"Okay look," Scott said quietly through the phone receiver. "Do it because you know he's the most important person to me," he paused for a moment, revising what he'd said. "…the most important male person. Please, Derek."

It wasn't even a question this time, Scott was just flat-out begging.

"Derek, it's not like I ask you for favours very often-" Scott sucked in a deep breath when he heard a distinct snort from the other end of the line. "-This kind of favour."

There was a low moan from the other room, making both wolves flinch. "Was that Stiles?" the younger beta asked incredulously. "Oh come on, Derek, he's practically whimpering! You're seriously not going to help? Just while his dad's gone. He's practically part of our pa-"

"Don't-" Derek warned, still pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes squeezed shut. A guilt trip wasn't something he needed at the moment. "Scott, even if I wanted to, I don't have any idea how t-"

"I do, okay? It's not really hard, just make sure he eats and drinks regularly. And if he pukes, well, you know."

Fighting back a long string of profanities, Derek waited for some anger to subside. "Why can't you just put both of them in the same room and-"

"You know why I can't. They'd rip each other's heads off, and dude, I'm not that good."

Grinding his teeth together for probably the twentieth time that day, Derek swallowed the insult he almost shot at Scott and hung up roughly. It was still beyond him how he'd gotten stuck looking after a seventeen year old boy with the flu. And Scott's excuse that he needed to look after Allison, who'd also gotten the flu, yeah, it wasn't a good one. Not a lie, he'd admit, but still not a good excuse.

As Derek rounded the corner, fingers clenched around his phone so tightly that it threatened to crack, he stopped in the doorway to observe the mess of a person in front of him with a grimace. Stiles was tangled bizarrely in the covers on his bed, his face buried in a pillow. When he heard Derek's footsteps stop in the doorway, he twisted until he could glance at the entrance to his bedroom. Realizing who his visitor was, he flopped back into his previous position and called a muffled, "Heh-hey, Derek. Where's Scott?"

Taking a few seconds to work out the slurred and muffled words, Derek answered with a cold, "Not coming," and crossed the room to observe a bottle of pills on Stiles' night-side.

"He's making you…?" Stiles trailed off and groaned into his pillow, attempting to crunch into more of a fetal position. A wave of nausea, he guessed.

"Yeah," Derek muttered, holding up the bottle. Just standing next to Stiles' bed, he could feel the waves of unnatural heat rolling off the teen's body. "When was the last time you took one?"

Straining to squint up at Derek again, he gurgled a laugh. "Like ten minutes ago. Threw it up."

Massaging a hand over his face, the wolf popped the lid open. "Take one now. And don't," he added, grimacing at Stiles who'd turned away. This was why he hated hospitals. The smell of unhealthy people. It was disgusting.

"Derek, I'm telling you right now that no matter what I swallow, I'll throw it up."

The image even made Derek feel a little nauseous. "Then get out from under those, because you'll just make it worse," he said through a clenched jaw, referring to the fever.

"No," Stiles groaned into his pillow. "I'm cold."

"You're cold because your fever's so high, now get out," Derek said quickly and impatiently, yanking a corner of the cover until Stiles was half untangled.

Face still buried in the pillow, Stiles muffled a, "How 'bout like this?" As if Derek would agree to a compromise.

"No, out," Derek barked, glancing at the time. 12:10pm. "Have you ea-"

Stiles held up a hand awkwardly due to his position, one finger sticking up. "If you say 'eat', I'll kill you."

Death threats. Cute. He wouldn't have let it go if he didn't hear Stiles' heartbeat spike as the teen realized what he'd said, and to who. Instead of either of them saying anything, Stiles admitted defeat by rolling the rest of the way out of his covers. He was much paler than usual, refusing to open his eyes.

"Happy?" Stiles croaked, swallowing dryly at the ceiling.

Ignoring the question, Derek took the thermometer from the night-side and tossed it onto Stiles' chest. It was kind of satisfying, the way the teen jumped to life for a moment, almost sitting up in fright. Realizing what it was, he muttered a few choice words at the back of his throat without really saying them aloud.

"Take it," was all the wolf said leaving the room while moving his head from side to side, cracking his neck in annoyance.

The Stilinski kitchen was an absolute nightmare. Nothing seemed to really have an organized place, dishes and cups crammed into whatever was the most convenient. Derek must've been there a dozen times, and was glad he'd never had to navigate his way around it before. The disorganization was enough to bring out anyone's OCD.

Filling a glass with cold water, Derek made his way slowly up the stairs, glancing longingly at their front door as he passed. When he re-entered Stiles' room, he observed him studying the thermometer in complete and utter horror. Derek could read it from where he was. Almost 103. If he remembered correctly, a healthy human being was supposed to be around 86 degrees.

"I'm dying," the lacrosse player said simply, putting the thermometer down shakily beside him.

Remaining silent, Derek placed the glass down beside the gauge and shook out a couple pills from the bottle.

"Nononono," Stiles started, holding out his hands defensively. "I can't-"

"You'll try," the wolf said quietly and lividly, standing where he was until Stiles broke the eye contact and reached for the medicine.

The anger Derek felt died for a second, replaced by apprehension and vague nervousness as he watched Stiles force the pills down. They both stayed completely still, Derek trying to desperately hear/feel any sign of Stiles' nausea. When nothing happened, Stiles held up a hand and puffed out, "S'alright. I'm good."

Derek nodded once, satisfied that the teen was already not as warm and feverish-looking.

"Now what?" Stiles asked blearily, curling up against his covers, careful not to slip under them again.

"I don't know, sleep," the wolf said, making his way to the door.

"Wai- are you staying?" asked Stiles, meaning in his general vicinity.

Sighing, Derek turned back around. "Want me to?" He was surprised at how little patience he really had, and how he hadn't figured it out until now.

"No."

Lie. How touching. "Ask if you need something," he called over his shoulder, taking the stairs quickly. What he really needed was sleep too, and sleeping while Stiles was seemed like a good idea.

Collapsing onto the Stilinski's couch, Derek was out almost as soon as he did. It felt so good to lie down, let alone on something soft, and he fought a moan of ecstasy. For a moment, the wolf admitted that it might be a good idea to sleep somewhere other than his burnt-out home once in a while. He hadn't slept in days.

But of course, the orgasmic, deep sleep Derek had fallen into had to be disrupted too soon. Eyes flickering open, Derek sat straight up at the sound of retching and groaning from upstairs. The sound was horrible, disgusting, off-putting, and Derek hated himself as he neared the sound. For the love of… the wolf thought, pausing before he entered Stiles' room.

Thankfully, he appeared to have made it to a toilet, or at least made it to the bathroom, because the door to it was pulled shut, the heaving and spitting definitely coming from the small crack. "Uhh, this is so gross," Stiles yelled from the depths of the bathroom, raising his voice at the last word.

Sitting uncomfortably on the edge of Stiles' bed, Derek ran his fingers through his hair and frowned in a sort of twisted sympathy. What could he have possibly even thrown up, he thought, frustrated. The only thing he'd consumed had been hours ago, and were Tylenol…

When a shaky, slightly-moist-with-sweat-looking Stiles pushed the door open and stumbled groggily back to his bed, Derek got the hell out of the way quickly and looked down at the teen with yet another grimace.

"Did you even eat anything?" The wolf couldn't help but ask, fighting his own slight wave of nausea.

Stiles didn't hesitate to flop face-first back onto his bed. "No," he moaned, dragging it out in aggravation.

Derek crossed his arms as Stiles coughed weakly into his pillow, trying to decide what to do.

"I feel like shit," he moaned again, as if it wasn't obvious.