AN: Derek/Stiles in later chapters. Mild hurt/comfort. Rated M for swearing. First fic please no flames!

DISCLAIMER I do not own Teen Wolf or anything associated with it!

If Hale could've just controlled himself for one stupid fight… Stiles glanced bitterly over at the alpha sitting in the passenger seat of his jeep, leaning against the window and half asleep. It was just one fight. Idiot. He couldn't have just walked away or thrown a single punch and left—no, that would have been logical. Instead, he had to shift in front of the gang of guys and rip them to pieces, leaving a field day for the police and never once considering they might not all be human. Damn Hale.

It hadn't even been that bad. Sure, they'd been criminals—strong, heavily tattooed, armed criminals just itching for Stiles' blood in their hands—but he'd been with a friend or two. Who was he kidding? He owed Derek his life, and the lives of his two human friends who would never remember the ordeal. If Derek hadn't shown up… Stiles didn't even want to think about what might have happened to them.

But then Derek just had to go and get himself nearly killed by one who turned out to be less than human. No one had really stopped to catalog what the thing was or even what it did, only that it was strong and apparently lethal to werewolves. Deaton had bailed them out with a cure, like always. The man hadn't asked any questions, though, for which Stiles was grateful, and instead stopped the acidic bite in Derek's shoulder that was eating away at his flesh. With a quick bandaging and some heavy pain meds, Deaton had reluctantly let them leave.

Stiles hadn't completely thought that through. Though, when had he ever thought anything through in his life? Regardless, now he was stuck babysitting one of the scariest and most powerful wolves he knew on valium. Not only that, he couldn't call Scott or Cora or anyone else because then he would've had to explain why the hell Derek was even on pain meds, let alone that Derek had saved his ass and had nearly died doing it. Definitely couldn't do that.

He had to be honest, though, he'd expected a lot worse from the Hale. Peter, he knew, was an angry and loud drunk and he imagined he was the same on medication, no doubt that it ran in the family. Cora, too, was a brutally honest and angry drunk, only proving further proof. But Derek wasn't loud or angry; he just sat there and for once wasn't glaring or scowling at something. Usually that thing was Stiles, though, so it was still possible.

His jeep let out a low whine when he stopped in front of Derek's place and put it in park. Beside him, Derek didn't even react to the noise which was weird and actually kind of worrying because the alpha was always hyper alert if not jumpy. There wasn't anything he could do about that, though. So he got out of the jeep and slammed the door, a bit of his frustration showing itself, only to actually retrieve Derek from the passenger side and lead him by the hand towards the door.

It was like trying to lead a small child. Every thirty seconds, Derek would stop and the man's superior size and strength would wrench Stiles backwards and force him to pay attention. The first time, it was to look at a hole in a tree. Then, at his own foot, hanging halfway off the cement step in front of the door. Stiles made it a whole ten feet through the lobby to the elevator before Derek jerked to a stop again, this time to stare at a little ladybug that had crawled onto the elevator button.

They made it inside the elevator, Stiles grumbling under his breath about stupidity, before Derek stopped again. Against the silvery metal, the ladybug from before had crawled from the little glowing button to the door frame and then onto the side of the elevator door. The doors began to close as Stiles pushed the button for the right floor. Derek just watched.

Suddenly, he lunged forward and stuck his arm through the crack only to have it practically crushed by the doors. He bit back a scream at the pain but the other large, broad hand reached out and a single claw extended from his pointer finger. Stiles watched, stunned, as the claw arched at just the right angle and the ladybug climbed it up into Derek's hand. Seemingly content with that, the alpha yanked his arm back—bruises already forming—and examined his prize like a freaking five-year-old.

"What the hell was that for?" Derek turned, for once an innocent sort of contentment in his eyes, and held out the hand with the ladybug in its palm as an answer. Had this huge, threatening alpha werewolf just nearly crushed his arm to save a ladybug? Stiles shook his head and the elevator lurched upwards, all the while Derek watched the tiny insect in his palm crawl to the tip of his finger and then back down again and again.

"You are actually stoned, Hale." Stiles mumbled under his breath. The alpha didn't take his eyes off the insect, though, or even seem to hear him. When the elevator pinged at the 17th floor, Stiles sighed and grabbed a muscled forearm to drag the man towards his own freaking apartment. Why did this kind of stuff always happen to him? Scott never almost got murdered and then had to babysit his savior. Because Scott was a freaking werewolf, he remembered, and didn't rely on people like Derek to keep him alive.

"Inside, you idiot." Derek entered the apartment, still focused on his ladybug, and just stopped in the middle of the room as Stiles closed and locked the door. Without a word, Derek stared intently as the little bug hurried to the tip of his pinky and flew away. The alpha watched where it was long after it was out of sight like a lost little puppy. God he actually looked saddened by the loss.

"It's just a bug, it'll be fine. Sit before you pass out on me." The alpha obeyed almost instantly and plopped on the couch with a droopy sort of expression. He was still looking for the ladybug. What had Stiles gotten himself into with this babysitting thing?

"Stiles, I'm really scared." What the hell?! Was he actually hearing what he thought he was hearing? Had Derek Hale—the Derek Hale—just told him he was scared? Derek seemed to think that Stiles hadn't heard him or understood correctly so he repeated it slower, exaggerating every syllable and pause.

"I'm really, really scared, Stiles." Okay what in the name of everything… Oh. Then Stiles realized. This was the drugs talking, not Derek, and it was all nonsense. He could remember when he'd had his wisdom teeth out and Scott had taken a video of him talking about how hot Derek was—utterly untrue. He recovered himself and started for the kitchen. Food and water, Deaton had told him, get the drugs through his system.

"Why are you really, really scared, Derek?" Wait, that was mean; he wanted to take it back. He had to humor the man with a response, though, or else he'd repeat it even slower. As Stiles shuffled through surprisingly well-stocked cabinets and the fridge, Derek padded over on barefeet and sat at the bar counter to watch. Stiles had to admit, he'd been mocking the alpha. Normally, he would have feared for his life at doing such a thing but right now Derek didn't seem like much of a threat and, judging from the man's expression, hadn't even noticed.

"Because of you." He found lettuce and tomatoes in the fridge but didn't even consider salad for a second. Mayo, ham, and a loaf of bread all found their way to the counter in front of him and he hurriedly began to slap pieces together like he'd never made a sandwich in his life. No, it wasn't ham then tomatoes then lettuce, it was ham, lettuce, tomatoes. Yes, that seemed right—wait. What?!

He slid the plate, sandwich on it, towards Derek who promptly began to pick at it but his mind was reeling. What was even happening anymore?! Not only had he mocked Derek for being emotional and honest, Derek had said it was because of him?! Derek Hale, the almighty alpha warrior, was afraid because of a hyperactive nineteen year old college student.

"Wait, me? What do I have to do with this?" His spinning mind helpfully suggested all kinds of things: he'd invaded Derek's space coming to his apartment like this, Derek felt defenseless being drugged up and was irrationally worried, or even that Derek was afraid Stiles would hurt him. But none of that made a bit of sense. After all, Derek was… well, Derek.

"Nothing… Everything…" Half the sandwich had disappeared from the plate and Derek was becoming a bit more coherent. He wasn't any more reserved, though, and he still evidently didn't have a problem with the current discussion topic.

"What are you trying to say, Hale?" Derek's face scrunched into a pout at his last name. Frankly, Stiles wasn't even surprised anymore because he'd been hit with so many things tonight that he'd exhausted his ability to be shocked. The alpha pushed the plate away and towards Stiles with the crusts left untouched but the rest devoured. Weird, he could have sworn Derek normally ate the crusts. Nevertheless, Derek finished chewing and swallowed before opening his mouth to speak.

"I don't know what to do." Stiles almost took a step back when Derek's normal, adult voice hit the air and sounded completely calm and rational—like normal, brooding Derek.

"About?" His focus for some reason was unshakably latched onto the crust issue. Derek always ate the crusts off bread… didn't he? Busy trying to remember a time he saw Derek eat bread, he knew he wasn't really asking. But Derek was really answering.

"I want to get close to you. I just…" Whoa, hold up, what? Stunned speechless for a moment—a first for him—his mind reeled over that confession. Derek wanted to get closer to him?! Since when!? Mind still spinning and trying to somehow make sense of all of this, Stiles didn't respond right away but he could tell Derek was only slightly annoyed by that. Normal Derek would have already gotten defensive, put up his walls, and left.

"Wait, you want to get closer to me?" Why on earth would Derek ever want to do that? He was Stiles. Spastic, hyperactive, sarcastic, talks-too-much Stiles. They all knew he was the only human among them and how much of a burden it was on the pack to protect him all the time. The pack only did because Scott would've killed them otherwise. Besides, didn't Derek hate him? Derek, who always had a snide comment or a lethal glare ready whenever Stiles opened his mouth.

"Yeah, I really do." Wait… This was Derek. The one who got annoyed by Stiles even fidgeting in the same room as him. No way any of this was even remotely true.

"Are you messing with me?" There was a sudden beautiful intricacy to Derek's dark eyes and the groggy, drugged quality was completely gone from his voice. He looked… honest.

"No, I really like you, Stiles, and I want to care about you. Well, I do care I just... I can't trust you." Ouch. That stung, for some reason. For a second, Stiles' lungs were paralyzed in his chest and he couldn't breathe. He'd never really believed that Derek trusted him so why did it matter? But, somehow, he had still liked to think that Derek knew he could trust him—even if he chose not to.

"Wait, no," Derek seemed to notice the sudden shift in Stiles' expression. "I don't mean you aren't trustworthy-you are-or that I don't want to trust you." The alpha's face fell and his eyes dropped with it. He began to play with the crusts on his plate, poking at them with one finger, and glued his eyes to that.

"It's just that, after everything... I don't trust people, Stiles. I just don't-I can't. And I really want to trust you but…" Derek's voice seemed to run out mid-sentence. But what?! But he rambled too much and couldn't keep his mouth shut? But he was too unpredictable? But he was human like Kate? But he was Stiles?

"But what, Derek?" The first name felt weird in his mouth, like eating food of the wrong texture.

"But I don't think I know how anymore." Oh god. The tears welling in Derek's eyes shattered Stiles' heart. He looked so scared and ashamed of everything he was admitting Stiles just wanted to hug the sad out of him.

Through all this insanity Stiles could only seem to focus on one thing and that was the familiar. Deep, purple bags leached into the inside corners of the man's eyes. A drooping, latent expression on the alpha's face that said even his skin was too tired to hold itself up. And especially the ignored trembling of overworked muscles whenever he went to reach for something—even just to poke again at the crusts.

"Derek, have you not been sleeping?" Stiles couldn't imagine why but he suddenly took on an almost motherly tone with the alpha—even though he was bigger, older, and stronger than Stiles in every way. But, even stranger, Derek didn't seem fazed by it.

"Nightmares," he mumbled. Immediately, Stiles' heart wrenched into his throat and his gut churned. He wanted to cry. Because God he knew how much it hurt to wake up more exhausted than the night before, to be afraid to close your eyes, to be afraid to tell anyone. A sharp, painful abyss of existence had become a regular residence of his after the nogitsune and had never really stopped-just become less frequent. He could see that same bottomless pit digging itself in Derek.

"Come on, sourwolf." But for the first time, Derek didn't even react to the nickname. Instead, he seemed to take in Stiles' almost authoritative tone and obey without question. The alpha followed wordlessly.

Stiles found the bedroom rather quickly considering he'd never ventured farther than Derek's living room before. It was more comfortable and homey than he'd imagined it would be but instantly he decided that he liked this version better than the one in his head. Everything was cool-colored and calm, the kind of calm Stiles had always imagined other people felt where his body had restless energy. The bed was big and filled with enough pillows and blankets to build a fort with. His mind wandered for a second too long with that thought...

A large bathroom and closet explained the lack of a dresser or wardrobe but Stiles still managed to be surprised by the three bookshelves—all substantial in size and completely filled. There was a certain artistic quality to the room but, mostly, it seemed designed for comfort. Even the air was easy to breathe.

He was distracted, though, and quickly snapped back to the present where Derek was standing patiently beside him. His legs quivered a bit, though he tried to hide it, and Stiles could tell how exhausted he was. One hand motioned towards the bed but, once Derek refused, Stiles was forced to take further action. Knowing the alpha, he stood and nearly pushed Derek onto the bed by gradually invading his personal space until he had no choice. Derek groaned in protest at the trick and kicked a bit like a mini tantrum but he looked so much like a pouty little kid in that instant that Stiles had to laugh.

Oh shit. Instantly, the blood drained from Derek's face. Shit he screwed up. Ice cold emotionlessness replaced every bit of his expression and washed away any remnants of warmth. Shit, shit, shit!

"No, Derek, I wasn't laughing-" But Derek huffed dramatically and flopped onto his side. Still unsure, Stiles peered over the muscled lump to see Derek's face-which the alpha promptly noticed. He met Stiles' concern by crossing his arms and throwing himself onto his other side, his back placed theatrically to Stiles. Drama queen. Holding back a relieved smile, Stiles started for the door.

"You need to sleep, sourwolf. I'll be right out there if you need anything." A string of discontented mumblings sifted through the blankets but the only word Stiles could catch was if.

"What was that?" Derek huffed again and repeated it louder but was still completely unintelligible.

"Der, I have no idea what you're saying." Annoyed, Derek abruptly flopped onto his back and turned his glare on Stiles with a surprising lack of anger. Wait where had that nickname come from?

"I said, what if the nightmares come back?" But there was more there in his voice and Stiles, having said those words a thousand times, caught it immediately. Derek was afraid. Afraid to close his eyes-afraid of what his mind might dream up.

"Okay. Well, first things first what are they about? If it's something that's already happened it can't hurt you anymore and if it's not possible then it's nothing to fear." He knew how many times he'd heard that and how irritating it got but he had to try.

"They're about you." Damn Derek was just full of daggers he was ready to plunge into Stiles' heart with every word.

"Me? What about me?" The alpha took a deep, shaky breath and looked away.

"Nevermind…" Come on, he thought, he'd always been good with kids but this was an alpha werewolf for God's sakes! What even was considered normal protocol here?! This sure as hell wasn't normal.

"You left… Me. You left me." Stiles couldn't help letting his forehead crinkle in confusion at that. Of all things to be afraid of, Derek had nightmares about Stiles leaving? This had to be some psychological test or a joke. Until today, Stiles had been convinced that Derek hated him with every fiber of his being and only kept him around because of Scott. But now, Derek was afraid of him leaving?

"I would never do that, Derek. You know that." But the half-formed tears in Derek's eyes said he clearly didn't. Or, if he did, he didn't trust it enough to fully accept it. This was an alternative reality. That was the only explanation that made sense. Stiles had somehow been transported to another parallel world where everything was opposite. Where Derek cared about him and depended on him rather than hated him.

"You will. I don't know when—but you will." Derek's voice started to lower and the choked quality towards the end drove Stiles to sit on the edge of the bed and lay a hand over the bandages. He didn't know what was happening anymore, he just wanted that pain out of Derek's voice.

"No, Der, I would never leave. Why does the thought of me leaving scare you so much?" Below him, the alpha's face flushed a bit in what looked like shame and he looked away. Stiles just watched though, waiting for a response. He knew Derek well enough to make him simmer in his own silence, though. And to know that that would get an answer faster than more questions would.

"I don't want you to leave. I want you here." What the heck was going on? Derek actually sounded desperate to make him stay. It wasn't like he was moving away—nothing had changed in the four years he'd known Derek—but suddenly the alpha was losing sleep over it?

"Why? So it's easier to keep an eye on me?" A bit of defeat flooded into Derek's eyes, washing away the intricate beauty and replacing it with hopelessness. God, he said the wrong thing. He just wanted that pain to melt out of his alpha's eyes.

"Because I like you, Stiles." Whoa, whoa, whoa, this had to be a dream. Had he mixed up his Adderall with some of his dad's old painkillers? That would explain the hallucinations, he thought. And the easier, less worried, and almost sort of giddy feeling in his chest.

"No, you hate me. I'm annoying, remember? A hyperactive spaz you have to swoop in and rescue." Derek shook his head, slow and delayed like he had to make his body react. Stiles waited for more-for any kind of explanation or even a sound-but Derek's eyes were closed and it didn't come.

"I'll be right out there, Derek," His voice was coddling, like he was talking to a child about to go down for a nap, but Derek interrupted with more force than he was expecting.

"No!" But like... What was he supposed to do? He was whirling around in his own ocean of thoughts, never once sticking with a single idea, but he stopped short when he looked down again. Derek's face had twisted, thick eyebrows had furrowed together and the corners of his mouth got sucked in, disappearing in an angry sort of dimple. Was it possible to make dimples like that? None of the Hale's had dimples when they smiled but were angry dimples a thing? Stiles imagined that all those tiny facial muscles-

"Hmph!" It was clear that Derek was not content with the current situation. Stiles wasn't sure what was going on, really, he just knew that expression. Until now, he hadn't realized; but when he remembered the way it felt to contort his face, to wince and whimper trying to fall asleep, he saw this expression. This was what he'd looked like.

"Derek?" There was no response from the lump on the bed, just tension leaking into broad shoulders. That damn face! It was too familiar, he remembered the feeling that came with it too well. He hated that feeling. Hated it so freaking much. More than anything, he just wanted it to stop-he wanted that expression gone so he could stop remembering.

"Derek, when I was little my mom used to make these waffles her grandmother taught her to make. She used to chop up vegetables until the pieces were too small to really notice and mix then into the batter without telling my dad-it was for his heart, she said. And she would let me pick a handful of fruits like berries and oranges-I always picked berries and oranges. We would cut them up small, not as small as the vegetables but not too big either, and mix them into the batter too. That way, when my mom finally pulled the flaky, golden waffles from the waffle iron, there were little pockets of warm fruit in every bite, dripping with golden syrup and whipped cream. We made those every weekend, especially once I started school, and it was my favorite part of the whole week." Stiles didn't realize how long he'd been rambling about his mom's waffles until he paused to take a breath and didn't hear ragged breathing from the bed anymore.

"Der…?" But he stopped mid-word. Eyes closed, Derek's face had relaxed and the anger dimples had disappeared. Was he…? Derek let out a light snore and a little giggle bubbled up out of his mouth. Satisfied, Stiles stood-slowly and carefully, like a new parent tiptoeing away from their restless child-and crept out into the hallway. He closed the door with a soft tap, prayed that the alpha's hearing wouldn't catch something he couldn't, and started for the door.

Wait.

How many times had he just told Derek that he would be just outside if he needed him? Enough times that Derek would probably remember. He thought about leaving anyways. It was Derek, after all. But then he thought back to his dad, to whispered promises that he would be there, to how grateful he was for his dad's support…. And to how Derek didn't have a dad to do that for him. He actually knew nothing about Derek's dad, now that he thought about it, but that was another issue entirely. For now, he appeased his guilt and concern by plopping down on the couch and kicking back as easily as if it was the McCall's couch.

Thanks for reading I hope you liked it! To be continued... Please rate, review, like, favorite, and so on!