His foot aches and tears fill his eyes, but he has to be strong, has to wait for Derek to come get him.

But he doesn't want to be alone in the woods while he's waiting. It's too quiet, too eerie, and he knows something terrifying could be lurking around the corner, has come face to face with too many terrifying things in his life already.

So he begs Derek to talk to him, to stay on the phone with him until he arrives. Derek agrees easily, fumbles for a minute for something to talk about over his fear for Stiles, over the sound of both of their racing pulses. 

The rumble of the camaro starting up is like music to Stiles' ears, and he sinks back against the trunk of a tree and curls up into a ball, pressing his phone against his ear like a lifeline while Derek talks and stutters about a nature documentary he watched last night.

But his voice is so soothing and Stiles can't help but feel safe, and not as alone as he really is out here by himself in the woods.

Derek arrives only a few minutes later, comes running towards him and holds Stiles like he's precious to him, like he's made of glass, like Derek hadn't just seen him the day before. Stiles clings right back as tears fill his eyes once more, this time out of relief.

Stiles is picked up like he weighs nothing, but is held so gently in Derek's arms, brought to the car and to safety while his own arms wind tightly around Derek's neck. 

All the while, Derek's familiar voice fills his ears as he speaks of how worried he was, how he could smell Stiles' pain all the way across the preserve, how he'll make him hot chocolate when they get home and when Stiles is all cleaned up. How the bed is waiting for them and Derek will keep Stiles safe and warm, now and always.

And Stiles believes him, keeps his eyes open the whole drive back home, clinging onto Derek's hand and pinching himself awake to make sure he doesn't miss a word of what Derek's saying, needs to hear his voice like he needs air. He's not alone in the woods anymore, Derek is here, Derek will keep him safe.

His favorite words out of Derek's mouth are said so often tonight, repeated in his ear like an oath, and he knows Derek means them, because Stiles means them right back.