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Your Secret Santa
*****
Cabin in the Woods
“Sh-sh-shut up.” His feet weren’t working, and the jostling of trying to walk really hurt.
“Didn’t say anything,” Derek grunted. He grabbed Stiles’ arm more firmly and hoisted him higher. Stiles almost yelped at the shooting pain now ricocheting through his shoulder and chest.
“Y-y-you didn’t, b-b-but y-your eyebrows and gen-general” Stiles waved a hand clumsily in the direction of Derek’s face, throwing water droplets across his forehead “is d-d-d-def-definitely yelling a-at me.” Stiles didn’t know why he stuttered so badly. He wasn’t even cold at this point. He knew that there was something inherently wrong with that, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think why.
Stiles’ head dipped forward. Honestly, all he wanted to do was sleep. Derek huffed a sigh. He pulled them to a stop, and Stiles was grateful for the reprieve. Until Derek picked him up.
Pinpricks of agony sprouted along all points of contact between Stiles and Derek. Fire licked at the spot where Derek’s hand rested on the place where Stiles’ damp shirt had ridden up. Stiles whimpered in pain, but Derek said nothing. He picked up the pace. Stiles closed his eyes, willing the situation to be over.
“Open your eyes, Stiles,” Derek demanded. Stiles scrunched his eyes tighter. He knows he should listen, he knows he should, but man, sleep was a siren named Lydia Martin: irresistible.
“Stiles, come on. We’re almost there.” Derek sounded panicked in a way that Stiles hadn’t experienced before. The nymphs must have followed them or something. Stiles tried to pry open his eyes, but they stuck together tightly and the siren song of sleep pulled him further and further under.
“Stiles? Stiles!”
When Stiles came to, he was still cold but less wet and more comfortable. Without opening his eyes, Stiles could hear a whirring of what he thought was an electric heater like the one his dad kept in the garage for when he worked on projects when he was younger. There were also banging noises that sounded like pots and pans being moved around. Taking stock of his body quickly, Stiles was pleased to feel that his body was still in tact. Awkwardly commando in a pair of sweatpants that he knew he definitely wasn’t wearing when he passed out, but in tact nonetheless! There was also a ball of cold that felt like it was stuck in his chest. It kind of hurt every time he took a breath, like Coach made them do sprints in freezing weather again.
The banging of dishes stopped, and footsteps approached Stiles. A warm hand landed on his forehead. It was no longer an agonizing fire-filled touch, but a warming blanket of comfort. Now, if he could just have that all over his body, that would be great. Like really great. Stiles whined when the hand was removed and made a clumsy grab for it. The hand came back, and Stiles heaved a sigh of relief as the warmth seeped into his head.
“Still cold then?” Stiles didn’t know why he would think that it was anyone besides Derek when Derek was the one to come and save his sorry ass from the nymphs, but the realization was still jarring. Stiles decided that no talking was the best talking in that moment and just nodded and hunkered further down into the blankets. Derek sighed. The warmth left once more and while a whimper tore itself from Stiles’ throat, Stiles didn’t try to follow the hand this time.
Footsteps thudded around the bed, and the blanket over Stiles lifted. It let out the meager heat that Stiles managed to build up. Stiles shivered. A weight settled on the other side, and the blanket settled back into place. Behind him, a wall of heat scooted closer.
“Uh. What are you doing?” Stiles tried not to melt into Derek even though he was so warm.
“Shut up, Stiles.” An arm worked its way under Stiles’ head while another snaked across his waist. Stiles squirmed as the heat sunk into his aching body.
“Where are we?” Derek sighed.
“You honestly can’t be quiet, can you?” Stiles shrugged. Well, he shrugged as much as he could in his current position. “This used to be Peter and his wife’s cabin. The hunters didn’t get it in the fire since it was a bit further away from the house. I fixed it up and lived here while I was looking for Laura.” The quiet confession picked at Stiles’ chest. There was a near silent pain in his voice when he talked about Laura, when he talked about any of his family. Stiles’ knew that pain well; it reflected in his own voice when he spoke about his mom.
“Thank you, by the way. You know. For saving me? I mean, it was your turn anyways, since I got you the last time with the harpies, but still. I’m super grateful and—” A hand covered his mouth. He resisted the urge to lick it because he was sure that Derek would snap his neck and just be done with him.
“What were you doing out there all alone anyways?”
“Hmfph, hrm himphf.” Derek removed his hand. “We knew that the nymphs were doing something wrong, but we didn’t know what, right? So we needed to recon, and I thought that I could do a little magicky magic to sneak in and get a peek. I did try to call Scott for backup, but Allison’s back from college for the weekend, so he… Didn’t pick up. Which I’m totally used to and hrmph hrm hmph.” The hand pressed firmly against his mouth.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Stiles glared at the hand even though Derek couldn’t see him doing it. Derek moved his hand.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up either, to be honest. And besides, it would’ve been fine. Probably. Maybe. Scott would’ve swooped in at the last minute, as per usual. I think.” Yeah, probably not his greatest plan, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
“Call me next time.”
“Aw, come on Sourwolf, I told you. I would’ve been—” The grip on his waist grew tighter, and there was a hint of claws poking at his stomach.
“Next time. Call me.” The grip relaxed. “I don’t think I could lose you, too.” Stiles scrunched his brows. He tried to flip over to look at Derek, but Derek kept him where he was.
“Derek?” A long breath blew at the back of his neck like Derek took a deep breath.
“It’s just…” Derek sighed. “You’re the only one who gets it. All of it.” He chuckled sadly. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re the only one who treats me normally. I can’t lose that Stiles. I can’t lose you.” Stiles flailed his arms until Derek relinquishes his hold and let him flip over. Derek’s face was drawn into a slight frown. Somehow, it made him look sadder than if he had been full on crying. Stiles lifted a hand and ran it over Derek’s eyebrow, across his cheekbone, down his nose, traces his lips.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sourwolf. You can count on that. But you can’t go anywhere either.” Stiles smiled softly. “Who else will tell me how much of an idiot I am with eyebrows alone?” Derek huffed a chuckle. He stared at Stiles’ eyes for a minute, seemingly searching for something. Derek drew Stiles closer, tucking Stiles’ face into his neck. He cradled Stiles’ body against his own.
“I’m not going anywhere, Derek,” Stiles repeated. Stiles pressed his forehead more firmly against Derek’s neck and let himself fall into the warmth.
Written By: Anonymous
Winter Fic Exchange Gift For: @fandom-madnessess
Beta’d By: @tothebitterbetterend
Pairing(s): Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Rating: Teen
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Length: 2024 words
Summary: Snow, Alec thinks. They’re surrounded by snow.
Clary keeps one hand on his face, something he thinks he can feel if he focuses on it hard enough.
@loverofcake hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet “I think I just crossed paths with some kind of magical being. I was...”
Fic it!!!
@fandom-madnessess hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet “I think I just crossed paths with some kind of magical being. I was...”
LOL! You should totally fic it!
I’m terribly tempted! Who to fic it with is just the question!^^
While I feel as though Sterek is the obvious answer, the question remains who would be whom - Derek is the easy choice for the supernatural being, but Stiles would definitely be the type to fuck with poor unsuspecting humans like that!
