Prompt Post 01
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"So Danny, he, uh, I think he really liked you, huh!" Stiles gets his hands on Derek's shoulders, like he's rubbing his prize fighter down after a championship match.
Derek jerks away from him and snatches his jacket off the bed, stuffing himself into it with a fury.
Okay then. "What do you, uh," Stiles bumbles into his own jacket, forcing a laugh. "What do you, uh, think about that? Do you think he's attractive? I mean, if you like the-- the too-perfect look, right? Is that your type or--"
Derek slants forward and fists a hand in Stiles's coat collar, yanks him right up into him, face a lifetime of nightmares. "This is not the time. We have stuff to do. You need to get over this thing and shut up."
"Sure, right, awesome," Stiles wheezes, as Derek drags him tripping out of the room.
4.
"By the way, one more thing?"
"Yeah?"
Derek reaches over and slams Stiles’s head into the steering wheel.
"Oh god--" feels like someone just stabbed a pipe through his face! "What the hell was th--"
Derek points an accusatory finger at him, "You know what that was for."
"Unresolved sexual tension?" Stiles gripes, holding his brains in.
"Go." Derek points out the windshield at the hospital. "Go."
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Stiles slips in the grass trying to get Derek out to his jeep. He hobbles a close save, but Derek gets jostled anyway, groans wet and leans even harder into him. There's something slick between them that Stiles doesn't want to think about, Derek's blood and guts probably, spilling from where he'd pulled the wires out of him. Just not right. "It's okay--" he grits, sending off futile wishes that he were way more prepared for this. "We're okay, almost there. It's right there, I swear to god. I had to park way out here so they wouldn't know, otherwise--"
"Stiles," Derek ruffs. "...I'm injured, not dying. It's okay."
"Yeah, well I've really had enough of people getting injured tonight, all right?" They come up on his jeep finally, thank god. He hefts Derek against his side just long enough to get a hand free and pop the door open. The light coming on is a small comfort. "Actually, I've had enough of it the last sixteen years. I'm done with pain, okay? Quote me on it."
Derek racks in a deep, unsteady breath, pushing a disinterested nod into the round of Stiles's shoulder. He trips on his own feet lumbering up into the seat, but Stiles is there to balance him out, to reach over his lap and get the seat belt into the holder for him when his hands won’t stop shaking.
"Baby steps," Stiles mumbles and feels Derek huff against the side of his face. It strikes him suddenly, how he could easily tell Scott to forget about Derek, to let him die even, and yet here he is, trying to save his ass. Good ol’ dependable Stiles, always breaking his back for someone, even attempted murderers. How many people has he saved tonight alone? He doesn't get paid enough for this crap. "We've got to get you a hobby that isn't almost dying. How about frisbee? You're probably really good at that, being you’re a dog and all."
Derek snorts a shallow laugh -- an actual, honest to god laugh -- and Stiles does a double-take.
…Weird.
He chalks it up to Derek just suffering delusions from his brain being fried or something, because he’s always thought Derek was physically incapable of laughing, most of all at anything he had to say.
But he grins regardless, can’t help his wilt of relief. One less person to Robin after tonight, at the very least.
"Stiles," Derek says, just after he's ducked out to shut the door.
"What?" He lurches back in fast. "Need something? You in pain? What's up?"
Derek raises a shuddering hand against the collar of Stiles's shirt, pulling him close. He picks his head up off the headrest with a level of effort that makes Stiles regret making him do it, even though he didn't make him at all. His eyes are unfocused on some point along Stiles's neck, submitting.
So he can look tame. Again, weird.
"Thank you," he says eventually, through teeth set in pain.
"That's not-- Okay?" Stiles stumbles. "You don't have to…go and say that." He moves to try and pry Derek's hand out of his collar and get him to just chill for a second, but Derek is tugging him forward the last couple inches and catching his mouth up in a blunt kiss.
Neither of them are really in a place to enjoy it, but the sentiment comes across, even despite the thick of Stiles’s body going into major meltdown.
Derek's head thuds back heavy on the rest, his eyes tired. He lets go of Stiles’s shirt, but Stiles doesn’t move. "...We're continuing that later."
Stiles is too shocked to speak for a second. His mouth gaps open and shut like a fish, brain draining out his ears. "Uh, that was... Well, uh. Right there, and the thing--"
"Stiles.” Derek shuts his eyes, swallowing hard. “Get in the car."
That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? He straightens back too fast and ends up smacking his head on the doorframe.
"Ow, damn it!"
Not smooth. Not smooth at all, Stilinski.
Thanks for commenting, you guys! Hope these last parts were okay. :}
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Let us hope that we actually get to see Stiles save Derek like we're all wishing and hoping for.
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