triskehale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
triskehale) wrote2013-07-04 12:04 am
triskehale) wrote2013-07-04 12:04 am
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we're painted red to fit right in
They take a lot of back alleys to get Derek back to Dimera, managing to avoid being seen by too many people. They're covered in blood, Derek so much so that he looks like something out of a horror movie, but he has his arm slung over Dean's shoulder with Dean's fingers gripping his wrist while they stumble along, so that's good.
"Thank you," he gets out, because it needs to be said. There's been a definite shift in their relationship, from acquaintances to something like allies. "I think the bleeding's stopped."
He's still kind of weak but it's getting easier to walk straight. He feels vulnerable but Dean is there, and if he needed to, Derek could still fight.
He does his best not to get blood anywhere as they make their way into the building, because that's a memo from management that he just does not want to deal with. Once they're in the elevator, Derek reaches out to jab the button for his floor and dreams of his shower.
He's not leaning on Dean quite so heavily once he fishes his keys out of his pocket, but his arm is still around Dean's shoulders when he unlocks it and tumbles through, dragging Dean with him. Stiles is sitting on Derek's couch eating Dorito's and really, Derek should have expected this.
"Hey," he says, astonishingly casual.
"Thank you," he gets out, because it needs to be said. There's been a definite shift in their relationship, from acquaintances to something like allies. "I think the bleeding's stopped."
He's still kind of weak but it's getting easier to walk straight. He feels vulnerable but Dean is there, and if he needed to, Derek could still fight.
He does his best not to get blood anywhere as they make their way into the building, because that's a memo from management that he just does not want to deal with. Once they're in the elevator, Derek reaches out to jab the button for his floor and dreams of his shower.
He's not leaning on Dean quite so heavily once he fishes his keys out of his pocket, but his arm is still around Dean's shoulders when he unlocks it and tumbles through, dragging Dean with him. Stiles is sitting on Derek's couch eating Dorito's and really, Derek should have expected this.
"Hey," he says, astonishingly casual.
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"Hey, sorry to be that guy, but I was hungry and I knew your window was unlocked. And you kind of have all the food, so holy shit what the fuck happened to you? Who the fuck-- what the-- Jesus!" Dorito bits go flying and his phone is forgotten when he finally looks up, springing off the couch instantly and making his way over. Derek's hanging on to Bloody Guy #2 and Stiles reaches out like he's going to help, but pulls back, not knowing what the hell he's supposed to do.
"What the fuck, Derek? Let me go get a-- does that hurt-- I mean, it looks like it god, that's a lot of blood." He grimaces, gags a little (he can afford to be a little theatrical since Derek's clearly not dead), then backs away toward the bathroom, making a face.
He makes an odd, wavering gesture between the two of them as he steps back, now seriously looking like he's repressing vomit. "I'm gonna assume that you're not the guy who did this to him and go get the shitty first aid kit from the creepy stocked bathroom. Don't bleed on... everything."
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Stiles comes back out of the bathroom just as Derek uses a claw to slice through the tattered remains of his shirt and pull it off. "Stiles, this is Dean... whatever Dean's last name is. Dean. He's okay."
He tosses the shirt in the trash can and looks down at the bites, wincing a bit. "Dean, Stiles." He's nervous for a second, because he's pretty sure that Dean has sussed out just how Derek feels about him. But Dean doesn't really seem the type to go talking about feelings, so he's sure it's fine.
"Yeah, well. This is super awkward." He pats Derek on the shoulder and gives Stiles a nod. "I'll see you guys later."
Derek gives a lazy salute and watches him leave before turning to look at Stiles. The motion makes him dizzy and he sways a bit, face going pale.
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He finally waves when the door is closing behind Dean, staring for one moment before he looks back at Derek with a deep frown. "What the hell happened to you?" His tone is stern, but he's coming over to sling Derek's arm around his shoulder and bring him over to the couch anyway, helping him walk - or trying, anyway.
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"Killed a bunch of vampires with Dean," he says, not offering any further explanation. He just needs to rest so he can heal.
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He looks over at Derek, takes a deep breath, and splays his hand on his neck, palm on part of his throat while his fingers tilt his chin back. Derek looks like a fucking mess; if he were human he'd be dead, and now he still looks like he's fifteen seconds from passing out.
"The fuck are you doing killing vampires with Dean? Why the fuck are there vamp-- no, don't answer that. But really, what the fuck are you doing killing vampires?" He's the kind of fervent that only happens when he's scared half to death, and it's about ten times worse when he has to touch blood at the same time. He dampens a cotton ball with alcohol and grimaces, reaching up to clean the wounds at his neck off gingerly.
"You can't fucking die, Derek. That would be bullshit, you dying."
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He winces again and doesn't bother telling Stiles that this is probably pointless. If it makes him feel better, he can sting the fuck out of Derek. "I was on a run and I heard him, and he was in some abandoned warehouse taking on a dozen vampires because apparently they were draining teenagers. Teenagers, okay?"
He turns to look at Stiles after the last bit, sighing softly. "I won't die. I wouldn't leave you." He swallows and gives him a stern look. "But you can't die either, so if something is killing off your demographic, I'm taking it out."
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Or maybe not. He mentions Castiel, who Stiles knows. Kinda. A little bit. Like, the guy did whoosh him off to his apartment and all that. And was kinda weird. So the whole dating Dean Who Derek Has Fight Club With (what the fuck) isn't really the strangest thing that could happen. He guesses. The BDSM thing is news to him, though. Huh.
He ignores Derek parenting him and grumbles, cleaning at another wound on Derek's shoulder with the alcohol while he talks. "I can take care of myself, Derek. I haven't seen any vamp-- why the hell aren't you healing?" He stops what he's doing and looks up at Derek with a frown, concerned and grabbing Derek's chin, tilting his head from side to side like he's checking for... something. "Are you sick? Oh god, are you gonna turn into a vampire? Like a superwolfpire?"
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He sighs and lets Stiles continue his freak out. Superwolfpire, honestly. But hybrids do exist, at least in Hayley's world. "No, Dean got bit too. He said you have to drink their blood to turn."
But their blood is all over him, because he ripped their heads off with his bare hands. He stiffens and pushes Stiles away suddenly, out of instinct and fright. "You shouldn't be touching me. Their blood is on me."
Stiles not touching him anymore is the very last thing he wants, but he needs him to be safe. But something else Dean said flits through his haze and he sighs in relief. "No, you have to drink their blood and then another human's. But still, just be careful."
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Yeah, he'll think about the implications of all that later.
"Why aren't you healing, Derek? If you're not healing, I don't know how much good me, a pad of gauze, and hydrogen peroxide are gonna do." He dresses a particularly ugly wound on his stomach, glaring at it.
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"I am healing, see?" He takes Stiles' hand and moves up to his chest, just above his left nipple. The scratch marks are knitting together, edges pink and shiny. "I think it's like alpha wounds; they just take longer to heal because they came from something pretty powerful."
He presses Stiles' hand down until his palm is pressed against the healing scratches. "It's like that night outside the school, with Peter. That took almost a week to heal once I dragged myself home."
That was a horrible night, and it hurts to think about. It hurts that they just left him there, face down in the dirt. But it's not like he had given them any reason to do otherwise. He swallows hard and looks down, trying to shake the memory.
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Werewolves, man.
He bites his lip when Derek brings up the night at school, not really knowing what to say. Things were different back then, but it still doesn't make leaving Derek there any more right. At least he can help now.
"Hey, well you don't have to drag yourself anywhere this time." He pats Derek's chest, a little awkward. "If you need anything, I'm here, big guy."
This is probably weird. Derek probably wants to punch him. He pulls back, embarrassed, and goes to get a bottle of water from the fridge, coming back and sitting next to Derek again with the bottle extended. "Drink this, you suicidal moron." And back to cleaning off the bites.
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He drinks the water without complaining, tipping his head back to drain the bottle in one go. Stiles touches him again, cleaning blood from his skin, and Derek lets his eyes slip shut as he relaxes, turning in towards Stiles a bit.
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Derek isn't even listening. Stupid blood loss. Groaning, he checks Derek over before just resting a hand on his chest again, patting lightly. "Let's get you to bed, big guy. I'm gonna assume you didn't lose so much blood that you're going to spontaneously die on me."
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God, he really is out of it. But it's true; physical touch is very important for packs. He'd never done with his pack back home because the bonds were too tenuous and he was too prideful to make the effort.
He misses it like it's a limb, getting affection from his pack. And now, it finally feels right. Just Stiles and him, like that's how it should be.
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"Okay, we're touching, see? Now we're gonna get up and get you in bed." If it really does make Derek feel better, the least he can do is stick around.
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He lets go of Stiles and steps in front of him, stretching a bit and pushing his sweats down over his hips shamelessly until he's left in nothing but his black boxer briefs.
"Get another towel," he grumbles, staring hungrily at his bed. "I just did laundry and I don't want blood on my sheets."
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He listens to Derek and goes to get a towel, throwing it at him before immediately catching it before it falls and shuffling over to the bed. "Should hear yourself. I WENT TO KILL VAMPIRES. DON'T GET BLOOD ON MY SHEETS. Really, Derek? Really." He glares, but there's not as much heat to it as he'd like, and he gestures to the bedding that he's prepared, crossing his arms. "Lie down already."
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He purposefully leaves one side of the bed open, the one on the opposite side from all his bites, and looks up sleepily at Stiles through his eyelashes.
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He watches Derek get settled and sighs, looking up at the ceiling, then down at a random spot on the floor while he considers his options. Leaving Derek here by himself seems irresponsible, and Derek probably wouldn't mind having his pack around. And he's practically naked. Not that that matters. Or is relevant to this train of thought--
"Do you want me to stay?" Hell.
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"If you'd like to stay," he says carefully, but now he's not so sure. Maybe Stiles had just wanted to get him in bed so he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. "It's up to you."
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He says it like that in and of itself is enough reason to stay - concussion prevention - and then sits down on the bed with as much finality as one can while bouncing on a mattress. "Of course I'm gonna stay." He lies down and grabs one of Derek's pillows to punch and fluff, resting on his stomach with one arm under the pillow and reaching over with the other to pat at Derek's chest.
After a couple of pats, he just rests his hand there. Pack contact, yadda ya. If it helps, right? And Derek's warm, and right there, and... yeah. He shakes his head a little to clear it, voice feeling too loud now that they're both settled. "Do you need anything?"
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"Just this," he says quietly, taking a chance and putting his hand over Stiles' on his chest without opening his eyes. "And some sleep, and I'll be fine."
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...whatever. This feels good, and he's here if Derek needs him.
"Get some rest," he grumbles, closing his eyes.