I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.
Howling winds, heading home
Suddenly Stiles gets this feeling that something's not right. The hairs on the back on his neck stands and he shifts uneasily, despite the fact that he's both warm and comfortable where he sits on his bed, snacks comfortably in reach and the computer on his lap. His friends are all out on dates or movie nights and thanks to the combined efforts of the pack and the hunters the town is nowadays a mostly monster free zone. Last week was an exception however and Stiles feels a twinge in his thigh every time the moves to quickly. It's a little reminder of the lovely but brief encounter that he had with a Kelpie before Derek tore it to pieces, and also the reason that he's chosen to stay at home tonight. That, and the fact that Harris is an asshole about him missing school for two days and he has a mountain of homework to catch up on. It's a quiet night but still he can't quite shake the feeling and nervously bounces his legs until he can't stand it anymore and gets up to check the house. The doors are locked, the stove is turned off and his dad replies to his text instantly, complaining about the slow night at the station with lots and lots of boring paperwork. It seems that no one wants to be out tonight, not even hardened criminals, and the pouring rain and howling winds apparently acts like some unofficial curfew, leaving the streets of Beacon Hills empty.
Still the feeling's nagging at him and on a whim he crosses the living room to look out the window. He pulls the curtain to the side, looks out and promptly yelps as a pair of blue eyes look straight back at him.
"Dude!" he wheezes, clutching his chest. "What the hell are you doing outside? It's a freaking storm going on tonight!" The wolf gives no reaction but Stiles knows that Derek's heard him. That Derek would hear him whispering from across the town if need be.
"Derek?" he prompts and the wolf continues to look at him, unmoving. Clearly the sourwolf isn't feeling too talkative tonight but that's okay, because Stiles can talk for two people, no problem at all.
"Checking up on me?" he asks and the wolf gives a little nod at last. Stiles sighs and moves to open the door to the utility room, shivering as the cold air sweeps over his bare feet.
"Come in, you must be freezing." The wolf huffs and Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know that you can't catch a cold like us poor little fragile humans but you seriously can't tell me that it's comfortable trotting around like a wet rug?" The wolf does something that might have been a shrug if said wolf would have been walking on two legs and Stiles motions for him to come in. He knows that Derek would never ask himself, that he'd just keep watch outside Stiles' house the whole night, ensuring that Stiles is warm and well while the rain steadily soaks his fur and chills him to the bones. They'll have to work on that, Stiles thinks, and adds it to the mental list that he's been keeping since he met Derek the first time. Said list also includes things like teaching Derek how to use his words, convince Derek that he too deserves nice things and that a home without furniture (or a TV!) isn't really a home.
"Come on then." He opens the door a little wider and exhales as Derek slinks past him, having half-expected the wolf to change his mind and disappear back into the night.
"Stay" he then orders and quite predictably Derek growls grumpily about being treated like a dog but, lo and behold, he actually does stay just inside the door and allows Stiles to go get a towel and mop up the worst of the water running off him in small rivulets. Then he grabs another towel, motions for Derek to follow him and heads upstairs. When he stops outside the bathroom Derek bumps into him, clearly not paying enough attention and just trotting along the familiar path to Stiles' room. He looks up, surprised, and Stiles pulls the door open for him.
"Get in, let's get you warmed up" Stiles urges him, indicating the bathtub, and Derek takes a few steps backwards. No shower for this wolf, thank you very much.
"I don't care that you can't get sick, if you've been out in the rain and gotten cold you have to take a warm shower, it's mandatory Derek!" Stiles crosses his arms and tried to appear stern but Derek only huffs disdainfully and tries to sneak past Stiles in the hallway but gets blocked.
"No, Sourwolf, sorry but you have no say in this. Shower!" Derek sits down, staring defiantly at the man standing before him. The message is clear, there is no way that he's getting a shower. Nope.
"I can be every bit as stubborn as you" Stiles informs him. "In fact, I can be even more stubborn and I can do this all day long." For several long seconds it's a battle of wills, whiskey coloured eyes staring into blue ones but at last it's Derek that looks away, shuffles into the bathroom and allows Stiles to help him get inside the tub. But when Stiles tries to do a triumphant victory dance Derek puts his paw down firmly and nips at his fingers.
A little while later Derek is stretched out on the bed with his head pillowed on Stiles' lap. He's dozing off, his muscles are completely relaxed and long fingers are rhythmically carding through his fur. He's warm and he's dry and, even though he doesn't dare to admit it out loud yet, he's finally found his way home.