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
Entry tags:
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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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.