III - Amicus

'Hey Derek, if you can hear me: say nothing.'

Silence

'Yeah, that's what I thought.'

Stiles carded a hand through his hair. It had become a nervous habit.

The young teenage boy looked at the lanky frame of Derek Hale lying on the bed. The Alpha's eyes were closed and his forehead was creased. They were obvious signs of unease. Stiles knew Derek had to be in a tremendous amount of pain.

He had been poisoned with liquid wolfs bane via a tranquiliser gun. Isaac and Scott were still out there, trying to find the shooter whilst Stiles and Deaton had hauled Derek back to the Jeep and then to the Vet's clinic. With the help of Stiles and a whole lot of cursing they had managed to get Derek onto the examination table, where Deaton had begun preparing various herbs. He had injected another liquid, which would counteract wolfs bane.

He then had tended to Derek's various cuts and bruises and hooked the werewolf up to a bag of intravenous saline. When that had been done he had gone out, leaving Stiles in the examination room sitting on the hard wooden chair.

That's where he was at the moment, waiting for Derek to wake up. His eyes slid over Derek's bruised and battered face. The healing process had yet to begin but it was as Deaton had told: the wolfs bane needed to get out of Derek's system first before the werewolf could start healing again.

'How's he doing?' The vet asked and nodded at Derek.

Stiles shrugged and got up, wringing his hands.
'He hasn't moved yet and he isn't healing neither.'

Deaton nodded and moved over to the bed, pulling one of Derek's eyelids up and flickered with a little penlight. He sighed deeply and inspected a rather ugly laceration on Derek's forehead.
'We'll just have to be patient.' He looked up and glanced at Stiles.

'Are you doing okay, Stiles?'

Stiles looked up and offered a strained smile before he sat back down.
'Tired, I guess.'

'I can tell. But there is something else bothering you too.' Stiles could tell he was being assessed.

'Get up.' Deaton said and flicked a light on.

Stiles sighed deeply and got onto his feet and wrung his hands.

'Turn around.' Deaton said and walked up to Stiles. He grabbed Stiles shirt and was about to lift it up when Stiles turned around, hands up.

'Whoa, doc. Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?' Stiles commented, his voice somewhat high pitched. Deaton raised his hands and took a step back.
'It's okay. Just lift up your shirt. I am not a fool, Stiles.'

Stiles looked at him and then it seemed as if he deflated. He nodded and looked at the ground. Deaton lifted Stiles shirt once more and sighed deeply as he saw the dark bruises covering the teenagers' back and sides.

'Didn't Derek tell you to stay out of the way?' Deaton asked and pulled the shirt all the way up.

Stiles' back was a horrible patchwork of bruises, red angry welts and dark red streaks.
'What happened?' Deaton softly queried, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder and turned the young man around so he could look him in the eye.

'I got thrown into a wall once or twice...Also there was a mace involved somewhere too…' Stiles muttered and shuffled towards the chair, Deaton guiding him. 'It was in the midst of the fight. And, I know Derek told me to back off but that man, he…He was holding a gun…he was aiming for his head. I couldn't…I wouldn't…' Stiles stammered and clenched his fists.

Deaton didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say anyway. They all knew it was becoming too dangerous for Stiles to be around them. Deaton had warned Derek about it. But the werewolf had simply grouched in his usual manner and had replied that Stiles could take care of himself.

He bent over Stiles' back and gently poked and prodded on some nasty looking bruises.
'You are lucky, there is nothing broken. You bruised some ribs so you'll just be very sore.' He opened a pot of ointment and slathered a large amount of the salve on the young boy's bruised back. He made no comment as Stiles hissed or tried to move away as he prodded a particularly painful spot.

When he was done applying the ointment he carefully wrapped Stiles' ribs. Then he pulled Stiles' shirt back down and squatted in front of the boy.

'All done. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep. It is late and you are tired. I will let you know when Derek wakes up.' He smiled and patted Stiles' knee.

But Stiles shook his head.
'No, I should stay here. I need to make sure…'he trailed off, but Deaton got the message.

'Alright, but it could take a while before he wakes up.' Deaton said and got up. Stiles kept his eyes focused on Derek as Deaton threw a fleece blanket over the pale man.
Stiles blinked confused as a blanket was held in front of him.
'Take it, it can get chilly in here.' Deaton explained.

He helped to get it around Stiles' shoulders for the young boy was already sore and stiff and could barely get his arms up.

Deaton could say what he want, but he knew Stiles would not leave before he was sure that Derek was all right. He could both drag him home and risk the fact that Stiles would escape somehow and only aggravate his injuries. Deaton patted Stiles' shoulder and told him that if he needed anything he'd just need to call out. Then he headed out.

Then the waiting began once more.

Derek woke up with what had to be the worst headache ever. He lifted his right hand to massage his temples and found that there was something stuck to his hand. He carefully pried his eyes open and sighed when he found that the lights were out. So, there was an IV in his hand. Why would there be an IV in his hand? And why was he lying in Deaton's clinic? He could recognise the smell from anywhere.

He also smelt something else. Someone else. He looked to the side and saw Stiles asleep, a bit too close for his comfort with his head resting on the examination table. In any other circumstance he would have pushed the kid away but Stiles looked downright exhausted and he just couldn't bring himself to wake him up so roughly. Not after what he had done for him.

Stiles had practically pushed the gunman onto the ground when Derek was at gunpoint.

He didn't see what had happened next because he had been too occupied with another man, brandishing some sort of mace. It had nearly taken his head off. He had managed to duck but at the same time he had felt the piercing sting of a needle in his neck, followed by the most awful burning sensation he had ever felt. It was when he fell paralysed to the ground that he had recognised the effects of wolfs bane.

Right before he had lost consciousness he had seen Stiles fighting off one of the men. Then it went all dark.

'It's nice to see you awake.' A voice whispered so silently, Derek new it was only for him to hear. He flicked his gaze towards the doorway and nodded at Deaton. The dark-skinned vet walked up to him and inspected the IV-line before casting a glance at the still sleeping Stiles. The teenage boy was unaware of everything, deep in throes of sleep. He was exhausted, both physically as mentally.

'How is he?' Derek whispered.

Deaton lifted the blanket on Stiles shoulder a bit higher, tucking him in as best as he could, without rousing the boy.
Both vet and werewolf froze however as the teenager shifted and muttered: 'Th'nks mom.'

Deaton sighed deeply and smiled sadly at Derek.
'He is exhausted and will be in more pain than he already is by the morning, judging by the way he is cramping up his back.' Deaton answered.

Derek's brow furrowed.
'Did he get injured?'

'He bruised his back and some of his ribs. We will need to talk about his safety eventually, Derek. It can't go on like this. Now, how are you?'

Derek shifted carefully. He felt sore but a whole lot better than before.
'Okay, I guess. Did you find an antidote?'

Deaton nodded and checked underneath one of Derek's bandages, content as he saw that the healing process had finally kicked in.

'You will be as good as new in the morning. The wolfs bane should leave no traces.' Deaton informed and fiddled a bit with the saline-bag.

'What's that for?' Derek asked and involuntarily flexed his hand.

'It's saline, to keep you hydrated, mostly.' Deaton answered and frowned.

'What's wrong?' Derek immediately asked, not liking that expression at all.

'We need to get Stiles in a reclining position. Can't you hear the wheezing?'

Derek then noticed the soft wheezing coming from Stiles.

'Is it his injuries?'

'Yes, he is putting too much strain on his ribs by leaning over like this, making breathing more difficult. His condition will only deteriorate this way. He needs to lie down, in a proper bed and get some decent rest.'

Derek nodded and carefully sat up, ignoring the slow spin of the world and motioned at his hand. 'Can I take it out? I will bring him home.'

Deaton shook his head and gave Derek a stern look.
'First of all, you need all of this, in order for the antidote to work properly. Second: Stiles' home is too far off for you to carry him and you can't really go anywhere hooked up to an IV-bag.' He held up his hand as Derek rolled his eyes and wanted to take the catheter out himself. 'Third, if you carry Stiles in this cold, it will only do worse than good. Besides, how are you going to get in? Through the window? The door? Mister Stilinski will have your hide, if he sees his son, beaten up, in your arms.'

Derek was about to say something but Deaton silenced him again.
'So, I suggest you take the antechamber.'

Derek looked at him with a frown.

'Scott used to sleep here when he had a rough night. Or that time when his mother was out of town and he forgot the key to his house.' Deaton chuckled softly.

He helped Derek getting off the examination table and opened a door to a small chamber that held a small bed and a folding bed, neatly placed underneath the bed.

Deaton walked past Derek, who was sullenly holding onto the IV-pole, and unfolded the bed, placing it against the other bed, due to the small space.
'Lie down,' Deaton said and motioned at the folding bed. He passed Derek a pillow and a blanket.

'What about Stiles?' Derek muttered as he made himself as comfortable as he could with the IV-line stuck to his hand.

'Don't worry about that.' Deaton said and went back out.

Derek strained his ears and heard Deaton waking Stiles up. He could hear Stiles asking confusedly where he was and then were Derek went, then Deaton's reply that Derek was alright and he would take him to see Derek. There was a soft yelp of pain, which made Derek want to get up, but he heard two sets of feet shuffling towards the small chamber.

Derek looked up and saw Deaton supporting a very pale looking Stiles. But when the teenager saw Derek, his face lit up and a broad smile spread across his face.

Derek couldn't help but smile back. He owed him that much at least.
'Hey.' He greeted.

Stiles nodded and carefully lied down in the bed, whimpering as he turned onto his side. Deaton smiled and snapped a pair of gloves on and swiftly and painless removed the IV.
Derek frowned and looked at the vet with suspicion.
'But you said-...'

Deaton grinned mischievously and shook his head.
'I lied. Now sleep. Both of you. This isn't a slumber party. I am going home now. Stiles, you know where to find everything. I will send Scott to check up on you both.'

Stiles nodded sleepily and pressed his face into the pillow, eyes already drooping shut.

Deaton looked at Derek and pointed at Stiles, mouthing: watch over him.

Derek gave a curt nodded and sighed deeply as he got comfortable on the narrow bed.

-

To his surprise, he actually woke up rather late. It was already nine am and the sun's first rays were shining through the window, casting light on Stiles' sleeping face.

Derek looked at the teenager and thought about what the vet had said to him the night before. He was right. It was becoming more and more dangerous for Stiles to be around them. The boy had no supernatural powers or any fighting skills.

Then again, neither could he cast him out. As hard as it was for him to admit, Stiles was part of his pack. The boy had been there for all of them, after all. He had been doing so much research and protected all of them in his own peculiar way.

'Do you always stare at sleeping people?' a sleepy voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Stiles blinked owlishly at him, a grin on his face. He rubbed his eyes and proceeded to stretch his arms, when his back –painfully- reminded him that stretching wasn't such a good idea.

Derek looked at him with a small smile adorning his lips.
'I guess I have to thank you for saving my life.'

Stiles opened his mouth and then closed it again with an audible click.
'Ah well, I had nothing else to do on my Friday evening. I mean, nothing beats having a fight. Who goes to the movies anyways on a Friday? I mean, movies nowadays suck anyways.' He said with a wry smile.

Derek shook his head.
'Quit your yapping. I meant it, Stiles.'

Stiles picked at a loose thread on his blanket. Derek sat upright and reached over to the teenager, lifting up Stiles' chin.
'I mean, not only did we fight together, we also had a slumber party!' Derek grinned and motioned around him.

'Every time you get hurt, it ends up in a slumber-party.' Stiles quipped but he smiled broadly.

Derek stood up and rubbed his arm. 'We need to talk about this, Stiles.'

Stiles looked up with a frown on his face.
'What is there to talk about? Everything is fine, right? No one got hurt.'

Derek closed his eyes in exasperation.
'Except this time, someone did. Stiles, you...you are...' Derek trailed off.

'What, Derek. I am what? Bait? Not strong enough to hang out with you guys? Sorry that I am not a werewolf and that I can't claw someone's face off! But I am not useless! I can learn to fight!' Stiles yelled.

'I know, Stiles. But that's not what I was going to say.' Derek argued and gave the boy a pointed glare. When he saw the hurt look on Stiles' face, he sighed deeply and sat down, back towards Stiles.

He put his head in his hands. If they would be able to talk this all out, he would blame his emotions on the after-effects of wolfs bane.

'I meant...you are my...friend.' Derek sighed.

He heard Stiles swallow.

'You are part of our pack, Stiles. It's just that it is becoming too dangerous, Stiles. I don't want to see you hurt. You were already injured this time and had the luck to walk away from it. What if next time you get shot? Or worse...bitten? I don't want you to suffer through all of that. I don't want to go to your dad and tell him you died. I would never forgive myself if something like that would happen!' Derek babbled.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then a warm hand clasped his shoulder. Derek looked up to see Stiles smiling at him, his eyes shining brightly. He didn't need to say anything. Derek knew what he meant. It was all right, he understood.

He returned the smile and stood up.

'Let's find some food.' He said and helped Stiles get up. Stiles nodded and carefully got up, wincing as he did so.

'Hold on.' Derek said and clasped Stiles' hand with both of his. Black liquid spread through his veins as he slowly drained some of the pain Stiles was feeling.

When he let go, Stiles nodded and smiled.
'Let's go get some food, before someone gets in and sees us together. They might start thinking weird things.' He joked and walked outside, with a spring in his steps.

Derek shook his head and laughed, following the boy out, feeling a whole lot better.