AN: This is the first thing I've written in over a year, it's been so long! Good to be back!
Many thanks to my beta twoheartsonerose for helping me back into the swing of things.
'Take Care'
BethBobby
The groan was the first thing he heard as he climbed through the window, followed by a low, "Go 'way, Derek."
"Stiles?" Derek murmured, looking at the shivering mass huddled under an obscene amount of blankets.
"Derek, close the window," was the only reply he received, voice muffled and groggy.
"Are you okay? You missed the pack meeting; Scott said that your Dad called his Mom to tell her that you were sick," Derek said, sniffing the air cautiously, the smell of sweat the most prominent, followed shortly by the smell of misery. He wrinkled his nose, moving to stand beside the bed.
"Yeah, she said I have tonsillitis. It's contagious, and I didn't want to give it to Allison or Lydia." Stiles' voice was raspy, his breathing laboured and uneven due to the incessant shivering.
Derek sighed, kneeling next to the bed so that he was at eye level with Stiles before pressing the back of his hand gently against the younger man's sweating forehead, "You look like crap."
"Yeah, I kind of got that when my Dad cringed as he came in," Stiles sighed, leaning his head into Derek's touch.
"You're really hot," Derek told him, running his hand through Stiles' hair like his own mother had used to when he was upset.
"I'm irresistibly hot," Stiles murmured weakly, huffing at the loss of Derek's touch on his feverish skin.
The werewolf smiled slightly at the joke. "Sure you are, but there's no way I'm kissing you right now. You look sick enough that even I might not be immune."
Stiles rolled his eyes, then groaned when the movement made him dizzy and his headache worse.
"You're hilarious," he muttered, pushing his head more fully into Derek's fingers.
"Where is your Dad?" Derek asked, cocking his head to the side and listening for the Sheriff's heartbeat, but finding none.
"Work, there was some emergency," Stiles explained, clutching the duvet closer around himself, the fever chills racking his body, despite the abnormal heat to his skin.
Derek nodded, and stood up, causing Stiles' head to chase his fingers, before groaning and dropping back down to the pillow. Derek huffed out a laugh and said, "Okay, give me two minutes."
Pulling out his phone, Derek cautiously manuevered to the door, grimacing at the piles of papers thrown about the room.
"Derek, how is Stiles?" Scott's voice asked on the other end of the call.
"Really sick. What am I supposed to do with him? He's running a fever and his lungs sound like sandpaper. The glands in his neck are swollen too." Derek paced up and down the hallway outside Stiles' bedroom for a moment before pausing outside the bedroom door to peer in at the young man, the need to crawl into bed beside him and hold him overwhelming him for a moment before he pushed it down, telling himself that that wasn't what Stiles needed right now.
"My Mom said that you need to try and get him to drink as much as you can. He won't want to because of this throat, but he has to if he has a fever," Scott said, unnecessarily repeating the information Derek can hear Melissa telling him in the background.
"Do I need to take him to a hospital?" Derek demanded, concerned that it could be more serious than he originally assumed.
"Derek, he's not dying, he hasn't been attacked by some unknown supernatural creature, he's just sick and you're going to have to take care of him," Scott laughed down the phone. Derek didn't really appreciate the sarcasm, and wanted to punch Scott's laughing face for making fun of him.
"I don't know these things! I've never gotten sick before!" Derek shouted in a whisper, trying not to disturb Stiles' in the bedroom.
"Just keep him warm and make him drink! It's not that difficult!"
"Fine, fine, thanks," Derek ground out, "Bye Scott."
He didn't wait for Scott to reply before hanging up, pushing the phone back into his pocket before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. There was a box of aspirin and a glass of water already on the table, which was obviously the Sheriff's doing. Grabbing both of them, Derek made his way back up the stairs, listening to the rapid beating of Stiles' heart.
"Derek?"
"Yeah?"
"You can just go home; you don't have to take care of me, you know," came the quiet reply.
"I want to, Stiles. I don't care if you're sick. Hell, you've spent enough time looking after me and patching me up," Derek said softly, placing the water and aspirin on the bedside table and moving some of the blankets aside so that he can sit on the side of the bed.
Stiles sighed, "Everything hurts, Derek."
"I know, I need you to sit up for me for a minute, though. You need to drink this or you're going to end up dehydrated and even sicker,"Derek said, pulling the mountain of sheets away from Stiles' shivering body.
Stiles whimpered as the cold air hit his skin, and reached up to pull the duvets out of Derek's hands. "Stop it, I'm so cold!"
Derek rolled his eyes slightly, putting one hand under Stiles' back and pulling him gently into a sitting position so that Stiles was leaning against the back of the headboard before placing the blankets back over him.
"Drink," Derek commanded, holding up the glass of water.
Stiles visibly cringed before extending a shaky hand to grip the glass, lifting it to his lips and taking a few small sips before glancing back towards Derek in a 'happy now?' gesture.
"See, that wasn't so bad," Derek smirked as he took the glass and placed it back on the bedside table.
"You really are the worst boyfriend ever," Stiles joked, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
Derek snorted, "That's not what you're supposed to say to the person taking care of you."
Stiles shrugged. "I don't care, I feel like death."
"You look like death," Derek admitted, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jacket. "Scoot over," he ordered, as he lifted the covers and slid in beside Stiles.
"What are you doing?" Stiles asked as Derek pulled him gently back down to the bed so that Stiles was leaning back against Derek's body.
"Shut up, Stiles," Derek muttered, winding his arms around the younger man, one hand creeping under Stiles' shirt to rub gentle, soothing circles into his stomach in an attempt to relax his body's shivering, the other hand resting lightly over Stiles' heart.
Stiles turned slightly so he could press his face against Derek's chest and nuzzle his cheek into the werewolf's shirt. Derek pushed his fingers against Stiles' back, feeling the familiar pull of his healing abilities pulling the pain away from Stiles, watching as black leached into hisveins, travelling up his forearm before disappearing. Stiles moaned gently against his chest, Derek feeling rather than hearing the small sound of relief.
"Thank you," Stiles sighed, the shivering lessening slightly and letting Stiles relax against him before a coughing spell racked through him, his lanky frame convulsing as he pressed his face further against Derek's chest, hands clutching at his shirt, before relaxing as his body stilled. "Sorry," he muttered weakly, his voice rough.
"S'ok, get some sleep," Derek said gently, pressing his lips to Stiles' forehead as he flattened his palm against the small of Stiles' back, pulling away as much of the younger man's pain as he could. He felt Stiles relax more as the shivering subsided and the aching in his muscles finally eased. It wasn't long before Stiles' breathing evened out, and he started to snore softly against Derek's chest.
Derek rubbed his cheek against the top of Stiles' head affectionately, finally satisfied that Stiles wasn't in any pain at the minute before he laid his head against the pillows that smelt so strongly of Stiles, of home. He exhaled gently, closing his eyes, content to let the steady thrumming of Stiles' heartbeat lull him to sleep.
Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!