This was it, the last freaking straw. Stiles had ignored the God awful skin tone, cause 'In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty much nocturnal.' He had ignored the obvious fever, because 'You know wolves run hotter than humans, dumbass'. He had even over looked the rash, since 'Someone tracked through wolf's bane and poison ivy', which by the way was total crap, since Stiles was SUPER allergic and he would have noticed the days of horrible itching and swelling. He had even managed to ignore the five minute sneezing fit, by way of 'Why don't you ever learn to check what scents bother werewolf senses?', without one other member of the pack even remotely sniffling.
Yes, he'd ignored all that, but this, this was the last freaking straw, okay? He was just done. He raided the medicine cabinet, texted Deaton and then grabbed a couple blankets from the hall closet before stacking everything on his desk and opening his window to the sick werewolf sitting on his roof coughing miserably. "Get your wolfy ass in here." He barked before grabbing one leather covered arm and pulling.
And there, there was proof positive, if he actually needed more that is, that Derek Hale, Alpha werewolf, brooding McBrooderson was positively and absolutely sick, because there was no other reason he would allow Stiles to man handle him without at least a semblance of a threat. He just stood there, in front of the window as if he didn't have any idea what he should be doing. Stiles began stripping him down, after moving him away from the windows, cause really no need to feed the rumor mill, especially when there were plenty of 'good citizens' who would break their asses to inform the Sheriff of just this sort of 'behavior'. Once he had stripped Derek down to his undershirt and boxers, he got him up in the bed propped up on his pillows and and dropped a blanket over him. He was deciding between antihistamines, decongestants, cough, cough and cold, or cough cold and flu when a small pouch with a note tied to it was lobbed through his open window.
Fairly sure this wasn't an attempted assassination, he approached the pouch with less trepidation than he normally would have. It felt very similar to the potpourri sachets his mother used to leave everywhere. He snatched up the note, and then growled in vexation at its contents:
Stiles,
Deaton says mix herbs with some kind of lotion and rub over his back and chest. Says it works like mt. ash. w/ spark. Keep him warm and dry. Re-apply every 4 - 6 hours. No furry help, contagious to us. Regular cold stuff okay too.
Scott and Isaac
Great. Wolfsitting with the sick and irritable, and weird mojo with no back up. Fun. Not.
Well, his mom swore by Vick's... which explained the three half used tubs of the stuff he'd found. He pulled the emptiest one out of the pile of remedies and opened it up. The smell brought back a lot of memories, and he took a moment before opening the pouch and dropping a hand full of the dried mixture into the tub of Vick's Vapor Rub. He used three fingers slipped down in the tub to smoosh the herbs into the contents of the container. As he did, he closed his eyes and thought of a whole and healthy Derek, slamming him into walls and grinning that cocky smile.
The three fingers began to tingle more than the warming rub alone would cause. He moved over to Derek and slid into the bed next to him. He pulled him forward, and was more than a little concerned when there wasn't any response to his nearness. With his non-magicked hand, he pulled Derek forward, until his head was resting on Stiles' shoulder. He loaded a glob of the stuff on his hand and began rubbing it across the warm back, sliding his hand under the edge of the tank top. He kept thinking of Derek breathing easily, of him healthy and could feel an increased tingle to the mixture. When he felt he had sufficiently activated both the magic and the vapor rub, he let Derek slump back to the pillows and then slid the shirt up in the front and scooped out another dollop and got to work. When he was almost done he noticed Derek's eyes were open a slit, watching him cautiously.
"This stuff is gonna help. It's got Deaton's seal of approval, and my mom swore by the stuff." Chest done, he figured it couldn't hurt and massaged a little more up the front of his throat. Satisfied with his work, Stiles climbed off the bed and shook out one of the blankets he'd found earlier. He tossed it over Derek, carefully tucking him in. Derek was back asleep already. Stiles smiled down at the wolf tucked in his bed. Now he only had to get him feeling better, and make sure he didn't end up in grandmother's nightgown.
Thinking about the image of Derek in flannel and lace had him smirking when Stiles settled at the desk, a long night of cold medicine research ahead of him.