AN I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its characters!

It was Derek who had the nightmare that night...

Of Kate, back in their apartment. Even if Derek knew how it was going to end, their relationship in the dream was at least somewhat good. He tried to think of it that way, at least. She was… bristley. But she loved him. Right? But he was seventeen and she was twenty. What did he know about love?

They were alone in their apartment-the one on Cole Street, that was always cold but never comfortable enough for cuddling. He was lying down ever so carefully in their bed. Whenever her breathing hitched, he held his own breath just in case his movement angered her. Sharp, manicured nails clawed into his back whenever he moved too much.

The room was filled with forced, stiff breathing and a hundred sleepless nights. He felt so suffocated just existing in the same space as her. With no warning, Kate kicked him hard in the shin and pretended it was an accident, but he knew she had heard him crying. She always heard him, somehow. No matter how hard he held the sobs in or how tightly he coiled his body around the silence. She always heard him.

Something jolted him out of the dream but he frantically looked around the room, searching for any understanding of where he was, before he remembered. Stiles hand was still on his arm from where it had woken him. Relax, Derek, he told himself. He wasn't the client and he hadn't ever been; Stiles sense of security was what mattered. In, and out. Slowly, he tried to breathe and forced himself to lie back down on the bed. Stiles was still beside him… When wasn't he?

Derek only realized there were tears on his cheeks when he rubbed his face and then it was quick and desperate, trying to erase any evidence of what had just happened. He was supposed to be strong goddammit! No one put their life in the hands of someone who still had 'bad dreams'. He was so stupid. He never should have got into the bed in the first place it was just that Stiles made him so… relaxed. Apparently, relaxed enough to let his subconscious through.

"You okay?" Stiles was looking up at him, he realized, and met his teary eyes with tired, but clear ones. Had his eyes always been such a beautiful shade of hazel? It didn't matter-snap out of it! Stiles was still waiting for an answer. It took all the strength he had but he nodded, taking a deep breath. He was okay, which was Stiles' cue to roll over and go back to sleep. But, Stiles didn't pull his hand away. Why wasn't he pulling his hand away?

"You look so sad.. Can I hug you please?" Derek wasn't sure if it was the please or if it was that Stiles even asked at all but something in his gut pushed him to nod and he did. He nodded, slow at first and then quicker the longer Stiles just looked at him. Until he couldn't take the awkward distance between them anymore and he pulled Stiles into his arms-just as quickly and tightly as Stiles hugged him. Never in his life had contact been so… Equal. Not 70/30, not 60/40, not 50/50. 100/100. He tried to ignore it but the contact of their skin made his chest feel light and dried the tears before they even fell.

Derek couldn't help himself; he buried his face in Stiles' shoulder without even realizing it. On one level, he knew this was wrong and he hated himself for doing anything except stopping it but on the other… On the other he heard Stiles let out a small, appreciative hum against his cheek at the contact. He nuzzled closer, feeling the panic melt away.

After a few minutes, Derek started to pull away because he knew, in whatever cracked kind of moral compass he had, he shouldn't have been doing this. He shouldn't have even been in the room, let alone the bed-but he wanted it so badly. Stiles was nineteen, and Stiles had been the one to invite him in and then insist they share the bed, so it wasn't like it was legally wrong. But Stiles was a client. Stiles was the client.

He had to force himself to pull away. One step at a time, right? That was all he had to do, just one at a time. First, a finger on Stiles chest and then a whole hand. It was more than enough to push Stiles away but he just couldn't make himself do it. So, instead, he drew his own body back, away from the situation. But Stiles grabbed for him and took hold, dull nails lightly scratching his shoulders when he tried yet again to pull away.

"No!" Stiles whined, his voice low and childishly vulnerable with sleep. "Please don't leave me." The phrasing... Or maybe it was the sad little undertone... But it made him hesitate long enough for Stiles to whimper up to him in that adorable, sleepy little voice

"Not you too." And Derek choked on that, feeling his heart wrench and shatter into a thousand pieces. Suddenly, he was hugging Stiles and pulling him in tight against his chest and whispering reassurances because no amount of closeness could ease the churning in his stomach at hearing that.

Derek, realistically, knew that how intimate this felt was wrong. Stiles was in a vulnerable, emotional state and in no position to be making calls like that. But Derek wanted it so badly. Pushing Stiles away after something like that felt worse than murder. Worse than death. Like he was betraying every ounce of trust Stiles invested in him. The contact alone between them made him relax and knowing that Stiles was safe in his protective hold lulled him to sleep almost instantly. He was gone before he could guilt himself out of it.

Thanks for reading! The more positive feedback I get, the faster I'll update! As always, please review, follow, favorite, and enjoy!