Picture this. Stiles goes in charging. Bat swinging. Whatever big bad was in the way is now broken and bloody. Thing is, so is Stiles. He reaches Derek. Bleeding. Obviously tortured. The rest of the pack is there by the time Stiles has him standing. But that was the problem. Adrenaline just doesn't keep you upright. It Also dulls pain. So when he grunts, it's Derek's hands that hold him up despite him being hurt just as badly. The two of them look at each other and they both know that it was going to be a much longer conversation.
UGH, it’s always these two motherfuckers holding each other up isn’t it😩❤️
"Heeey, Sourwolf." Stiles smiles weakly. He stumbles forward a little and Derek tightens his grip on his waist. "You’re always there for me. So big and strong and…manly."
It’s the blood loss talking, probably. Derek has heard about that. He needs to tell them…they need to take Stiles…take him to…Where should they take him again?
He doesn’t know the word right now. Somewhere he doesn’t bleed so much.
"You need to stop bleeding so much," he manages, vision darkening at the corners.
He’s not on the ground anymore. He’s standing up. Stiles was holding him a moment ago. Are those his legs? They look weird. Knees are supposed to bend out, not…in?
"Derek," Stiles says sluggishly, "I don’t, uh—feel any pain."
Is that good or bad?
"I don’t want to give you any," he says. He can’t really tell if it makes sense or not. He thinks he can give pain—or take it maybe? But one thing feels very clear to him. "I don’t want you to feel pain, Stiles."
Stiles smiles and his eyelids flutter. "That’s so nice of you. Always knew you were nice."
Suddenly Stiles becomes heavier and his eyes are shut now. Derek can’t hold him up anymore, his stupid legs are bent and useless. He lets Stiles fall on top of him.
He’s still breathing. Where are the others? He needs to tell them…
Someone comes rushing through the trees.
"Stiles!"
It’s Scott. Derek knows Scott’s voice, and he’s happy that he’s here, even though he can’t see him. Everything is dark now.
"You have to take him to…his blood—”
"Derek, stay with me," Scott says.
"Please, he’s gonna run out."
"We’ve got him, Derek. Stiles is in an ambulance."
He can’t feel his legs anymore, and not Stiles’ weight against him either.
"Derek, he’s gonna be fine. You need to stay with me, man. Why are you not healing?"
Stiles is going to be fine. And he’s not in pain. Derek isn’t either.
All is well, he thinks as Scott’s voice grows distant and the forest floor rises and falls with him, like he’s on a ship far out on the ocean somewhere. It’s good out here. He wants to stay here.
He cries out at a sudden sickening pain in his arm and shoulder, like someone is trying to rip it off. It doesn’t stop, and the agony burns through him and makes him shift. He can see again.
"I’m sorry, man," Scott says. "I had to trigger it." He draws his claws out of Derek’s arm where they had been plunging and twisting.
Derek breathes harshly through the pain. After a while he can feel his joints and bones slowly shifting into place.
"Can you walk?"
He looks down at his knees. They still don’t look normal, but he could probably manage.
"Stiles," he says, voice rough.
"Stiles is in the hospital. They’re taking care of him. Let’s get you home."
"No," Derek says. "Hospital first."
It takes hours before they let him in to see Stiles. Scott had made him change his clothes, which was probably a good idea, seeing as they were drenched in his and Stiles’ blood and whatever goo from the creature Stiles had beaten to death.
Stiles is lying down in his hospital bed, propped up by a large pillow. He looks pale and weak, but he gives Derek a big dopey grin when he enters.
"Hey there, wolfman."
"Are you in pain?" Derek asks.
"Nope," Stiles grins, popping the p.
Derek sits down on the chair next to Stiles and takes his hand into his anyway.
"Thanks for holding me up," he says quietly.
Stiles gives a light squeeze, and his hand feels cold and limp in Derek’s.
"That’s what we do, big guy. You and me." Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and opens them again—soft and brown and beautiful.
Hi, I was hoping you can help me find think fic. I'm not sure sure if it was deleted or not but what I can remember was the description was like 5 times Stiles felt like drowning. Within the story Stiles was deathly afraid of water as he nealry drowned as a child, and he went to Jacksons pool party and Stiles was thrown in the pool and Derek saved him. And than I think it went into the pool incident with the kanima.
Thank you!
Hi anon! It was deleted but @midnightwinterhawk had a copy.
Hi! I'm looking for a sterek fic where stiles' extended family visits him and they're pretty much entitled and mean, hurting stiles etc. There's one good cousin I think and they're afraid of the bad cousins because they hold money over them, there's also the alphas and the pack has to protect the family in a hospital. That's all I really remember but I wanna re read it so if you know please do tell🥺
I’ve asked this before, but does anyone have any idea what happened to @hurt-stiles ? I wonder this soo much, is there anyone out there who has the scoop? Who was friends with her? Or did she really just leave without warning? Lmk!!
Some bad friend/alpha Scott, and very protective murderous Peter. You can read it here on AO3 or watch out for the read more, because it’s 2.1k.
The first time Stiles had gotten hurt for the pack, for Scott, had been by Gerard during the kanima mess. And even back then no one had noticed. Blood had still trickled out from the split in his lip, his cheek bone was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his ribs had felt like they were on fire. And yet Scott hadn’t even spared him a glance, too busy making puppy dog eyes at Allison, who had just tried to kill them all.
Derek hadn’t noticed either, but in Stiles book he had been excused, with how he had to deal with the new trauma Scott had inflicted on him. Lydia and Jackson had been a bit pre-occupied as well, and Peter. Well, Peter had looked Stiles up and down, eyes sharp and assessing, but when he had made a step towards Stiles, Stiles had fled.
So maybe it wasn’t completely fair to say no one had noticed, because clearly Peter had, just like his dad had.
But Scott hadn’t, and since the message had been intended for him, that was kind of the worst. And it only continued to get worse once Scott became alpha.
Stiles was abducted and hurt almost regularly, and Scott never seemed to notice.
Once Stiles had come to a pack meeting, hurt and still bleeding and shaking all over, and Scott had looked at him once, before he asked how he always managed to get himself into these situations.
Stiles almost wanted to laugh at that because he also got himself out of these situations since Scott didn’t seem to care enough to go look for Stiles and come to his rescue.
Peter had slinked up to him in the kitchen that day, stepped between Stiles and the pack in the living room and leaned in close.
“If you would let me, I would take care of whoever did this to you,” Peter whispered, gently stroking his fingertips over Stiles’ busted cheek, drawing the pain out in the process.
The offer was—tempting, to say the least. Scott never dealt with the people who had hurt Stiles. He promised to hunt them down and deal with them, to chase them out of town and make sure that they could never hurt anyone and especially Stiles ever again, on the scarce moments he realized Stiles had been hurt at all, but nothing ever happened.
Stiles had seen the hunters in town who had gotten their hands on Stiles this time, just days after they had kidnapped Stiles and beat the shit out of him before he managed to escape; days after Scott had promised to deal with them and it had thrown Stiles right into a panic attack.
When Stiles had confronted Scott about it, Scott had blinked his puppy eyes at him and promised him that he had talked to them, had made sure that they knew never to do anything like that ever again.
Stiles had stared at him for a few seconds, before he left, too worked up to even talk to Scott anymore.
Stiles had been taken two more times since that time, times Scott hadn’t even noticed that Stiles had been missing for more than half a day. It had been Stiles’ dad, both times, who came to Stiles’ rescue, using plain old police work to find him. Whereas the so-called true alpha couldn’t even be bothered to realize his best friend was missing, or god forbid, put his werewolf senses to some goddamn use.
And now, now Stiles was yet again beat and covered in his own blood, shaking so much he was afraid his knees would just give out on him. He had gotten himself out of the warehouse, after taking beatings for almost a day, and Scott had been nowhere in sight.
Which was the reason why Stiles was weakly knocking at Peter’s door right now. His place had been closest to where Stiles had been held, but he also still heard Peter’s low voice, felt his whispered promise against his skin, promising him to keep him safe, if only Stiles would let him.
And Stiles was ready to let him, now.
Peter opened the door quicker than Stiles had expected, too used to Scott taking his sweet time reacting to Stiles, and Peter’s eyes flared blue when he looked Stiles up and down.
“Who do I kill?” Peter calmly asked, but Stiles could hear the growl at the edges of his words, could still see the supernatural glow in his eyes, and Stiles just slumped forward, leaning against Peter’s chest, forehead pressed to the hollow of his throat.
Peter didn’t seem to care that Stiles got blood all over his nice shirt, and instead place a hand gently on the back of Stiles’ neck, drawing the pain out of him.
“I don’t know who they are,” Stiles whispered, desperation licking up his spine.
If Peter couldn’t find them, couldn’t keep Stiles safe, then Stiles wouldn’t know what to do. This had been his hope, always in the back of his head, that Peter could do what Scott hadn’t been able to do, and Stiles was quickly steering into a panic attack again, desperately gripping at Peter’s shirt.
“That’s alright, darling, shhh,” Peter soothed him. “I’m gonna find them anyway.”
Stiles trembled in his arms, too relieved by what Peter said, and Peter continued to soothe him.
“Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go home?” Peter carefully asked, and Stiles felt his breath hitch in his throat.
He imagined waiting here for Peter to come back, hurt and alone in an apartment he didn’t know, and Stiles couldn’t stand that thought.
“Home, I want to go home,” he pleaded, and Peter immediately bundled him up in one of his many designer jackets, steering him towards his car without any comment.
Stiles apparently drifted off during the ride, because he startled badly when Peter suddenly stopped the car in front of his house. Peter must have called his dad, too, because John was standing on the porch, clearly waiting for them.
“What happened?” he asked as he walked up to Stiles’ side of the car and he pulled Stiles close, inspecting his wounds before he looked over to Peter, who hadn’t stepped away from the car.
“Don’t know, don’t care, but I’m going to handle it” Peter replied, sliding back behind the wheel.
Stiles could feel how his dad sucked in a sharp breath and he tensed in his arms. His dad knew what Peter was going to do and if he disapproved of that, Stiles was sure he would just shatter right here on the porch. This was the first time someone had acted with the clear intent do finally do something and if his dad stopped Peter now, Stiles would just break down.
“Be careful,” John said in a normal tone, clearly counting on the fact that Peter could still hear him, and the easy acceptance brought tears to Stiles’ eyes.
“Come on, kiddo,” John said and gently steered Stiles towards the house and immediately into the bathroom.
John had been on a double shift, so it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed yet that Stiles had been missing, but Stiles and Scott were supposed to meet like five hours ago, and clearly Scott hadn’t thought it to be strange at all when Stiles hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t even thought to call Stiles’ dad and inquire where he was, despite Stiles’ more than horrible track record.
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said on the stairs, breath catching in his throat again, and his dad hugged him tightly once they reached the bathroom.
“No reason to be,” he whispered, before he sat Stiles’ down on the toilet seat and got the things he needed to clean out Stiles’ wounds.
“Don’t you think you should go to the hospital?” John softly asked when he saw the dark bruises on Stiles’ chest but Stiles shook his head so hard his vision blurred.
“No! Melissa will tell Scott and he’ll be disappointed,” Stiles got out and John frowned at him.
“Kiddo, do you even realize how that sounds?” he asked but Stiles couldn’t talk about this, couldn’t think about this anymore.
He just wanted to feel safe, whished he would get enough down time between kidnappings for his injuries to fully heal up before new ones were being added for once, and he looked down at his hands.
“Can I go to bed?” he asked, and John immediately agreed, thank god.
“Sure. Come here, I’ll get you something soft to sleep in,” he said after he’d wrapped Stiles’ ribs.
His dad quickly got him settled into bed, but Stiles felt too tense, too strung up to sleep, expecting to toss and turn all night, but he woke up with a start when he heard voices outside of his room. It was still dark outside and his head was still throbbing painfully, so Stiles couldn’t have been asleep for very long.
“You couldn’t have cleaned up before dropping by?” Stiles heard his dad ask with a sigh.
“He needs to see it to believe,” Peter immediately replied, and Stiles sat up in his bed, leaning forward in anticipation of Peter coming into his room.
When he finally did, Stiles momentarily forgot how to breathe. Peter’s hands were caked with blood, going up almost to his forearms, and Stiles spotted blood on Peter’s expensive shirt as well. There was blood on his face too, and Stiles had seen enough crime shows, not to mention stole glances at his dad’s files, to know that it was an arterial spray he was looking at.
Peter stood perfectly still, letting Stiles look his fill and Stiles could feel the tears spilling over.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he brokenly whispered again and again, sob after sob rattling his frame and Peter was there, gathering him close.
Stiles didn’t even care about the blood, felt strangely relieved when he felt it stick to his own shirt, and he gripped Peter tightly, afraid to let him go again.
“You’re safe now,” Peter mumbled into his hair, stroking his hand up and down Stiles’ back.
Stiles continued to sob in Peter’s arms, and Peter never once made Stiles believe that it was an imposition on him. Stiles heard his father come in once, but he felt too warm and protected in Peter’s arms to care about that.
“Don’t let them take me again,” Stiles pleaded eventually, when his tears were all dried up.
“I can’t promise that, Stiles,” Peter softly told him, and Stiles felt small and helpless, fear gripping at his heart again. “But I promise that I will always come for you, that I will always find you. And I will always kill whoever dared to lay a hand on you,” Peter quickly went on, immediately promising him that.
Stiles squeezed him even tighter at that. Stiles knew that Peter would make good on his promise, too, unlike Scott who had brushed Stiles off again and again.
“Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to sleep,” Peter eventually said, and guided Stiles back down on his bed.
He wasn’t sure if he would feel safe without Peter, if he could still believe that the people who had hurt him were dead when Peter wasn’t there anymore to remind him, but Stiles shouldn’t have worried.
Peter only stepped away far enough to tug his shirt over his head, grabbing one Stiles’ dad obviously had left for hm, before he toed off his shoes and then stepped back to Stiles’ bed.
“You want me stay on the chair?” Peter asked, and it seemed like a sincere offer, too.
But it felt wrong, banning Peter to the chair, and so instead Stiles lifted his blanket, inviting Peter in, without actually saying it.
Peter didn’t hesitate at all, sliding under the covers before pulling Stiles close. Stiles easily went with the motion, fisting his hands into Peter’s shirt once more.
“Thank you,” Stiles whispered again, struggling with the gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him.
“For you, always,” Peter immediately replied, starting up a soothing rumbling in his chest that Stiles quickly fell asleep to, still lingering pains eased by Peter’s hand on his nape, black veins crawling up his arms.
It was the first time in a long time that Stiles wasn’t plagued by nightmares, because he knew that Peter was there to protect him, no matter what. It was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time.
If your OTPs tried to feed each other, depending on the OTP how much of a desaster would each pairing have?
That depends on 1) why they’re trying to feed each other, 2) who is doing the feeding, and 3) how much of a little shit the person eating is going to be (which, depending on the OTP, will vary between “gazing adoringly at the person feeding them” to “95% chance of getting stabbed with a spoon.”)
Let’s take a look at a couple of different options, shall we?
Option 1: Feeding each other because it’s “romantic”
Stiles and Derek: Definite disaster. This is because Derek’s version of “feeding each other” would involve him bringing small (or large) woodland creatures to Stiles in an effort to show he can provide, and Stiles would make him write “bunnies/squirrels/deer are friends, not food” on a piece of paper 100 times.
Conversely, Stiles would try to feed Derek spaghetti at a restaurant to show up some other couple he had a grudge with (IDK, Lydia and Cora are nearby and being sappy, and Stiles and Lydia have been arguing about who has the more romantic relationship) and end up either dropping it on Derek’s pristine white shirt or somehow flinging it across the room to hit a waiter in the face. (Lydia’s “I win, bitch” face is worse than getting kicked out of the restaurant.)
Shiro and Keith: Moderate disaster, but that’s because Shiro would drop whatever food he was trying to feed Keith repeatedly because he keeps getting distracted and nervous by how pretty Keith’s eyes are. Keith doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy internally hyperventilating about how close Shiro is to him and how handsome he is. Matt is drinking straight whiskey because he literally cannot take one more minute of how bad they are at this, Pidge and Hunk are filming it for posterity and YouTube views, and Lance isn’t even paying attention because he’s too busy trying to talk Allura into trying ice cream.
Barnaby and Kotetsu: Surprisingly mild disaster, considering who we’re talking about, but that’s only because they won’t stop arguing about who’s feeding who long enough to actually, you know, eat. The worst thing that happens is that Kotetsu drops a piece of chocolate cake into Barnaby’s after-dinner coffee when Barnaby refuses to open his mouth for it. (Agnes, who suggested this in the first place and is filming it for publicity reasons—you cannot tell me she wouldn’t jump all over the chance to use their relationship to drive ratings—is the one who is thirty seconds away from stabbing both of them with a spoon.)
Option 2: One has to feed the other because an injury/issue prevents them from using their arms
Stiles and Derek: No matter how badly he was hurt, Stiles would still insist on trying to feed himself, even if it means he has to faceplant right into whatever he’s trying to eat. Derek spends about 10 seconds watching him try to eat a sandwich this way (and sneaking at least one picture of how ridiculous he looks) before he’d grab the sandwich out of Stiles’s lap and hold it up so he can eat it properly. Stiles scowls and continues to insist he can do it himself until Derek shoves the sandwich into his mouth and orders him to take a damn bite. Stiles does eat, then, but mutinously.
Of course, then he realizes two things: 1) how much easier it is to eat when he isn’t trying to do it himself, and 2) how fun it is to make Derek feed him (because Derek looks so serious about it) and so Stiles starts asking Derek to feed him everything while he’s recovering. Soup. Sandwiches. Pancakes. Popsicles. And Derek does, because he actually cares about Stiles and wants him to get better, and no, Boyd, it doesn’t mean anything that he won’t let anyone else do it. (Boyd looks at him judgmentally and says “uh-huh” in the voice that says he knows Derek’s going to be eating his words at some point in the future.)
It’s even odds about whether Stiles is too much of a little shit about it and Derek deliberately spills an entire bowl of ice cream down his shirt. (Before feeling bad about it and helping Stiles change his clothes. Stiles is less of a little shit about Derek helping him after that, though.)
Shiro and Keith: So Shiro’s getting his arm fixed, which means he’s down one for his lunch date with Keith. He can eat just fine with one hand no matter what they’re eating, but when Keith offers to help…well. Shiro’s not going to say no. So he lets Keith feed him his macaroni and cheese and spends more time admiring how quietly determined Keith is about the entire process than he does actually eating.
Keith is also super concerned about making sure that he doesn’t drip cheese anywhere on Shiro’s uniform, so he’s outstandingly cautious and Shiro is so utterly smitten about the whole thing.
It’s disgusting to watch from an outside perspective. Other people at the Garrison are suddenly VERY interested in their phones and tablets, so that they don’t have to watch their commanding officer go moon-eyed over his boyfriend feeding him mac and cheese. And if Pidge is there for her lunch break, she makes unsubtle gagging noises every time Keith lifts a bite.
Barnaby and Kotetsu: Okay so not only is Barnaby unable to use his arms, but as he’s recovering, he also has to take this godawful medication that tastes terrible. After a pill gets stuck in his throat the second time, he straight-up refuses to take it again. So Kotetsu (who is taking care of him while he recovers, obviously) ends up putting it into different foods to mask the taste so Barnaby will take his goddamn medication when he is supposed to. This method is...not terrifically successful. Usually, an entire spoonful of food ends up halfway across the living room or on Kotetsu’s shirt. (Kotetsu will admit, putting the medicine in a spoonful of soup was not his brightest moment.)
It takes the better part of a week before he figures out that cherry jello is the only thing that 1) masks the taste and 2) Bunny will actually eat. Kotetsu stocks half his fridge with the jello and suddenly medication time is much less fraught.
After that, the only time Barnaby refuses to eat is when Kotetsu makes airplane noises with the spoon.
