Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: Derek quizzes Stiles while the teen bleeds out in his car. Pack feels.

01 (Trivia)

"Scott was literally the kid that ate glue in kindergarten," Stiles takes a breath, closes his eyes. His lips twist in a wry grin. "…until second grade."

He doesn't turn his head, but he can see Derek's hands gripping the wheel tightly, his arms tense. Ah, well, he's used to being the cause of the alpha's annoyance. And they know each other well enough at this point that he can hear the question bouncing around in Derek's head that he won't ask because this whole line of information is just too stupid. Stiles shrugs, explains anyway.

"Thought you should know. You can taunt him." Because though Scott and Derek had come to an understanding, a working relationship and respect that bordered on friendship now and again, they could still be fairly caustic toward one another. Stiles wondered if he was unfair, giving Derek this ammo.

But Derek was the one closest proximity-wise at the moment. Scott was somewhere close behind. If not in Lydia's car, then just flat out running. It depended on how freaked out he was. Stiles couldn't really remember clearly…

"Keep talking." The sharp voice startles Stiles' eyes open. He didn't remember drifting off. He stares up at the roof of Derek's, somehow still immaculate, car. He speaks slowly, making sure he forms words clearly.

"Iceland's actually pretty green." He's just trying to annoy Derek further now, pokig the bear who seems already pretty agitated for a reason that escapes Stiles. He knows how the werewolf hates pointless knowledge. "Greenland's the one covered in ice."

Derek nods and Stiles finally glances over at him. The beta's actually pretending to listen. Oh, god…

"What year did Vikings land in North America?"

Stiles gasps awake again, lightheaded and gasping like he hadn't been breathing.

"Oh, god…" Stiles echoed his thoughts, rolling his head against the seat. Derek's eyes are off the road and on him so fast, Stiles is sure they're going to crash.

"What's wrong?" There's that even, in-control tone Derek loved to use in sticky situations. Stiles hated it. It was always forced, a lie. Almost painful to listen to.

"If you're asking me to share extraneous facts…" he trailed off, smile faltering just slightly before returning brighter than before. He didn't know how much Derek hated that. "I'm dying, right?"

"No." Derek's angry. Angry is easier than, well, whatever else he's feeling. His teeth are clenched, eyes back on the road. They're going faster now. Stiles wonders if Scott can keep up...

Stiles makes a pained noise when there's more pressure on his stomach, Derek having forced Stiles' arm back against his midsection with a tight grip.

"Press down." He growls. He's driving one-handed now, seeming intent on not removing his other hand from Stiles' forearm. It hurts, but it's not as much as before. And Stiles isn't stupid. He knows that's a bad sign.

The blood on his clothes, against his arm, is warm, new. Too much to even start clotting.

Stiles licks his lips and notices the shaking. He's not sure if it's him, or Derek, or both.

"…About…a thousand years before, before…" And he can't remember if it was before Columbus or before the present. "It's debatable," He settles.

"What else?"

Stiles is suddenly so tired. He can't bring to mind any trivia he knows. It's too cold to think.

He reaches out blindly, pawing for the AC control. Derek grabs his wrist, stops him. Wouldn't have mattered anyway, Stiles can see it's turned off already.

"Stop. What else. What else, Stiles." They've stopped being questions and evolved into commands.

Stiles blinks and breathes.

"Dunno…I can't-…dunno…" Stiles's hands twitch, fingers curling and straightening just so Stiles can feel like he's still controlling them. Derek grabs his hand, stilling him.

The wolf doesn't ask anything else, doesn't say anything for a few moments. Then, softer,

"Just try." Stiles isn't sure he's talking about trivia anymore. It's the roughness in his voice that gives it away. "Just try, Stiles."

Stiles breathes. He thinks he can feel the pack still behind them. Something drips over his lower lip and Stiles smells blood before he tastes it.

"…Yeah."