Stiles was shit-faced drunk. He should have listened to Scott when he said accepting Jackson's invite to guy's night would end up being anything but fun. Stiles wasn't stupid. He knew Jackson and the rest of the lacrosse team probably had ulterior motives, but Stiles decided to take the chance anyway. The truth was, Stiles was feeling a bit lonely lately. Scott was spending all his free time with Allison (like right now) and Stiles was left to his own devices, which was never a good thing.

So, here he was in the woods at a bonfire failing miserably at a game of beer-pong and on the verge of making an even bigger fool of himself by throwing up everywhere.

"Okay, I'm done. I've had a lot of fun, really I have, but I think my liver is very close to breaking up with me after all the abuse I've put her through tonight. I don't know about you, but I can't live without my liver. I need her desperately. So, in order to salvage what is left of our fractured relationship, I must retire from this incredibly stupid and pointless game. Thank you fine gentlemen for including me in your archaic and slightly medieval practices, but this is where I put up my white flag. I bid you adieu." Stiles turned away from the foldable table and started to stumble away when Jackson grabbed Stiles's shoulder to stop him.

"Oh, no you don't. You're not getting off that easy. You can't just stop playing, because you're losing. You have to finish the game."

Stiles rested both of his hands on Jackson's shoulders. "Jack, buddy, listen, it's not that I don't want to finish the game, it's that I physically cannot take another sip of anything. I've reached my limit ten swigs ago. Unless you want my barf all over that beautiful folding table, I suggest you let me perform my own version of the walk of shame and let me be on my merry way."

Jackson increased his grip on Stiles's shoulder.

"Oww, owww. You have incredible hand strength. I'd hate to see what little Jackson looks like after you're done yanking on him. Well, actually I'd hate to see little Jackson, at all. I mean there was that one time in the locker room I may have caught a glimpse in the corner of my eye, but it's not like... Just forget I even said anything about little, uhm, yeah."

Jackson leaned into Stiles's face. "You should be a little more appreciative, Stilinski. I went against my better judgement and invited your dork self to this little get-together and included you in all the festivities and let you drink our beer and now you just want to leave? No, I don't think so. You're finishing the game."

"No, I'm not."

"Oooooh," echoed the lacrosse team.

"Yes, you are."

"He said no or did you not hear him?"

Jackson and Stiles both looked to the left to see who spoke up.

"Who the hell asked you?"

Derek Hale started to move closer. "No one asked me, but I'm telling you that if you don't let go of him I'm going to call the cops and tell them that a bunch of underage delinquents are not only trespassing on private property, but apparently drinking illegally obtained alcohol. So, the choice is yours big guy."

Jackson forcefully shoved Stiles back and he lost his balance and fell to the ground. "Watch your back, Stilinski."

Jackson walked away and Derek helped Stiles back to his feet.

"What the hell, man?" Stiles said.

"What? I just saved your ass."

Stiles brushed the dirt off his pants. "I was handling myself just fine. Now, I'm going to get teased relentlessly, because someone else fought my battle for me. So, excuse me for not being quick with the gratitude. Oh, whoa!" Stiles lost his balance, but Derek caught his arm before he could fall back down.

"I'm taking you home. Let's go." Derek held on to Stiles's arm and started to guide him along.

"Uh, hello, I can't go home. My dad's the sheriff, remember? How do you think he'd react to his son coming home drunk? I'll give you a hint; not very well. No, I'm not going home. You can't make me. I'm putting my foot down." Stiles stomped his foot and stumbled. "This is me putting my foot down. Witness the downing of my foot."

"Fine, then I'm taking you to Scott's house."

"Nope, can't do that either. His mom will call my dad. Bad idea."

"You really didn't plan this out very well did you? Where did you think you would go after getting shit-faced?"

"Honestly, I didn't plan on drinking. I just thought I would be surrounded by good company, roast a marshmallow or two, and maybe braid each other's hair while singing Kumbaya. You know, the usual campfire activities."

"You don't even have any hair to braid, Stiles."

"Wow, someone's not really one with the sarcasm, huh?"

Derek continued to guide Stiles throughout the woods. "Where am I supposed to take you Stiles?"

"You don't have to take me anywhere, Derek. I'm not your responsibility. Just leave me out here. I'll curl up next to a big oak and become closer to the mother earth. Maybe a little gnome or leprechaun will visit me and I'll make some new friends. I mean if werewolves exist who's to say that leprechauns and gnomes aren't out there somewhere? Poor little fellas. Can you imagine being so small and ugly?"

"I can see why you would make such great friends."

Stiles started to laugh. "OH! He makes a joke!" Stiles patted Derek on the back. "Who knew you had a sense of humor buried under all that sulk and despair?"

Derek gave Stiles a glare that sent chills down his spine.

"Okay, I'll just shut up now."

"Where am I taking you, Stiles?"

Stiles let out a yawn. "Dude, I don't know and I don't really care. I just want to throw up a little, possibly take a shower, and cocoon my naked body in silk sheets. That's all I..." Stiles started to feel strange. He began to lose his footing and lean into Derek more.

Derek stopped walking and had Stiles sit down on a boulder. "Stiles, what's wrong?"

Stiles was slouched over and having a hard time picking his head up. "I feel...awful."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"I...I don't know. I lost count. Oh, God," Stiles leaned forward and proceeded to projectile vomit.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. You probably have alcohol poisoning." Derek began to help Stiles to his feet.

"Not the hospital, please Derek. They'll call my dad."

"That should be the least of your worries. I'm taking you."

Stiles pushed against Derek, trying to fight the grasp he had on him. "No hospital, PLEASE."

Derek let out a low groan. "Stiles where else am I supposed to bring you? You can't go home, you can't go to Scott's, and you refuse to go to the hospital. I'm about to take you up on your offer and leave you here with the gnomes and leprechauns."

"Just take me to your place."

"What?! No, absolutely not. I am not babysitting you, Stiles. I'm not holding your hair back while you puke your guts out, and I'm not going to tuck you into beddy-bye."

"I don't have any hair to pull back, remember?

Derek looked up at the sky, wondering how he let himself get into this situation. Why couldn't he have just minded his own business? "Damn it, Stiles."

"Come on big guy. Take an intoxicated teenage boy back to your creepy and mysterious barely standing shell of a home. You can add it to your resume, right under previous murder suspect."

"You're not helping your case, Stiles."

"Derek, just take me to your place. I'm not expecting the hospitality of a high-end B&B. Just throw me a blanket and let me sleep it off. I promise to not puke in any of the holes in the floors. Please, just let me sleep."

Derek knew he was going to live to regret this. "If you puke anywhere but in a bucket, you are cleaning it up. I'm not going to be your nurse."

"So, no bed bath then?"

"Not even a bed. You get a mattress on the floor."

"Sounds wonderful, really."

Derek let out a sigh.

"Oh, don't look so glum. I'm the perfect house guest. You won't even know I'm there," Stiles said… right before he threw up on Derek's boots.

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yup, he was DEFINITELY going to regret this.

Derek was leading Stiles up the steps of what remained of the front porch to his house. As he helped Stiles up the step he noticed that Stiles was not only leaning heavier into him, but that he had been unusually quite.

"Stiles?"

The intoxicated young man grunted in acknowledgement.

"Stiles, are you sleeping? Dude, wake up!"

Stiles jolted awake. "What, what, polar bears are white and majestic."

"What the hell are you talking about, Stiles?"

Derek unlocked the front door of his home.

"I, uh... don't ask."

Derek shook his head and walked Stiles into the house.

"I know you're not going to make it up the stairs, so you can have the couch."

Derek led his guest to the couch. Stiles ungracefully collapsed on the ragged piece of furniture like a messy paint splatter on a canvas.

"Oh, it's like a lumpy cloud of pleasure and pain and I love it." Stiles cuddled up with a tattered throw pillow like it was his favorite stuffed animal.

"You sure are easy to please."

Stiles, with his eyes closed, said, "You have no idea."

Derek took off his leather jacket and sat on the floor across from the couch Stiles now occupied. He could have gone upstairs and slept on his makeshift bed, but Derek decided he'd better keep an ear and an eye out for the incapacitated mess that was presently snoring on his couch.

Stiles started to stir and moan. "Oh, god. Oh, no," Stiles groaned as he sat upright on the couch.

Derek stood up. "Please don't throw up! Are you going to throw up?!"

Stiles leaned his head back on the back of the couch. "I don't know, man."

"I'm getting you a bucket. Please hold it in until I get back."

"Oh, yeah, sure no problem. I'll just choke on my own filth so I don't get your immaculate home dirty."

"Must you be so dramatic? I'll be right back. Try not to make a mess or die."

"That doesn't leave me with many other options!" Stiles yelled as Derek walked out of the room.

"Stiles, dude, what the hell were you thinking?" Stiles thought out loud. "I mean seriously, what the hell were you thinking? Letting Jackson and his brood trick you into playing a rigged game just so you could, what, feel like you were one of the guys for two whole seconds?" Stiles bowed his head in shame and rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. "So, so, so stupid. And then to top it all off, you can't even stand up for yourself when the time calls for it. No, instead you have to get rescued like some fairy tale princess by the knight with shiny fangs."

"I wouldn't exactly call myself a knight," Derek said as he re-entered the room.

"And I never really thought of myself as a fairy tale princess, but if the tiara fits, might as well wear it."

Derek sat next to Stiles on the couch and handed him a bucket. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Those guys were cowards. No matter what you would have said or done, it wouldn't have been enough. Not only were you drunk, but you were out numbered. It wasn't a fair fight."

Stiles just kind of nodded, and before he could respond with words, his stomach began to rumble and he knew what was about to happen. He reached for the bucket Derek had just brought him and retched up the consequence of his stupidity.

"This...is...horrible." Stiles lifted his head up, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"You can't lay down anymore. You don't want to choke if you puke while you're sleeping."

"But I desperately need sleep."

"I said you couldn't lay down, I didn't say you couldn't sleep."

"I can't sleep sitting up. Knowing me I'll fall right off the couch and into the floor and end up in the basement."

Derek laughed a little. "I'll keep a lookout."

"I thought you said you didn't want to babysit?"

"Go to sleep, Stiles."

Stiles nodded and closed his eyes. Within minutes both he and Derek were asleep.