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Merry Christmas, @blizgori!

Title: Home for Christmas

Rating: T

Tags: Stilinski family feels, hurt!Sheriff, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, Christmas, pining

******

"Stiles, will you please go home and get some sleep?" his dad asked.

Stiles crossed his arms and parked his ass in the plastic chair. Well, he was already sitting, so it was more like he just wiggled his butt a little more. "No. I'm not leaving this hospital until you do."

His dad wiped a hand over his face and sighed heavily. "Stiles. Please. You heard the doctors. It's going to be at least a week before I'm out of here."

Stiles popped his knuckles and stared out the window. It might be a week before the doctors would let his dad out of the hospital, but the idea of leaving him here alone, when he'd been so close to losing him...

Yeah. He wasn't going anywhere.

Stiles grabbed his backpack and dragged it over. "I'm totally fine. One hundred percent. I'll just sit here in this supremely comfortable chair and get some reading done, I'll bring you loads of healthy food, and—"

His dad leveled a flat look in his direction. "No. You're going to go home, sleep in an actual bed, get a shower, and be somewhere that you aren't going to drive me crazy with that tapping."

Stiles looked down at his fingers, which were now tapping so fast on the plastic arms of the chair that it sounded like a snare drum. He jerked his hands into his lap and clenched them into fists. "Sorry."

"Stiles," Dad said gently. "I'm going to be fine. They just want to keep an eye on me. This kind of stuff doesn't heal overnight."

Stiles's heart tripped at the reminder, and he had to cough to clear his throat. No, five claws across the stomach did not heal overnight, especially not on puny humans. "It does if you're a werewolf."

Dad rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm not there yet."

Someone knocked softly on the door, and Stiles snapped his head up to see Derek Hale, of all people, standing in the damn doorway. He looked spectacularly uncomfortable, fiddling at the cuffs of his leather jacket, which were still just a shade too long for his arms.

Stiles blinked. "Derek?"

"Derek," Dad said with a warm smile. "Glad you could make it."

Derek nodded seriously. "Of course, Sheriff."

Stiles felt the pieces slot together in his head. "Wait, you called him?"

"Technically, Melissa called him," Dad said.

"Ha ha. What's he doing here?" Stiles turned to Derek. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

Derek held up his keys. "I'm here to take you home."

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. No. I'm staying here, it's fine—"

"It's not fine," Dad cut in. "You've barely slept in the past three days. At this rate, they're going to have to admit you, too."

Stiles started tapping on the chair arms again, and then clenched his fists to make it stop. "I don't want to leave you," he made himself say. It felt too vulnerable to say with Derek standing right there.

Dad's face softened. "I know. But look, son, I'll be home before Christmas and then you can fuss over me all you want, okay?"

Tears pricked at his eyes, and Stiles laughed and swiped his sleeve across them. "I'm holding you to that. You have a witness." He turned to Derek. "You heard that, right?"

"I'd swear to it in a court of law," Derek deadpanned.

Stiles grabbed his backpack off the floor, shoved two of his books back into it, and stood up. "Okay. But I'll be back here every day, do you hear me? Someone's got to make sure the hospital's feeding you right." He slung the backpack over his shoulder and jabbed a finger at his dad. "Jello and old mashed potatoes are not part of a heart-healthy diet."

Dad sighed heavily. "Stiles, they aren't even going to let me have solids for another two days."

"And you're not allowed to charm Melissa into giving them to you any sooner!"

Dad snorted. "I wish."

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles by the arm. "Come on, Dr. Stilinski. Let's get you home."

***

Stiles spent most of the ride back to his house alternating between fidgeting uncontrollably and nodding off. Every time he felt his chin dip toward his chest, he jerked himself awake. If Derek noticed, he didn't say anything; he just gripped the steering wheel at ten and two and glared out the windshield, the wipers whipping away the steady rain.

The Jeep was in the shop and would be for a while, if Stiles's bank account had anything to say about it. Using it as a battering ram was a tactic both effective and extremely expensive. At this rate, Stiles was going to have to update his strategy.

Still, if it meant saving his dad, meant saving his friends, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The house was dark and silent when Derek drove them up to it, a stark contrast to the neighbors up and down the street, lit up with Christmas lights and decorations. For one heart-stopping moment, Stiles didn't want to go inside, didn't want to face being in the house alone when his dad wasn't there.

But Derek was pulling into the driveway, and, well, it wasn't like Stiles could stay in the Camaro for the night. Besides, he probably smelled awful.

Stiles grabbed the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

Derek parked the car and turned it off.

"You don't have to—" Stiles started.

"I'm walking you inside."

Stiles felt like he should argue—he was capable of going into the house himself—but Derek looked determined and honestly, he was too damn tired to put up much of a fight. "Fine," he said.

Derek followed him up the walk and into the house, and Stiles flicked all the lights on as he went. He stopped in the living room, where they'd dragged all their Christmas stuff down from the attic with the intention of putting it up that weekend.

Unbidden, he remembered the first Christmas after his mother had died, how his dad had gotten down the boxes but neither of them had been able to put up decorations. In the end, the only thing they'd done that year was a tabletop tree in the dining room and a wreath on the front door.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Stiles flinched at the unexpected touch. He'd forgotten Derek was there.

Derek pulled his hand away, holding it up as if to show Stiles he meant no harm. "Want me to put the boxes up?"

Stiles took a shaky breath and shook his head. "No. No, I'll start unpacking them after a shower or something. Someone needs to get them up before Mrs. Jefferson sics the HOA on us."

He meant for it to come out a joke, but even he could tell it fell flat. Whatever. He was tired, and he couldn't be expected to be witty all the time.

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do you want help?"

Stiles blinked at him, feeling he'd lost the thread of the conversation. "What?"

Derek nodded at the boxes. "With those. I can unpack them while you're taking a shower, and we can put them up when you're done?"

Stiles continued blinking. Maybe he was just too tired and worried to process that Derek Hale, of all people, had just offered to help him put up Christmas decorations.

Derek's shoulders hunched a bit. "Or not. Whatever works for you."

Dammit. Stiles wasn't entirely sure they were friends, not the way he and Scott were friends, but after saving each other's life more times than he could count, they were definitely something. Research buddies or not-so-reluctant allies or somewhat-friendly acquaintances. The point was, he'd made Derek hunch away and Derek had been through enough shit in his life that Stiles didn't really like being the one who made him hunch away.

"No!" Stiles said quickly, and then realized that responding to Derek's body language was probably confusing. "I mean, yes. I mean, ugh." He dragged his hands over his face. "Yeah, uh. The unpacking thing. That would be good. And we should have coffee, I think. Maybe hot chocolate? Um."

Derek raised an eyebrow, and then escorted Stiles to the stairs. "Go take a shower, and I'll get things ready down here."

"Is this your way of telling me I stink?" Stiles asked.

"Yes," Derek said flatly.

Stiles whirled around, offended, but Derek's stony glare was ruined by the way his lips twitched.

Stiles poked him in the chest. "You're making a joke."

Derek smirked. "It's almost like I occasionally have a sense of humor."

***

Stiles came downstairs after his shower to see that Christmas had exploded in his living room. Garland, ornaments, lights, wreaths, and other decorations covered every available surface and most of the floor. Derek was beside the armchair, struggling with a bunch of flickering icicle lights, and had two steaming mugs of what smelled like hot chocolate perched on the single square foot of the coffee table that was still clear.

Stiles gaped. "Holy shit!"

Derek jerked his head up, and Stiles could've sworn he looked sheepish. "Sorry. I was trying to get everything out and organized, but these stupid lights—"

"Are a pain in the ass, believe me, I know." Stiles picked his way over to Derek. "I don't think we even messed with them last year."

Derek set the pile aside with a frustrated grunt. "Well, we can't put them up while it's still raining."

Stiles shoved a box with his foot and dropped to the floor next to Derek. "True, but future us will thank past us for untangling the damn things."

He made grabby hands for the pile, and with a huff, Derek handed them over. They worked quietly for a bit, Stiles untangling the lights and Derek draping the unknotted strands over the armchair to keep them straight.

After they were mostly done with the lights, Stiles cleared his throat. "Thank you. For staying and helping me with this. I know you've got other things to do that don't involve babysitting me."

Derek shrugged. "Nothing that can't wait." He set the last of the lights aside. "So, where do you want to put the Christmas tree?"

***

Stiles woke up on the couch, groggy and disoriented. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep; the last thing he remembered was arguing with Derek about proper ornament placement on the tree and sharing Chinese takeout.

He slowly sat up and surveyed the room. The tree was decorated, the stockings were hung, the garland was draped over the mantle. The boxes and outdoor lights were nowhere to be seen, and Stiles sure as hell didn't remember putting them away.

A donut and a glass of orange juice sat on the coffee table next to him, and Stiles stared at them uncomprehendingly until his front door opened and, a moment later, Derek walked in.

He paused in the hall. "You're awake."

Stiles nodded and dragged his hands through his hair. "How long was I out?"

Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket. "About fourteen hours?"

"About...what?" Stiles flailed, looking for his phone. "Fourteen hours?!"

"Your phone's charging in your room." Derek held out his own, presumably so Stiles could see he wasn't lying. "You fell asleep pretty hard around eight, so I went ahead and cleaned up."

Stiles grabbed Derek's phone and stared at it. Sure enough, it was ten in the morning. "Holy shit." He scrubbed his hands over his face, but the time and date didn't change. "Holy shit. I haven't slept that long in...ever."

"Apparently you hadn't slept in three days," Derek said dryly. "I'm shocked."

Stiles half-heartedly flipped him off. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than a few hours without nightmares, let alone an entire night and then some. He handed the phone back to Derek and hoped he didn't notice how his hands were shaking. "So, uh, did you stay here? Or..."

Derek fiddled with his jacket cuffs, looking shifty. "Most of the night."

Stiles gaped. "What?"

"I wasn't going to leave you alone," Derek said defensively.

Stiles tightened his grip on the blanket—the blanket, he realized, Derek must have put over him because Stiles sure has hell hadn't done it. He cast around for some sort of joke, something to break the emotion that was threatening to make him do something stupid, like jump up and kiss Derek. "Then, what, did you magically teleport donuts here?"

"I left for thirty minutes at seven this morning to pick up donuts and coffee before I started on the Christmas lights." Derek shoved his hands into his pockets. "I figured you would be okay for that long."

"You don't know," Stiles said accusingly. "I could've strangled myself on Christmas lights."

Derek rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You're nineteen years old. If you could strangle yourself on Christmas lights in your sleep, I would be both concerned and impressed."

Stiles laughed. There they were, back on familiar ground. He could handle this.

"Anyway. I was going to go Christmas shopping today," Derek said. "You're welcome to come with me, if you want. And we could swing by the hospital first so you can see your dad."

Stiles just stared, because what.

"Or not," Derek amended. "I could drop you back off here, or you don't have to—"

Stiles nearly tripped over the blanket trying to scramble off the couch. "No! No, I want to go. Both to see my dad—obviously to see my dad—but also with the Christmas shopping, because otherwise I'm going to have to beg Scott for a ride whenever he's back in town or be entirely dependent on the shipping whims of the Internet."

Derek laughed softly, his face crinkling in a way Stiles had literally never seen before. His heart gave an entirely unhealthy thud at the sight.

"Well, uh, I'm going to go put on some clothes I haven't been wearing for, like, forty-eight hours at this point." Stiles headed for the stairs. "I'll be ready in ten minutes or less."

"I won't leave without you," Derek said, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh, dammit.

Stiles escaped up the stairs and into his room, and took a few precious seconds to compose himself. He thought he'd been able to put the kibosh on his high school crush, but no. Apparently all Derek had to do was fucking smile and it came surging back like he hadn't spent the past six months trying to get over it.

And they'd be spending all day together. Fantastic.

***

If you had told Stiles at the beginning of high school that he would one day find himself attracted to someone other than Lydia Martin, he probably would have laughed. And then Derek Hale had glared and grumped his way into Stiles's life, and he had had to reevaluate that idea, as well as his sexuality. By the time he'd graduated, Stiles was actual friends with Lydia, secure in his bisexuality, and nursing the world's most epic unrequited crush on Derek.

College would be the time to get over that, Stiles had decided, and he had launched himself into the idea with way more enthusiasm than he'd had for his classes. And when he'd come home over Thanksgiving, he'd thought it was over and done with. He'd seen Derek and the attraction was there, but that was it.

Now...

Now Derek had bought him donuts and Chinese food and helped him put up Christmas decorations so he wouldn't have to sit there with the whole of it overwhelming him.

Now Derek was standing in the corner of his dad's hospital room with a small smile on his face, making jokes with his dad while Stiles flailed at them both.

Now Derek was driving him to the mall without a single complaint, even though the holiday traffic was outrageous.

Now Derek was buying him a pretzel and teasing him when he got cinnamon sugar on his nose.

It was so much like a date, so much like they were together that it was painful, and Stiles had to hold back from reaching out to take Derek's hand as they walked through the mall.

He alternated between hating it, because it hurt, and being grateful for it, because it kept him from thinking too much about his dad. He had to remind himself that his dad would be out of the hospital and home before Christmas. Everything would be fine.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Derek asked.

"Considering I've only had a donut today, yes," Stiles said.

Derek steered them toward the food court. "I can't believe you give your dad so much grief about his health when you subsist almost solely on sugar and fried foods."

"Hey, I still have age on my side," Stiles pointed out. "Ooh, let's get curly fries!"

Derek shook his head, but he was grinning. "You're ridiculous."

***

For the next week, Derek came over every day. He brought over breakfast, took Stiles to the hospital to see his dad, and helped him run whatever errands needed running, Christmas-related or otherwise. With the Jeep out of commission until Stiles could afford to fix it, he was dependent on the kindness of others to get anywhere. Or the kindness of Derek, really, because he was just there, ready and willing to take Stiles wherever he needed to go.

Stiles had no idea what it meant, but it sure as hell wasn't helping his crush.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said while they walked through the store, picking up wrapping paper and cards. Normally Stiles had a stash of both, but he'd used up most of his wrapping paper last year and he couldn't find his Christmas cards despite practically tearing the office apart. "I know you've got other shit to do."

Derek picked up a box of cards with a snowman on them. "You think my life is far more exciting than it is."

"Okay, one, your life is more exciting than most people's, because I don't know how many people have gotten stabbed, what, three times at this point? And still lived," Stiles said. "And two, I know your pack's back in town and I'm sure you've got some Christmas stuff you can't do with me around, like wrap my present."

Derek tapped him on the nose with the box of cards. "And that's why I had Boyd wrap your present."

"You got Boyd to wrap my present? What, did you bribe him?"

"No, I just helped him with his gift for Erica." Derek shrugged. "Although I guess that could be considered a bribe."

Stiles snorted. "Definitely."

His phone rang, and he juggled his four rolls of wrapping paper to his other arm so he could pull it out and answer it. "Hello?"

"Stiles," Melissa said, and her voice had a tone to it.

Stiles's heart stopped. "What happened?"

"Before you freak out, he's fine—"

"What happened?"

"Your dad caught an infection. We're going to need to keep him a few more days."

Dimly, Stiles was aware of a hand on his shoulder, but all he could feel were his fingers locked on his phone, his heart pounding in his chest. "How long is a few more days? How bad is it?"

"He's going to be fine," Melissa said patiently. "But he's probably not going to get home by Christmas."

"Oh." Christmas was a week away; his dad was going to be in the hospital for another week. What if he got another infection? What if he didn't heal fast enough? What if—?

Derek moved in front of him, concern clear on his face. "Do you want to go now?"

Stiles nodded. He wasn't sure he could speak right now.

Derek pried the phone from his hand. "Melissa? We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

***

The only way they'd let him into the room was with a mask and a hospital gown, so he wouldn't chance spreading the infection to other patients. Stiles stood by his dad's bed, holding his hand while he slept, and his dad only woke up enough once to give it a weak squeeze.

Derek ushered him out of the hospital and into the car after an hour. The sun was low in the sky, and shadows stretched across the parking lot.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head and stared fiercely out the car window.

"Okay."

He thought that meant they would end up at a restaurant, or maybe Derek would drop him off with Scott since he had just gotten back in town, but instead they were pulling into the loft's parking garage half an hour later.

"Come on up," Derek said. "The others are already here."

"Others?" Stiles asked dumbly.

"Others," Derek repeated. "I told them you're allowed first pick of whatever's on Netflix, but Erica's probably going to badger you into watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the fifth time."

"Animated or Jim Carrey?"

Derek got the most appalled look on his face. "Animated. There is no other."

Stiles couldn't help it. He burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against the elevator wall. His sides ached, and he couldn't breathe.

Derek caught him by the arm. "Are you okay? Stiles?"

Stiles didn't think he could explain, nor did he think he could actually stop laughing now that he'd started. It was laugh or cry, and he supposed this was the better of the two options.

"Okay." Derek got an arm around him. "Let's get you inside."

Stiles let Derek pull him off the elevator and into the loft. By the time he was on the couch, he'd calmed down a bit, but then he thought about how utterly offended Derek looked at the thought of the live-action Grinch movie, and he cracked up all over again.

"Oh my God, did you break him?" Erica asked.

"No," Derek said sullenly.

Boyd peered at Stiles thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think you broke him."

"Just put something on and keep him company," Derek muttered. "Isaac, come help me make dinner."

"But I was watching Stranger Things!" Isaac whined.

"And it's your turn in the kitchen," Derek said. "Up."

Isaac groaned, but he pushed himself out of the armchair and followed Derek into the kitchen.

Erica threw herself on to the couch beside Stiles. "So. Stilinski. I'm supposed to let you have first pick of the Netflix queue, but seeing as how you're laughing too hard to watch TV, is it okay if I just put How the Grinch Stole Christmas back on?"

"No," Boyd said. "Please, God, no. You've watched it three times this afternoon already. You're worse than my little cousins."

Erica stuck her tongue out at him. "It's the best Christmas movie, bar none."

"No, that would be The Nightmare Before Christmas," Boyd said smoothly.

"That is a heinous lie, and honestly I can't believe we're friends," Erica said.

The companionable bickering went a long way to calming Stiles down, and he finally stopped laughing long enough to speak. "Sorry, Catwoman," he said. "I'm going to have to side with Boyd on this one. Unless you were championing Die Hard, in which case, there is no contest."

Erica made a face at him. "The Nightmare Before Christmas isn't on Netflix."

"I have it on DVD," Derek called from the kitchen.

Boyd smirked victoriously, and Erica groaned. "It's a Blu-ray, old man!"

"It's a disc you stick in the player, I don't care what it's called."

Boyd got up and put the movie on, and not-so-surreptitiously threw a giant fleece blanket over Stiles and Erica. Stiles burrowed into it and claimed his corner of the couch, while Boyd and Erica settled in on the other side. With Boyd and Erica quietly singing along to the familiar songs and the sound of Isaac and Derek in the kitchen, the tension seeped out of Stiles's shoulders and the coil of worry in his gut slowly unknotted.

Scott, Lydia, and Kira showed up bearing desserts just as the movie was ending. Erica was off the couch in an instant with a cheer, taking away the pie plate Scott was carrying.

Scott made a beeline straight to Stiles and enveloped him in a hug. "How are you holding up?" he asked. "Mom told me what happened."

Stiles shrugged. "I'm..."

He wasn't sure what he was about to say, but he found himself looking over at Derek, who was pulling the lasagna out of the oven and holding it out for Lydia and Kira to inspect.

"I'm okay," he said. "Really, I'm okay."

Scott looked at Stiles's chest, like he was expecting a lie, and then glanced over to Derek. "I see," he said knowingly.

Stiles felt his face heat. "What? There's nothing to see."

"Sure there isn't." Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's eat."

***

The pack spent the next week in and out of Stiles's house. Erica came over to borrow his TV because Isaac wouldn't stop watching Stranger Things, and they ended up marathoning the Die Hard movies. Boyd dropped by under the pretense of borrowing a book and ended up reading said book on the couch while Stiles wrapped Christmas presents. Scott was over more now that he was back from college for the holidays, sometimes with Lydia or Kira but more often by himself.

Stiles didn't think he would ever be able to tell any of them (except maybe Scott) how grateful he was for it. He was used to being alone, what with his dad being the sheriff and working all kinds of hours, but knowing his dad was in the hospital made the "being alone" part worse. But all of them showed up like clockwork, making sure that someone else was always in his house.

Surprisingly, none of that meant Derek was over any less. Sometimes he didn't stay quite as long if someone else was over there; other times he would bring over food and settle in to watch whatever was on TV. Stiles would never in a million years admit how happy it made him to have Derek on the couch beside him, shoulder brushing Stiles's every time he leaned forward to grab a piece of pizza.

It was amazing and excruciating, all at the same time.

But Stiles tamped down the feeling. Maybe he and Derek were friends, now. And if that was the case, he didn't want to ruin it. Derek hadn't had a whole lot of people in his life he could call friends before now. Stiles was more than happy to be one of them, or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

Christmas Eve rolled around, with the pack party at Derek's loft. Stiles always had fun, but this year it doubled as a distraction that he'd be alone tomorrow. Both Scott and Derek had said they'd take him to see his dad, but Stiles knew that would be afternoon at the earliest.

But he was determined to have fun tonight, dammit.

Of course, that was easy when Erica grabbed him the second he'd put all his presents under the tree and demanded, "Dance with me!"

"Uh—" Stiles started to say, but she was already dragging him into the middle of the living room, where Scott, Isaac, and Kira had pushed the coffee table and furniture out of the way and were already dancing.

Erica paused. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I'm just a little worried Boyd's going to break my fingers," Stiles admitted, keeping his voice low so that other werewolves wouldn't hear. "And, uh..."

He was pretty sure Erica's high school crush on him had met the same fate as his feelings about Lydia, but Stiles also didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.

Erica smiled, shyly, and squeezed his hand. "I know you're not into me, and sorry, you're cute but I'm not into you. This is just fun," she said, just as quietly, and then winked. "And until Boyd makes a move, he can deal."

Stiles laughed. "In that case, let's dance."

Erica beamed and pulled him onto the floor.

By the time dinner was ready, Stiles had danced with half the pack and was ready to collapse. Derek pushed him into a chair with a plate full of food. "Don't fall asleep. We haven't even gotten to presents yet."

Stiles grinned and waved his fork in Derek's direction. "Don't worry. I intend to party all night long."

Derek snorted. "Sure you do."

***

Okay, so it might not have been all night, but Stiles was one of the last people left at the loft, helping Derek pick up after they'd finished exchanging gifts. Granted, he was waiting on Derek to give him a ride home as well, but still. Stiles counted it.

Of course, now that they'd cleaned up the living room and put all the furniture back and put all the food away and all the dishes were either in the dishwasher or drying in the rack next to the sink, there wasn't much else for Stiles to do but go home.

He was grateful he'd had the foresight to plug in the lights before he left, because it was slightly less depressing driving up to his house when there were icicle lights everywhere.

Icicle lights that Derek put up, his brain helpfully reminded him. Just like Derek is bringing you home right now.

Yes, Stiles was well aware of that. Thanks, brain.

Derek pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. It was suddenly very quiet without the engine on, and Stiles fiddled with the handles of his bag of presents from the pack.

"Thanks for helping to clean up," Derek said.

Stiles snorted. "No problem, man, but you're my ride. It's not like I was going to walk anywhere."

"True, but you didn't have to help clean up." Derek raised an eyebrow at him. "But you did. So, thank you."

Stiles nodded stiffly. "You're welcome."

"Do you..." Derek cleared his throat. "Are you going to be okay here?"

By yourself, Stiles heard at the end of the question. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said automatically, but hell, he could feel it was a lie and he wasn't even a werewolf.

Derek frowned at the steering wheel, and then looked back up at him. "Do you want me to stay?"

Stiles's heart stuttered at the thought. Yes, yes, he really did. "I, uh...are you sure?"

Derek lifted one shoulder. "My only plans for the rest of the night are to settle in with a book and read for a bit. I can do that anywhere."

"I..." Stiles's throat closed up, so he just nodded jerkily. "Yeah."

Derek nodded back at him. "Okay, then."

It shouldn't have been weird, by now, for Derek to be in his house, but this time it felt heavier than it had before. Maybe it was because it was Christmas, maybe it was because Stiles was more aware of his feelings, maybe it was because he just felt vulnerable with all of this.

"I'm gonna," Stiles hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the stair, "go get changed and stuff. You can borrow some pajama pants, if you want. I might have a pair that will fit you and your butt."

Derek gave him a flat look. "I sleep in the nude."

Stiles choked on nothing at that mental image.

Derek maintained the serious look for another two seconds, and then grinned. "Kidding. Sweatpants would be great."

Oh thank God, he wouldn't be in a house with a naked, sleeping Derek Hale. Stiles didn't think he could handle that. His heart started beating again. "You're a menace," Stiles declared.

Derek bowed.

Stiles hurried up the stairs and changed clothes, and threw his largest sweatpants down the stairs at Derek. "These are for you, asshole!"

"You shouldn't call people assholes at Christmas," Derek chided.

Stiles stomped down the stairs. "I hate you."

Derek grinned. "Lie."

God, Stiles really, really couldn't handle Derek's self-satisfied, heart-stopping grin right now. He flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. "You know where the bathroom is."

"So accommodating," Derek said, but when Stiles turned around to glare at him, he was still grinning.

Jerk.

Stiles was so stupidly gone on him it wasn't even funny at this point.

He flipped over to Netflix and turned on Leverage. Derek came out a few minutes into the episode and settled next to him on the couch. "Vigilante justice, very holiday appropriate."

"There are like three Christmas episodes; it's totally holiday appropriate," Stiles said. "Peace on Earth, and let justice be done by a bunch of thieves with hearts of gold."

"Fair," Derek said, and rested his arm along the back of the couch.

He wasn't quite touching Stiles, but if Stiles leaned his head back just a bit, he could feel the back of his head brush Derek's arm.

He tried to make it through the episode, but now that he was sitting down and comfortable, he could hardly keep his eyes open. It was warm and safe with Derek here, and that made it even easier to sink back into the cushions.

He slid along the couch and mashed into Derek's side, which was even more comfortable, but Derek probably didn't want Stiles drooling on him. He started to push himself back up, but Derek dropped his arm around Stiles's shoulders and pulled him closer.

"It's okay," Derek said. "You can use me as a pillow."

"Thanks for staying," Stiles murmured.

"Always," Derek said quietly. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

***

The next morning, Stiles woke up alone on the couch.

For a moment, he thought maybe Derek was in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or somewhere else, but a quick circuit through the house showed that Derek was nowhere to be seen. There were no notes, no messages, no sign that he'd been there at all, except for Stiles's sweatpants folded up on the armchair.

Oh. Well, then.

Stiles staggered back to the couch and wrapped the blanket around him. It was fine. Derek probably had something to do. He'd be back, eventually, to take him to the hospital to see his dad.

It was fine.

Stiles listlessly scrolled through his phone, responding to the Merry Christmas texts and messages with more enthusiasm than he felt. He should probably go shower, or get breakfast, or something, but he didn't really want to move right now.

He was just about to rouse himself long enough to get a drink when he heard the front door's deadbolt turning.

Stiles practically vaulted over the back of the couch, skidding over the hardwood in his socks and nearly braining himself on the opposite wall. He made it to the front door without further incident, fully prepared to give Derek a talking-to about leaving people alone when you promised not to.

"Dude, where the hell have you b—"

The words died on his lips when Derek walked through the door with his dad.

Stiles's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He rubbed his eyes, sure it was a hallucination, but no. His dad was still there, leaning heavily on Derek, but he was there.

Home.

Stiles wasn't sure how he went from the end of the hall to hugging his dad, because one second he was still standing there gaping like an idiot and the next he was hugging his dad as hard as he could and trying not to cry.

His dad rubbed his back, like he'd done when Stiles was sick as a kid. "Missed you, too, kid."

"Melissa said you wouldn't be back for Christmas," Stiles said. He had no idea how he got it out over the lump in his throat.

"Psh, it's going to take more than a few cuts and a staph infection to keep me down," Dad said.

Stiles pulled back and tried to glare, but he wasn't sure how effective it was. "You were stabbed. By an omega werewolf."

"Swiped at," Dad corrected. "Stabbed implies more of a stabbing motion."

Stiles flailed at him. "Really? That's the argument you're going with?"

"It is." Dad winced. "And now I'm going with 'please let the injured old man sit in his armchair and make him some coffee for Christmas.'"

"Oh my God," Stiles said, but he helped Derek get his dad into the living room.

Dad settled into the chair with a sigh. "I don't suppose I could also trouble you for some bacon or something?"

"You literally just got out of the hospital," Stiles said. "You'll have fruit and you'll like it."

Derek grabbed him by the arms and steered him to the kitchen. "We'll make some breakfast, Sheriff."

"Thank you!" Dad called after them.

"Sorry," Derek said when they were in the kitchen. "I wouldn't have left, but the hospital called while you were asleep and said he could come home early. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

Nice. Stiles stared at him.

Derek brought his dad home because he thought it would be nice. For fuck's sake.

Stiles kissed him.

Once again, he wasn't really sure how it happened. First he was standing on the other side of the kitchen because how the fuck was Derek even real right now, and then in the next heartbeat, he had the collar of Derek's leather jacket gripped in his hands and he was kissing him.

A little voice in the back of his head said he should probably stop, but when he started to pull away, Derek's hands grabbed at his hips and yanked him back.

Stiles half-opened his mouth to make a joke, but then Derek kissed him, beard scraping along the edges of his mouth and tenderly urging his mouth open more, and honestly fuck tender.

Stiles moved his hands into Derek's hair and tugged at it, and Derek growled and that time Stiles felt teeth against his lips and fuck yes.

When he came up for air, Stiles was sitting on the kitchen table, legs locked around Derek, who had one hand on his back and one hand flat against the table like it was the only thing holding him up.

"Um," Stiles said. "Hi."

Derek's pale eyes flicked from his mouth to his eyes and back again. "Hi."

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," Stiles admitted.

"Me too," Derek said.

"It's about damn time," Dad called from the living room. "Will one of you turn on the TV in here before you do that again?"

Derek's eyes went huge, and Stiles dropped his head to Derek's shoulder and laughed helplessly. "Sorry, Dad!"

"Sorry, Sheriff," Derek said.

Dad muttered something Stiles couldn't catch, but Derek's ears turned bright pink.

"What did he say?" Stiles demanded.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Stiles considered pushing, but hell, he was in a good mood. He'd let it slide. For now. "So, uh..." He let his hands fall from Derek's hair back to his shoulders. "Do you want to stay for Christmas?"

Derek smiled softly, and it made his heart flop. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

"Good," Stiles said. "Because, uh...that might be awhile. A long while. An always kind of while."

Derek leaned back in and kissed him, so sweet and chaste Stiles thought he might explode with it. "I like the sound of that."

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