Chapter Text
Isaac isn’t entirely sure that he can rate this week as the “worst week of his life”. He’s definitely had far worse but this week, these past few days in the grasp of Blake and his torture basement, have been trying. He’s been bred as a fighter and he’s positive that had he not been conditioned by his father towards unkind treatment, he would have caved and succumbed to Blake’s demands.
The Sheriff woke up earlier than Isaac expected. He blinked warily around the room before his whole body turned into panic mode, his whole posture screaming alertness. Isaac sat on the bed staring up at the ceiling to pass the time. More than anything, he wanted to be untied. He’s sick of staring at the walls of Blake’s basement. He knows it’s necessary to maintain their cover that he stays here but he’s sick of knowing that he’s technically free but still tied up in the basement.
The Sheriff handled everything methodically. He told Isaac to stay put while he scaled the stairs, pushing the door open and finding it unlocked. He was just a little bit skeptical at this point but didn’t say anything. He promised Isaac that he would return with help. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity for Isaac and Isaac remembers very little of how he was “saved”. He remembers the Sheriff coming back down the stairs, phone in hand, gun on his hip and a pocket knife opened. Isaac remembers staring gratefully as the Sheriff freed him from bondage, as the Sheriff pulled him into a big hug and passed on reassurances. Isaac remembers the police showing up in no time, of detective coming up and asking him questions as he sat on the back of the ambulance. He fought against the care, of course, having no logical way to explain away his rapidly healing wounds and the pair of claw marks on his back.
The Sheriff saved him from the questions and from being fussed over by the emergency responders, claiming that Isaac was in too much shock to recall the situation with much detail. The Sheriff reassured the pestering officers that he would bring Isaac to the statement later in the evening to take down his report. The Sheriff, after having his head patched up and his reflexes re-evaluated for any lingering effects of the drug, decided to take a leave and offered to take Isaac back home.
Bundled up in the Sheriff’s truck, the window down and wind rushing through his hair, Isaac fell asleep safely, trusting the Sheriff to take him home. Isaac woke up a good while later, vaguely blinking awake to see the passing of the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign. He looked over half asleep to the Sheriff who smiled down in amusement and understanding. Just as Isaac was blinking fully awake he was pulling into the McCall’s driveway. He saw Melissa McCall and Scott standing in the driveway anxiously, watching the truck pull in. When the truck rolled gently to a stop, Isaac pushed the door open sluggishly and stepped to the ground with fatigued steps. Before he could walk a few feet, Melissa McCall was running over, pulling Isaac into her arms and nearly sobbing.
“I’m so glad that you’re okay, Isaac,” She blinks slowly, her lips pursed as if she were trying to fight off a bout of crying.
“Me too, Ms. McCall,” Isaac smiles back tiredly.
“Let’s get you inside and, I bet you’re hungry. And tired. You can have some dinner that’s in the oven then you’ll go straight to bed. Or showering. Whatever you’re up for. Of course you’re not going to school tomorrow. Oh Isaac, you’re probably still in shock. You need time to heal, let’s get inside,” She wraps an arm around Isaac’s back and tugs him back to the door.
“Can I stay home from school tomorrow, too?” Scott asks expectantly.
“No, Scott,” She returns sternly.
“But Mom! Isaac probably really needs a friend right now. It would be emotionally in his interests if I were to stay home with him and make sure he heals and all of that. Sound body, sound mind,” Scott argues, a tone of whining in his voice.
“Scott, you’re going to school and you’re not going to argue with me,” Melissa demands and Scott hangs his head in defeat.
As he’s being carted off, Isaac passes Scott and shoots him a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin. Scott tries his best not to growl and pout.
Scott stares awkwardly at the Sheriff, scratching the back of his head.
“We need to talk about you kids withholding information,” The Sheriff points at Scott and Scott desperately wishes he had followed him mother back into the house.
“Sheriff, we weren’t-,“ Scott starts but the Sheriff holds up a hand to silence him.
“Don’t. I don’t want you kids to feel like you can’t come to me when you’re in trouble. Contrary to teenagers’ popular belief, the job of the cops isn’t to make your lives harder,” The Sheriff argues.
“Thank you for finding Isaac,” Scott changes the subject and looks at the door as his mother descends the steps once again.
“Thank you so much,” Melissa pulls the Sheriff into a large hug and Scott takes this as his cue to leave. He heads up the stairs to attend to Isaac.
“Scott!” The Sheriff yells before Scott enters the house.
“Yes sir?” Scott turns back around, hoping that the Sheriff isn’t going to yell at him again.
“Can you do me a favor?” The Sheriff asks and Melissa looks between the two men with confusion.
“Yes sir, anything,” Scott responds, indebted to the man who sought out Isaac.
“Keep an eye on Stiles? I’m not so stupid to believe he tells me anything and I don’t think he’s exactly… okay right now. Can you just make sure he’s alright now and then? Talk to him?” The Sheriff asks desperately.
Scott smiles back, lodging this information in the back of his mind for the next time Stiles goes on a rant as to how his father is “totally unfair” and “doesn’t understand me”.
“I already am,” Scott smiles. “He may not be okay now but he’ll get there.”
“Thank you, kid. You’re a good friend,” The Sheriff reassures and Scott smiles again before entering the house, leaving his mother and the Sheriff to talk amongst themselves.
Scott walks in to Isaac shoving food into his mouth like a homeless man who hasn’t eaten in two weeks. He’s already down a plate and working on finishing off the other.
“I think I once read something about how someone who is starved should be fed slowly because of…” Scott stalls, failing to remember the exact reason, “reasons.”
Isaacs snorts while chewing, blinking tiredly at his friend.
“I haven’t eaten in a few days,” Isaac reminds him. “Tied in a basement. Didn’t want to accept food from Blake.”
“Good call,” Scott sits down at the table, having already eaten. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“I’m glad I’m back too,” Isaac smiles with a full mouth. “I’ll convince your mom to let you stay home tomorrow too.”
“No,” Scott shakes his head. “I should go with Stiles,” Scott stares down at his shoes. “Unless his father keeps him home too but I doubt it.”
“Yeah,” Isaac nods. “I’ll probably just sleep anyway. You should go with Stiles. He’s had quite a few injuries and he doesn’t have intense-werewolf healing speeds either.”
“Nope,” Scott agrees. “He’s painfully human.”
Isaac clears off his second and half plate of food quickly, placing his empty plate into the sink and stumbling back over to stand by the table. At this time, Melissa is coming back into the house, a small smile on her face.
“Did you eat something?” She asks Isaac.
“Two and a half plates of something,” Scott answers with a slight chuckle.
“Good,” Melissa beams. “Are you going to shower tonight or are you going straight to bed?”
“I’d like to sleep,” Isaac smiles, his body showing evident signs of sleep deprivation and fatigue. “I’ll shower tomorrow. Probably less of a chance of me falling asleep in the process.”
“Right then,” Melissa smiles. “I’ve got to head off to work but let’s get you straight into bed and Scott can keep any eye on you.”
Scott helps Isaac up the stairs, leading him to Isaac’s bed, pushing him down onto the covers. Isaac is nearly asleep by the time he hits the mattress.
“Good night Isaac,” Melissa fawns over her ‘second son’. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” Isaac agrees, his eyelids fluttering shut.
Melissa leaves the room and Scott awkwardly hangs behind as Isaac watches him carefully. Scott clears his throat and points at the door, grumbling incoherent ramblings.
“I’m just going to,” he points to the door again. “Door?”
“Can you not ‘door’?” Isaac laughs tiredly. “I know this crosses the bro line but can you like, stay in here or something? Being tied in a basement tests your nerves a little. I just kind of need some resemblance of pack right now.”
Scott nods empathetically and grins sadly. “Yeah, I’m just going to get my backpack and I’ll be back in.”
By the time Scott enters back into the room, Isaac is fast asleep. He breathes heavily, his pillow wrapped between his two arms in a tight embrace. Scott rolls his eyes before sitting himself at the desk in the room, pulling out his homework and trying to complete his assignments. He shoots a quick text message to Derek.
To Derek (8:32:30PM): Isaac is home. Out cold.
Scott works for a few minutes before he receives a text message back.
From Derek (8:45:50PM): That’s good. Keep an eye on him. Stiles is back home too.
To Derek (8:47:08PM): Isaac is staying home from school tomorrow. Mom’s orders.
From Derek (8:49:23PM): Mother knows best. Full Moon day after tomorrow.
To Derek (8:50:10PM): Want us to come over Tues after school?
From Derek (8:51:20PM): Probably a good call. Bring Stiles.
To Derek (8:51:40PM): Stiles?
From Derek (8:52:30PM): Mate. Don’t ask questions. Finish your homework McCall.
From Derek (8:52:40PM): Get some sleep.
Scott snorts and shoots back a reply, checking over at Isaac to see him still fast asleep.
To Derek (8:53:30PM): Yes Mom. Good night.
Scott turns his phone over and tries to complete his homework.
When Melissa McCall heads out to work an hour later, she finds Isaac passed out on the bed and Scott fast asleep on his desk, his face buried in an Economics textbook. She manages to coerce Scott to his bed, throwing a comforter over him and heading to clock into her shift. She’s glad her two sons are back home and safe.
[Stilinski Residence]
Stiles watches from the couch as his father stumbles in, holding a bag of ice to his head. Stiles pulls the hoodie closer around him, trying to conceal the shallow claw marks on his neck. He’s in a load of pain doesn’t want to convey any of this through his posture or facial expressions. He already aggravated the wounds on his legs but his stitches have been strong enough to hold out during the overexertion. Stiles is wrapped up under a blanket, staring at the flickering of the TV screen. His ankle throbs, his neck itches, he just finished cleaning out his nose of dried blood and he’s questioning whether or not he got all the glass out of his arm. He’s been quite abused these last few days.
He’s not entirely sure his father read his medical files from the crash so he’s hoping he can play most of his injuries off as a consequence of the crash. The claw marks on his neck need to stay hidden as they’re currently his most recent injury and can, in no believable way, be linked to the car crash. So Stiles pulls up his shirt, zips up his hoodie and shrinks back into the blanket. His father sighs and sets the bag of ice on the living room table, slumping down into the recliner. He stares at Stiles with a small smile.
“How are you feeling, kid?” His father asks, rubbing at his forehead carefully.
“Probably the same as you. Heard you had a run in with a suspect. How are you feeling?” Stiles asks, wanting to get the subject of conversation away from himself and his current condition.
“I’m feeling like I was drugged and knocked over the head a few times. Oh hey, I was! But I wasn’t in a car accident and I didn’t lie to my father about my friend getting kidnapped,” His father raises an eyebrow in his direction.
“I didn’t,” Stiles starts arguing.
“Save it,” His father silences him. “Next time you’re in trouble, you tell me. I don’t want to have to hear about your friend being kidnapped from Melissa while she’s crying in worry.” His father leans back in the recliner. “I don’t want to have to hear about you being in a car accident from Deaton.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles shakes his head, feeling ashamed that he had deceived his father and not even pinned him as intelligent enough to figure out he was lying to him.
“Don’t be sorry, Stiles,” His father prefaces and Scott knows the ending. “Just don’t be stupid. Now how are you feeling?”
“Sore,” Stiles groans. “Everything hurts. I’m beginning to feel everything again and let me tell you, everything isn’t okay.”
“You’ll heal,” the Sheriff laughs, sitting up.
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” Stiles whines.
“Don’t you have practice?”
“I...,” Stiles trails off looking at the ceiling. “Might have practice tomorrow.”
“We’ll see how you feel,” his father surprisingly answers. Stiles stares at his father like he’s suddenly become possessed by the devil. “Stiles, don’t look at me that way. I actually accept getting into a car crash as a valid reason for missing school. Did you eat?”
“Already ate,” Stiles waves dismissively, “I might actually go to bed early.”
His father reciprocates the same look Stiles gave him only moments ago and Stiles groans.
“I’m retiring early too, kid,” His father stands up from the recliner and walks over to the couch, offering out a hand for Stiles. Stiles accepts it and pulls himself up with the assistance, groaning and hissing as he moves forward. “You sound like you’re forty,” His father shakes his head. Stiles sits up and waits a minute before trying to stand. His father helps him to a standing position as well and Stiles tries not to cry out as he places pressure on his ankle and legs. Stiles’ father tries to bear some of Stiles’ weight.
With much maneuvering and pauses, the Sheriff and Stiles head upstairs and Stiles ends up collapsing in his bed breathless. The Sheriff is short of breath too and looks down at Stiles, patting his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, kiddo. Sleep up,” His father pulls him into a hug.
“Are you working tomorrow?” Stiles asks hesitantly.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” His dad sighs. “I’m on desk duty for a little bit while I close down some case files and try to find the suspect I lost today. I’ll be home at night though and we can go out for dinner or something. We both need to treat ourselves after what happened.”
“Sounds great,” Stiles smiles tiredly.
“Go to bed. I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” Stiles’ father smiles and stands up, heading out into the hallway and shutting the light out.
Stiles lays in bed staring at the ceiling for an eternity, unable to shut out his mind. He shifts position several times, changes the amount of pillows he uses, exposes some limbs from under the covers and covers up other limbs. He ends up flailing in his bed instead of actually sleeping, his blankets becoming a knot under him.
He reaches for his phone and scrolls through his contacts.
To Scott (10:12:30PM): You awake?
After not receiving an answer for twenty minutes, Stiles groans and sighs heavily. He scrolls through his contacts again figuring Isaac is asleep as well. He tries one more contact.
To Derek (10:30:05PM): Are you awake?
He’s not sure the Alpha will be up but he did say Stiles could text him if he needed something, and right now, Stiles could use someone to talk to. A few minutes later and his phone is vibrating.
From Derek (10:34:10PM): Yes. What’s going on?
Stiles is glad for the response and stares at the message for a while before deciding to text back.
To Derek (10:37:23PM): I just need to talk to someone. Can’t sleep. Can I call you?
Instead of a reply, Stiles feels his phone vibrating with the caller ID indicating that Derek is calling him. He presses the “accept call” button and puts the speaker to his ear.
“Hello?” He whispers quietly, trying to ensure that his father doesn’t overhear the conversation.
“Stiles?” The voice on the other line answers and Stiles sighs out in relief. “Are you okay?”
Stiles is silent for a minute and looks off into the darkness of his room.
“I’m fine,” Stiles finally answers. “I just… can’t sleep. So much has happened.”
“Do you want me to come over?” Derek asks and the other end of the line is so devoid of background noise that Stiles wonders what the Alpha actually does in his free time. He can’t be training teenagers to be killing machines or prowling the woods in wolf form.
“Come over?” Stiles questions, “My dad’s still home. I’m not hurt, well I am but I’m not overly hurt. I’m just…” Stiles realizes that he can’t come up with the word to describe exactly how he’s feeling. He’s not entirely lonely and he’s not scared but he just can’t fall asleep because of all the things his mind can’t shut out. He feels like his mind keeps rewinding to the horrendous parts of the last few days and every time he’s done reviewing them, they start over again. He feels like he’s stuck in a loop of the things he’d rather no relieve. He is not even sure how to sit and enjoy the silence of his room, the comforting darkness of being home with his father snoring two doors down.
“I understand,” Derek whispers back and even though Stiles doubts that the man has to lower his voice, he’s probably doing it to fit the current feel of the situation. A small bit of anxiety dies in Stiles’ chest at the response. The last thing he wanted was to spend this conversation talking to Derek about why he can’t sleep, about why he’s feeling so much stress and anxiety.
“What are you doing right now?” Stiles asks curiously. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Stiles would feel bad if he woke up Derek from his sleep. He seems like the kind of guy to only fall asleep when his body physically could not stay up any longer.
“No,” Derek replies gruffly on the other end. “I was just reading.”
Stiles tries to think about Derek reading in his apartment, tries to think of the buff Alpha flipping through the pages of a hardcover book in a dimly lit room while actually absorbing the words. Stiles tries to imagines Derek smiling at the happy parts, frowning at the sad ones. The second thing he thinks of is Derek stretched out on a couch, book in hand and a drink in the other while Stiles is spread out on the other end, reading on his back with his book held over his face, their feet intertwined in the middle. Stiles shakes that thought from his mind and sighs.
“Didn’t know you read,” Stiles comments.
“I don’t spend my entire time running through the woods, saving you guys’ asses, though lately it feels like it. I have hobbies,” Derek scoffs and Stiles chuckles softly.
“Alright,” Stiles fluffs up his pillow. “Tell me about your hobbies.”
Derek is silent for a long minute before he clears his throat.
“I like to read and I like to work out when I’m bored. If it’s nice I like to take the Camaro somewhere remote and head out for a hike. I swim when I can find a place that’s deserted and I meditate,” Derek replies ad Stiles is taken back by the fact that Derek actually responded back honestly. He tries to think of Derek doing these activities, of Derek spending his free time with these hobbies and the image is oddly relaxing. His mind keeps drifting to himself in these activities as well, alongside Derek.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” Stiles pulls at his hair and responds honestly as well, “not tonight.”
“I can come over,” Derek offers again. “Your dad won’t hear me. It might put your mind at ease.”
Stiles looks at his door hesitantly, as if he could see through walls to where his father was sleeping. He won’t question how Derek would be able to sneak into his room soundlessly. He chooses his answer carefully. He could really use someone in the room to silence his mind. As much as he would be placing himself inside another potentially awkward situation his body is physically tired but his mind won’t give him any relief.
“Can you?” Stiles asks softly, closing his eyes.
“I’ll leave now.” Derek responds, hanging up the phone. Stiles puts his phone back on his night stand and bundles up in his blankets, staring up at the ceiling. Stiles waits in silence for a few minutes, his mind running wild with scenes of transforming Alphas, near-death experiences, mind-numbing pain and near-sex scenes. The darkness is only mildly comforting. He can’t seem to settle down enough to allow his eyes to close. It’s as if he just had six cups of coffee and now has to go make a huge speech in front of a lecture hall of distinguished students and important professors. There’s anxiety, his heart is beating rapidly, he’s breathless and he feels like there’s something more important that he should be doing. The last few days his mind was focused on saving people, himself and Isaac and about what Alpha he was going to end up spending the remaining part of his life with. Right now, his mind is only focused on sleep and it’s an odd feeling for him.
Stiles doesn’t recall how many minutes pass before there’s someone walking into his room. Stiles sits up in bed automatically and looks to his bedroom door in panic. Derek’s posture relaxes in the dark and he holds up two hands in front of them, one of them moving towards his face to put a finger against his lips. Stiles sighs and slumps back down into bed, glad that someone else hasn’t broken into his house in the middle of the night to kill him.
Derek closes the door behind him and crosses the room silently, his footsteps not making any sound on the floorboards and carpet. Stiles moves to the far end of his bed and Derek takes this as an invitation to sit on the edge.
“How did you get in?” Stiles asks suspiciously. “The door is locked.”
“The window in your kitchen isn’t,” Derek responds nonchalantly and Stiles tries to imagine the Alpha climbing in through the high kitchen window silently, without making any sound.
“We have an alarm system,” Stiles accuses, narrowing his eyes.
“Not on the window in your kitchen,” Derek smiles and Stiles rolls his eyes.
“That makes me feel really safe for some reason,” Stiles comments sarcastically on how easy it was for Derek to break into their house while no one heard him. Derek doesn’t respond. He just looks down at Stiles in the darkness.
Stiles does not feel like the silence is particularly awkward. He’s been in awkward silences before where every second without conversation or talking feels as uncomfortable as someone poking you in the shoulder repeatedly after you’ve already told them to stop four times. This doesn’t feel like that. Derek’s posture isn’t angry or threatening. He simply lounges against the backboard and silently grabs the top blanket off of Stiles’ cover cocoon in order to cover up his legs.
“Thank you for coming,” Stiles looks at Derek, yawning softly.
“It’s not a problem,” Derek remarks.
“Sorry for interrupting your reading,” Stiles feels guilty. Derek could be at home relaxing right now but Stiles pulled him away from his home because his stupid mind doesn’t know how to power down.
“You didn’t interrupt anything. I had just started. Plus, I’m glad the call interrupting me was just because you couldn’t sleep not anyone getting murdered or almost murdered.”
Stiles shakes his head and rubs at his eyes.
“No, I just can’t sleep. I’m so tired and I cannot fall asleep,” Stiles whines. His body is physically exhausted beyond repair. He needs to fall asleep to heal. “Can you kill me so I can sleep?”
“No,” Derek responds. “Or else the trouble I’ve been through the entire last week would be negated. Did you try counting sheep or something?”
Stiles attempts to glare at Derek but bursts out laughing instead, a hilarious mental image coming to mind. Derek moves quickly and places a hand over Stiles’ mouth, silencing his laughing.
“You’re going to wake your father,” Derek whispers, his face close to Stiles’ ear. “Why are you laughing?”
Stiles calms down and pulls Derek’s hand away from his mouth.
“I tried to count sheep,” Stiles explains, “But then I had the mental image of you and the pack hunting down the sheep before I could count them.” Stiles resists the urge to start laughing again.
“Stiles,” Derek groans. “Don’t wake your father. Imagine how you would explain to him why I’m in your bed in the middle of the night.”
“Hi Dad,” Stiles whispers. “This is my boyfriend, Derek. I couldn’t sleep so he came to cuddle with me. He broke in through the kitchen window because it was unlocked and the alarm doesn’t work there. Easy.”
Derek scoffs and rubs at his forehead in disbelief.
“I didn’t come to cuddle with you,” Derek replies indignantly.
“Cuddling would help me sleep,” Stiles grins maliciously. “I’m your mate and boyfriend. Isn’t cuddling in the contract?”
“There is no contract,” Derek crosses his arms in front of him.
“So there’s no cuddling?” Stiles pouts looking at Derek pathetically. In all fairness, he’s not really trying to push Derek towards cuddling. He’s testing the waters. He’s not even positive that cuddling will help him sleep, he just wants to irritate Derek, poke fun at him, as he normally does.
Derek sighs and lets his head fall back against the headboard. “Do you want to cuddle?” Derek asks seriously.
“I…” Stiles responds, having not expected the response or question. “I would not be opposed to cuddling.”
Derek lays down on the bed, pushing his head onto Stiles’ pillow. Derek moves to wrap a hand around Stiles’ back but Stiles has other plans and, instead of being back to stomach, Stiles wraps his hands around Derek, pulling him into a hug. He rests his head against Derek’s chest and breathes out.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Derek remarks and Stiles just laughs. “It’s probably going to be your dad killing me for finding me wrapped around his underage son.”
“Nah,” Stiles laughs. “He loves me. He wouldn’t kill you.”
Stiles can faintly hear Derek’s heartbeat while he has his ear against his chest. It’s consistent and entrancing, beating as an indication of the reality of the situation.
“Couples don’t normally sleep together on the first date,” Derek comments and Stiles can hear the sentence reverberate throughout Derek’s chest, can feel the vibrations as he’s talking. It is rather soothing to Stiles. It gives him a break from his mind running wild.
“Well it’s an awful good thing that we aren’t a normal couple, right?” Stiles asks, looking up at Derek with a cheesy grin.
“That’s for sure,” Derek admits.
Stiles nods but begins to feel his eyes closing. His breath starts to even out and become fewer and farther between. Every muscle in his body begins to relax. Even the once rapid thoughts in his brain are calming down as if they were hit with a tranquilizer and Stiles feels the dream-world pulling at the edge of his consciousness. Derek notices the shift in Stiles’ behavior and places a hand on Stiles’ back.
“Tired now, Stiles?” Derek asks, his voice lighter and with a joking tone to it.
“No,” Stiles grumbles out, shaking his head slightly.
“Are you sure?” Derek asks again.
“No,” Stiles slurs and within a minute or two, the teen is out cold.
Derek stays still, trying not to rouse the unconscious teen. He stares down to Stiles sleeping against his chest and, damn his emotions, he can’t help but smile. Stiles isn’t in pain. His face isn’t contorted in horror or sadness. He’s not angrily spouting out tirades against Derek or the pack for failing to do this or that. Instead, Stiles has a small smile against his lips and his breath is coming out evenly and in precise intervals. Derek shifts his body over so Stiles’ arm isn’t pinned beneath him. Stiles squirms in his sleep but his eyes remain closed and he doesn’t seem to stir out of the dreamscape. Derek feels the wolf inside of him rising up in delight, tinting his vision with a light red as the wolf awakens to take a survey of the scene. There’s a mirth inside Derek’s chest cavity that he can’t seem to kill off. He can’t seem to suppress his wolf enough to maintain his stoic façade.
After a difficult inner grapple with his wolf for control, Derek caves into his animalistic tendencies. His vision remains tinted with red and he smiles down at the sleeping Stiles. His wolf is so inexplicably overjoyed that he’s resting beside his mate, that he knows for sure that his mate is safe. Derek knows there is still is a lot to discuss between him and Stiles. There’s still the issue of the Alpha Pack to resolve and Stiles and Derek haven’t been on a technical date since Derek began courting him back on that Nature Preserve.
Derek’s not going to deny himself momentary pleasures and while he knows he will have to disappear in the early morning to avoid being caught by an enraged and indignant father, Derek allows himself to slip off into unconsciousness, his arm wrapped around Stiles’ back.
He’s not sure if this thing between them will last forever or if Stiles will even want him around that long. He’s not sure how this will all play out but what he does know right now is that Scott and Isaac are sleeping safely at home, even Peter is snoring soundly and right now, he’s got his arms around his mate and he’s about to enter sleep’s embrace himself. With his pack safe and sound and with no immediate problems weighing on his mind, Derek happily hands himself over to unconsciousness and restorative sleep.
Before he drifts off, Stiles catches him off guard.
“You’d be more comfortable to sleep on as a wolf,” Stiles comments happily as he nudges his nose against Derek’s chest.
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek snorts. “Go to sleep.”
For once in a long time, Stiles listens to Derek’s orders.