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When Derek climbed through Stiles' window that night, he couldn't suppress a frustrated sigh. It had become a routine thing, after he warned the others about the arrival of the Alpha Pack, just spending hour upon hour searching the web for something that might be able to help them. This was the second week in a row that Derek had perched himself on the sill of the open window and seen the kid bowed over his laptop screen.
He must be exhausted, Derek thought as he watched Stiles blink his eyes widely and reach out blindly for another can of energy drink. He opened it without even looking, and his body swayed tiredly towards it. Normally, Derek would just leave the boy to it - it was really none of his business if Stiles wanted to work himself to death, although the thought didn't really sit well with him. But recently, he found himself unable to do that - maybe it was the protective alpha instincts kicking in, or maybe it was because he had finally, and reluctantly, accepted Stiles into his pack, even if the boy himself wasn't completely aware of it.
So, as was becoming ritual, he climbed through the window and approached Stiles' side his desk. The brunet glanced up at him briefly, giving his alpha the opportunity to see the sleep in his eyes, before dropping back to the screen.
"What have I told you about knocking?" Stiles said, as he always would, but now it was different. He was too tired to put the usual force and annoyance behind the words.
"You need to sleep," Derek stated, with a voice that said he wasn't to be argued with. Not that Stiles would ever listen.
"But I think I may have found something. I asked this forum about a way to fight alpha wolves and they just got back to me with these spells that I might-" his objection was cut off by Derek's disbelieving tone of voice.
"You yahoo! questioned how to fight an Alpha Pack?" he asked, before shaking his head firmly, as if deciding yeah, he really didn't want to know, "It doesn't matter anyway. You're going to bed. Get up."
When Stiles didn't move straight away, Derek grasped his upper arm and dragged him roughly onto his feet, ignoring the high pitched noise of protest. He let go suddenly and the boy fell unceremoniously on the bed. When Stiles just stared blankly up at him, Derek realised he may have to do everything himself. Breathing out heavily through his nose, he roughly yanked the red hoodie from Stiles' shoulders and proceeded to tug on his t-shirt. Stiles' lifted his arms obediently and watched every movement the other man made.
"You know, I thought you'd be naked too," Stiles commented randomly.
Derek froze, back stiff, like a deer caught in headlights. "What?"
"Derek Hale stripping me out my clothes. Usually when I have this dream, your naked," he continued, as if this was the most normal thing to say to someone.
"What?" Derek repeated.
"You know, naked, lack of clothes, in your birthday suit," he elaborated.
"I know what naked means Stiles," Derek growled out.
Stiles' hands, weak with his tiredness, came to tug on the end of his muscle shirt, and Derek could only watch with wide eyes, not entirely sure what was happening, when long fingers splayed across his bare stomach beneath the fabric.
"Sleep deprivation makes everything feel better," Stiles murmured out, one hand slipping down to grab Derek's arse through his jeans, making the werewolf jump.
"Stiles," he said as gently as he could, trying to back out of the rather vice like grip of the human, "You're not…you're not dreaming."
"Of course I am," Stiles disagreed, "This is exactly like my dream. But you were naked and there was less talking, more kissing. Can we do more of that now?"
Derek's mind whirled at the knowledge he was being given. Why would Stiles be telling him this? It just…it took a moment for him to realise he wasn't doing it on purpose. The teenager grinned goofily up at him and Derek found himself returning it, a real honest to god smile that he remembered he used to where all the time before the fire, and that scared him more than he'd care to admit.
"Go to sleep Stiles," he ordered, his voice soft and consumed with a fondness that he would deny ever using when referring to Stiles. The brunet lied down easily, letting out a contented breath when he finally settled onto his pillow. He snuggled into it and muttered something incoherent under his breath. Derek stood there, ramrod stiff and silent, until the breathing evened out and Stiles was drooling onto his pillow.
He didn't know what do, not now, not after everything Stiles had inadvertently revealed, so he did the one thing his mind was capable of ordering without much input: he ran.