Picture this. Stiles goes in charging. Bat swinging. Whatever big bad was in the way is now broken and bloody. Thing is, so is Stiles. He reaches Derek. Bleeding. Obviously tortured. The rest of the pack is there by the time Stiles has him standing. But that was the problem. Adrenaline just doesn't keep you upright. It Also dulls pain. So when he grunts, it's Derek's hands that hold him up despite him being hurt just as badly. The two of them look at each other and they both know that it was going to be a much longer conversation.
"Heeey, Sourwolf." Stiles smiles weakly. He stumbles forward a little and Derek tightens his grip on his waist. "Youâre always there for me. So big and strong andâŠmanly."
Itâs the blood loss talking, probably. Derek has heard about that. He needs to tell themâŠthey need to take StilesâŠtake him toâŠWhere should they take him again?
He doesnât know the word right now. Somewhere he doesnât bleed so much.
"You need to stop bleeding so much," he manages, vision darkening at the corners.
Heâs not on the ground anymore. Heâs standing up. Stiles was holding him a moment ago. Are those his legs? They look weird. Knees are supposed to bend out, notâŠin?
"Derek," Stiles says sluggishly, "I donât, uhâfeel any pain."
Is that good or bad?
"I donât want to give you any," he says. He canât really tell if it makes sense or not. He thinks he can give painâor take it maybe? But one thing feels very clear to him. "I donât want you to feel pain, Stiles."
Stiles smiles and his eyelids flutter. "Thatâs so nice of you. Always knew you were nice."
Suddenly Stiles becomes heavier and his eyes are shut now. Derek canât hold him up anymore, his stupid legs are bent and useless. He lets Stiles fall on top of him.
Heâs still breathing. Where are the others? He needs to tell themâŠ
Someone comes rushing through the trees.
"Stiles!"
Itâs Scott. Derek knows Scottâs voice, and heâs happy that heâs here, even though he canât see him. Everything is dark now.
"You have to take him toâŠhis bloodââ
"Derek, stay with me," Scott says.
"Please, heâs gonna run out."
"Weâve got him, Derek. Stiles is in an ambulance."
He canât feel his legs anymore, and not Stilesâ weight against him either.
"Derek, heâs gonna be fine. You need to stay with me, man. Why are you not healing?"
Stiles is going to be fine. And heâs not in pain. Derek isnât either.
All is well, he thinks as Scottâs voice grows distant and the forest floor rises and falls with him, like heâs on a ship far out on the ocean somewhere. Itâs good out here. He wants to stay here.
He cries out at a sudden sickening pain in his arm and shoulder, like someone is trying to rip it off. It doesnât stop, and the agony burns through him and makes him shift. He can see again.
"Iâm sorry, man," Scott says. "I had to trigger it." He draws his claws out of Derekâs arm where they had been plunging and twisting.
Derek breathes harshly through the pain. After a while he can feel his joints and bones slowly shifting into place.
"Can you walk?"
He looks down at his knees. They still donât look normal, but he could probably manage.
"Stiles," he says, voice rough.
"Stiles is in the hospital. Theyâre taking care of him. Letâs get you home."
"No," Derek says. "Hospital first."
It takes hours before they let him in to see Stiles. Scott had made him change his clothes, which was probably a good idea, seeing as they were drenched in his and Stilesâ blood and whatever goo from the creature Stiles had beaten to death.
Stiles is lying down in his hospital bed, propped up by a large pillow. He looks pale and weak, but he gives Derek a big dopey grin when he enters.
"Hey there, wolfman."
"Are you in pain?" Derek asks.
"Nope," Stiles grins, popping the p.
Derek sits down on the chair next to Stiles and takes his hand into his anyway.
"Thanks for holding me up," he says quietly.
Stiles gives a light squeeze, and his hand feels cold and limp in Derekâs.
"Thatâs what we do, big guy. You and me." Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and opens them againâsoft and brown and beautiful.
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Hi, I was hoping you can help me find think fic. I'm not sure sure if it was deleted or not but what I can remember was the description was like 5 times Stiles felt like drowning. Within the story Stiles was deathly afraid of water as he nealry drowned as a child, and he went to Jacksons pool party and Stiles was thrown in the pool and Derek saved him. And than I think it went into the pool incident with the kanima.
Thank you!
Hi anon! It was deleted but @midnightwinterhawk had a copy.
Hi! I'm looking for a sterek fic where stiles' extended family visits him and they're pretty much entitled and mean, hurting stiles etc. There's one good cousin I think and they're afraid of the bad cousins because they hold money over them, there's also the alphas and the pack has to protect the family in a hospital. That's all I really remember but I wanna re read it so if you know please do tellđ„ș
Iâve asked this before, but does anyone have any idea what happened to @hurt-stiles ? I wonder this soo much, is there anyone out there who has the scoop? Who was friends with her? Or did she really just leave without warning? Lmk!!
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Some bad friend/alpha Scott, and very protective murderous Peter. You can read it here on AO3 or watch out for the read more, because itâs 2.1k.
The first time Stiles had gotten hurt for the pack, for Scott, had been by Gerard during the kanima mess. And even back then no one had noticed. Blood had still trickled out from the split in his lip, his cheek bone was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his ribs had felt like they were on fire. And yet Scott hadnât even spared him a glance, too busy making puppy dog eyes at Allison, who had just tried to kill them all.
Derek hadnât noticed either, but in Stiles book he had been excused, with how he had to deal with the new trauma Scott had inflicted on him. Lydia and Jackson had been a bit pre-occupied as well, and Peter. Well, Peter had looked Stiles up and down, eyes sharp and assessing, but when he had made a step towards Stiles, Stiles had fled.
So maybe it wasnât completely fair to say no one had noticed, because clearly Peter had, just like his dad had.
But Scott hadnât, and since the message had been intended for him, that was kind of the worst. And it only continued to get worse once Scott became alpha.
Stiles was abducted and hurt almost regularly, and Scott never seemed to notice.
Once Stiles had come to a pack meeting, hurt and still bleeding and shaking all over, and Scott had looked at him once, before he asked how he always managed to get himself into these situations.
Stiles almost wanted to laugh at that because he also got himself out of these situations since Scott didnât seem to care enough to go look for Stiles and come to his rescue.
Peter had slinked up to him in the kitchen that day, stepped between Stiles and the pack in the living room and leaned in close.
âIf you would let me, I would take care of whoever did this to you,â Peter whispered, gently stroking his fingertips over Stilesâ busted cheek, drawing the pain out in the process.
The offer wasâtempting, to say the least. Scott never dealt with the people who had hurt Stiles. He promised to hunt them down and deal with them, to chase them out of town and make sure that they could never hurt anyone and especially Stiles ever again, on the scarce moments he realized Stiles had been hurt at all, but nothing ever happened.
Stiles had seen the hunters in town who had gotten their hands on Stiles this time, just days after they had kidnapped Stiles and beat the shit out of him before he managed to escape; days after Scott had promised to deal with them and it had thrown Stiles right into a panic attack.
When Stiles had confronted Scott about it, Scott had blinked his puppy eyes at him and promised him that he had talked to them, had made sure that they knew never to do anything like that ever again.
Stiles had stared at him for a few seconds, before he left, too worked up to even talk to Scott anymore.
Stiles had been taken two more times since that time, times Scott hadnât even noticed that Stiles had been missing for more than half a day. It had been Stilesâ dad, both times, who came to Stilesâ rescue, using plain old police work to find him. Whereas the so-called true alpha couldnât even be bothered to realize his best friend was missing, or god forbid, put his werewolf senses to some goddamn use.
And now, now Stiles was yet again beat and covered in his own blood, shaking so much he was afraid his knees would just give out on him. He had gotten himself out of the warehouse, after taking beatings for almost a day, and Scott had been nowhere in sight.
Which was the reason why Stiles was weakly knocking at Peterâs door right now. His place had been closest to where Stiles had been held, but he also still heard Peterâs low voice, felt his whispered promise against his skin, promising him to keep him safe, if only Stiles would let him.
And Stiles was ready to let him, now.
Peter opened the door quicker than Stiles had expected, too used to Scott taking his sweet time reacting to Stiles, and Peterâs eyes flared blue when he looked Stiles up and down.
âWho do I kill?â Peter calmly asked, but Stiles could hear the growl at the edges of his words, could still see the supernatural glow in his eyes, and Stiles just slumped forward, leaning against Peterâs chest, forehead pressed to the hollow of his throat.
Peter didnât seem to care that Stiles got blood all over his nice shirt, and instead place a hand gently on the back of Stilesâ neck, drawing the pain out of him.
âI donât know who they are,â Stiles whispered, desperation licking up his spine.
If Peter couldnât find them, couldnât keep Stiles safe, then Stiles wouldnât know what to do. This had been his hope, always in the back of his head, that Peter could do what Scott hadnât been able to do, and Stiles was quickly steering into a panic attack again, desperately gripping at Peterâs shirt.
âThatâs alright, darling, shhh,â Peter soothed him. âIâm gonna find them anyway.â
Stiles trembled in his arms, too relieved by what Peter said, and Peter continued to soothe him.
âDo you want to stay here, or do you want to go home?â Peter carefully asked, and Stiles felt his breath hitch in his throat.
He imagined waiting here for Peter to come back, hurt and alone in an apartment he didnât know, and Stiles couldnât stand that thought.
âHome, I want to go home,â he pleaded, and Peter immediately bundled him up in one of his many designer jackets, steering him towards his car without any comment.
Stiles apparently drifted off during the ride, because he startled badly when Peter suddenly stopped the car in front of his house. Peter must have called his dad, too, because John was standing on the porch, clearly waiting for them.
âWhat happened?â he asked as he walked up to Stilesâ side of the car and he pulled Stiles close, inspecting his wounds before he looked over to Peter, who hadnât stepped away from the car.
âDonât know, donât care, but Iâm going to handle itâ Peter replied, sliding back behind the wheel.
Stiles could feel how his dad sucked in a sharp breath and he tensed in his arms. His dad knew what Peter was going to do and if he disapproved of that, Stiles was sure he would just shatter right here on the porch. This was the first time someone had acted with the clear intent do finally do something and if his dad stopped Peter now, Stiles would just break down.
âBe careful,â John said in a normal tone, clearly counting on the fact that Peter could still hear him, and the easy acceptance brought tears to Stilesâ eyes.
âCome on, kiddo,â John said and gently steered Stiles towards the house and immediately into the bathroom.
John had been on a double shift, so it was no wonder he hadnât noticed yet that Stiles had been missing, but Stiles and Scott were supposed to meet like five hours ago, and clearly Scott hadnât thought it to be strange at all when Stiles hadnât shown up. He hadnât even thought to call Stilesâ dad and inquire where he was, despite Stilesâ more than horrible track record.
âIâm so sorry,â Stiles said on the stairs, breath catching in his throat again, and his dad hugged him tightly once they reached the bathroom.
âNo reason to be,â he whispered, before he sat Stilesâ down on the toilet seat and got the things he needed to clean out Stilesâ wounds.
âDonât you think you should go to the hospital?â John softly asked when he saw the dark bruises on Stilesâ chest but Stiles shook his head so hard his vision blurred.
âNo! Melissa will tell Scott and heâll be disappointed,â Stiles got out and John frowned at him.
âKiddo, do you even realize how that sounds?â he asked but Stiles couldnât talk about this, couldnât think about this anymore.
He just wanted to feel safe, whished he would get enough down time between kidnappings for his injuries to fully heal up before new ones were being added for once, and he looked down at his hands.
âCan I go to bed?â he asked, and John immediately agreed, thank god.
âSure. Come here, Iâll get you something soft to sleep in,â he said after heâd wrapped Stilesâ ribs.
His dad quickly got him settled into bed, but Stiles felt too tense, too strung up to sleep, expecting to toss and turn all night, but he woke up with a start when he heard voices outside of his room. It was still dark outside and his head was still throbbing painfully, so Stiles couldnât have been asleep for very long.
âYou couldnât have cleaned up before dropping by?â Stiles heard his dad ask with a sigh.
âHe needs to see it to believe,â Peter immediately replied, and Stiles sat up in his bed, leaning forward in anticipation of Peter coming into his room.
When he finally did, Stiles momentarily forgot how to breathe. Peterâs hands were caked with blood, going up almost to his forearms, and Stiles spotted blood on Peterâs expensive shirt as well. There was blood on his face too, and Stiles had seen enough crime shows, not to mention stole glances at his dadâs files, to know that it was an arterial spray he was looking at.
Peter stood perfectly still, letting Stiles look his fill and Stiles could feel the tears spilling over.
âThank you, thank you, thank you,â he brokenly whispered again and again, sob after sob rattling his frame and Peter was there, gathering him close.
Stiles didnât even care about the blood, felt strangely relieved when he felt it stick to his own shirt, and he gripped Peter tightly, afraid to let him go again.
âYouâre safe now,â Peter mumbled into his hair, stroking his hand up and down Stilesâ back.
Stiles continued to sob in Peterâs arms, and Peter never once made Stiles believe that it was an imposition on him. Stiles heard his father come in once, but he felt too warm and protected in Peterâs arms to care about that.
âDonât let them take me again,â Stiles pleaded eventually, when his tears were all dried up.
âI canât promise that, Stiles,â Peter softly told him, and Stiles felt small and helpless, fear gripping at his heart again. âBut I promise that I will always come for you, that I will always find you. And I will always kill whoever dared to lay a hand on you,â Peter quickly went on, immediately promising him that.
Stiles squeezed him even tighter at that. Stiles knew that Peter would make good on his promise, too, unlike Scott who had brushed Stiles off again and again.
âCome on, sweetheart, itâs time to sleep,â Peter eventually said, and guided Stiles back down on his bed.
He wasnât sure if he would feel safe without Peter, if he could still believe that the people who had hurt him were dead when Peter wasnât there anymore to remind him, but Stiles shouldnât have worried.
Peter only stepped away far enough to tug his shirt over his head, grabbing one Stilesâ dad obviously had left for hm, before he toed off his shoes and then stepped back to Stilesâ bed.
âYou want me stay on the chair?â Peter asked, and it seemed like a sincere offer, too.
But it felt wrong, banning Peter to the chair, and so instead Stiles lifted his blanket, inviting Peter in, without actually saying it.
Peter didnât hesitate at all, sliding under the covers before pulling Stiles close. Stiles easily went with the motion, fisting his hands into Peterâs shirt once more.
âThank you,â Stiles whispered again, struggling with the gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him.
âFor you, always,â Peter immediately replied, starting up a soothing rumbling in his chest that Stiles quickly fell asleep to, still lingering pains eased by Peterâs hand on his nape, black veins crawling up his arms.
It was the first time in a long time that Stiles wasnât plagued by nightmares, because he knew that Peter was there to protect him, no matter what. It was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time.
If your OTPs tried to feed each other, depending on the OTP how much of a desaster would each pairing have?
That depends on 1) why theyâre trying to feed each other, 2) who is doing the feeding, and 3) how much of a little shit the person eating is going to be (which, depending on the OTP, will vary between âgazing adoringly at the person feeding themâ to â95% chance of getting stabbed with a spoon.â)
Letâs take a look at a couple of different options, shall we?
Option 1: Feeding each other because itâs âromanticâ
Stiles and Derek: Definite disaster. This is because Derekâs version of âfeeding each otherâ would involve him bringing small (or large) woodland creatures to Stiles in an effort to show he can provide, and Stiles would make him write âbunnies/squirrels/deer are friends, not foodâ on a piece of paper 100 times.
Conversely, Stiles would try to feed Derek spaghetti at a restaurant to show up some other couple he had a grudge with (IDK, Lydia and Cora are nearby and being sappy, and Stiles and Lydia have been arguing about who has the more romantic relationship) and end up either dropping it on Derekâs pristine white shirt or somehow flinging it across the room to hit a waiter in the face. (Lydiaâs âI win, bitchâ face is worse than getting kicked out of the restaurant.)
Shiro and Keith: Moderate disaster, but thatâs because Shiro would drop whatever food he was trying to feed Keith repeatedly because he keeps getting distracted and nervous by how pretty Keithâs eyes are. Keith doesnât even notice because heâs too busy internally hyperventilating about how close Shiro is to him and how handsome he is. Matt is drinking straight whiskey because he literally cannot take one more minute of how bad they are at this, Pidge and Hunk are filming it for posterity and YouTube views, and Lance isnât even paying attention because heâs too busy trying to talk Allura into trying ice cream.
Barnaby and Kotetsu: Surprisingly mild disaster, considering who weâre talking about, but thatâs only because they wonât stop arguing about whoâs feeding who long enough to actually, you know, eat. The worst thing that happens is that Kotetsu drops a piece of chocolate cake into Barnabyâs after-dinner coffee when Barnaby refuses to open his mouth for it. (Agnes, who suggested this in the first place and is filming it for publicity reasonsâyou cannot tell me she wouldnât jump all over the chance to use their relationship to drive ratingsâis the one who is thirty seconds away from stabbing both of them with a spoon.)
Option 2: One has to feed the other because an injury/issue prevents them from using their arms
Stiles and Derek: No matter how badly he was hurt, Stiles would still insist on trying to feed himself, even if it means he has to faceplant right into whatever heâs trying to eat. Derek spends about 10 seconds watching him try to eat a sandwich this way (and sneaking at least one picture of how ridiculous he looks) before heâd grab the sandwich out of Stilesâs lap and hold it up so he can eat it properly. Stiles scowls and continues to insist he can do it himself until Derek shoves the sandwich into his mouth and orders him to take a damn bite. Stiles does eat, then, but mutinously.
Of course, then he realizes two things: 1) how much easier it is to eat when he isnât trying to do it himself, and 2) how fun it is to make Derek feed him (because Derek looks so serious about it) and so Stiles starts asking Derek to feed him everything while heâs recovering. Soup. Sandwiches. Pancakes. Popsicles. And Derek does, because he actually cares about Stiles and wants him to get better, and no, Boyd, it doesnât mean anything that he wonât let anyone else do it. (Boyd looks at him judgmentally and says âuh-huhâ in the voice that says he knows Derekâs going to be eating his words at some point in the future.)
Itâs even odds about whether Stiles is too much of a little shit about it and Derek deliberately spills an entire bowl of ice cream down his shirt. (Before feeling bad about it and helping Stiles change his clothes. Stiles is less of a little shit about Derek helping him after that, though.)
Shiro and Keith: So Shiroâs getting his arm fixed, which means heâs down one for his lunch date with Keith. He can eat just fine with one hand no matter what theyâre eating, but when Keith offers to helpâŠwell. Shiroâs not going to say no. So he lets Keith feed him his macaroni and cheese and spends more time admiring how quietly determined Keith is about the entire process than he does actually eating.
Keith is also super concerned about making sure that he doesnât drip cheese anywhere on Shiroâs uniform, so heâs outstandingly cautious and Shiro is so utterly smitten about the whole thing.
Itâs disgusting to watch from an outside perspective. Other people at the Garrison are suddenly VERY interested in their phones and tablets, so that they donât have to watch their commanding officer go moon-eyed over his boyfriend feeding him mac and cheese. And if Pidge is there for her lunch break, she makes unsubtle gagging noises every time Keith lifts a bite.
Barnaby and Kotetsu: Okay so not only is Barnaby unable to use his arms, but as heâs recovering, he also has to take this godawful medication that tastes terrible. After a pill gets stuck in his throat the second time, he straight-up refuses to take it again. So Kotetsu (who is taking care of him while he recovers, obviously) ends up putting it into different foods to mask the taste so Barnaby will take his goddamn medication when he is supposed to. This method is...not terrifically successful. Usually, an entire spoonful of food ends up halfway across the living room or on Kotetsuâs shirt. (Kotetsu will admit, putting the medicine in a spoonful of soup was not his brightest moment.)
It takes the better part of a week before he figures out that cherry jello is the only thing that 1) masks the taste and 2) Bunny will actually eat. Kotetsu stocks half his fridge with the jello and suddenly medication time is much less fraught.
After that, the only time Barnaby refuses to eat is when Kotetsu makes airplane noises with the spoon.
