Title: ermanently Blue For You
Summary: A bad situation for Stiles ends surprisingly well. (
Fluff and wolf-hugs)
Warnings: None really.
Stiles never really thought he had claustrophobia, but that was before he was trapped in this tiny coffin-like chamber. He didn’t even know which way was up, or out, or how he even got where he is. He had woken up here, and the only reason he hasn’t had a panic attack yet is because the more logical part of his brain knows he could run out of oxygen if he lets that happen. Instead he tries to think about how he got here. What the hell had he gotten himself into this time? He remembers running, his leg muscles feel sore from the memory, definitely lots of running. He tells himself not to think about where he could be right now and how screwed he is. It’s pitch black, but he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on what brought him here. Of course, it was some dumbass plan to save Scott, his dumbass werewolf best friend. He should really consider giving that title to someone else.
Right. Running. He was running away, through the forest, away from Derek’s house. Right, Derek. The other pack. Suddenly everything rushed back into Stiles’ memory crystal clear. Another pack wanted to claim Beacon Hills as their territory. Ya right, like his pack would stand for that. But they’d been surrounded. The other pack closing in on them at Derek’s house. They’d split up into pairs. One werewolf per human. Scott of course was glued to Allison, Jackson with Lydia, and as always Stiles was left with the sourwolf. Except, somehow they’d gotten separated, and oh right, the running. As if running had helped; the last thing he remembers is accompanied by a dull aching in his skull. He’d been hit over the head with… something… something really hard. And now he was here, and what the fuck!? How long has it been? Did anyone even know where he was? Or that he was even missing? What if the rest of them were all in trouble too? What if he was just gonna die in… wherever the hell he was, and the rest of his friends – his pack – were lying dead in the forest somewhere. What if he never got to see any of them ever again?
No, stop. Stiles wouldn’t let himself think that way, he couldn’t. But he also couldn’t lay here waiting like a damsel in distress. He needed to find a way out and – wait, what was that? Stiles thought he had heard something, maybe it was his overactive imagination – not surprising with all the stress he’s battling at the moment. But there it was again – dirt fell on his face from somewhere as the ground around him shook.
Stiles held still, trying to figure out what this could mean. Was he underground somewhere? That would really explain the dirt – oh god, there’s probably bugs crawling all around him and – he really can not be thinking about that right now. Then he heard muffled groaning and creaking, then wood cracking and suddenly – light. Moonlight lit up Stiles’ world and he gasped for the fresh crisp air that was now attacking his lungs. He was still a bit disoriented as two hands clutched his shirt and brought him out of the less-than-coffin-sized hole hidden under floorboards. The first thing he realized was Derek, his strong hands still clutched in his shirt. His ADD kicked in for a second as he let his head loll and take in his surroundings. They were now standing in some dilapidated house that was not the Hale house. Then his gaze went right back to Derek.
“Stiles.” Derek spoke like he wanted to sound calm, but Stiles could see something else betrayed in his face. Was that… worry? Derek’s eyebrows were usually furrowed – but most of the time it was out of anger. This was different. Derek had been worried about him.
Stiles was maybe a bit caught up in the moment, and the whole just being saved thing. Derek still had his fists clenched tight in Stiles’ shirt and Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s neck. Derek stood rigid for a split second, until he let go of the front of Stiles’s shirt and wrapped the younger boy up in a tight bear hug – wolf hug? Did wolfs hug? Stiles had no idea but – holy crap. Stiles was hugging Derek? Derek was definitely hugging him back, gripping him for his dear life. When they both seemed to realize this was sort of unchartered territory between them, and up until now Stiles was pretty sure he was terrified of Derek, they loosened their grip on each other and slowly drifted apart. Stiles ran an awkward hand over his head.
“Well, uh, thanks for saving me. Wow, I was sure I was gonna die from suffocation soon.”
“Ya. No problem.” Derek’s face was completely masked again, void of emotion.
Stiles coughed, not knowing how to fill the awkward silence. He looked down at his feet. He had just hugged Mr. Sour Wolf, and the guy had hugged him back. Mr. I-don’t-care-about-anyone-but-myself. Stiles started to find the humour in it, or maybe it was the stupid churning feeling in his stomach that was causing him to fight a ridiculous grin from spreading on his face. He glanced up at Derek and swore he could see Derek trying to fight a smile too. Stiles thought, maybe for once, it wasn’t his imagination, and that he really did just see the corners of Derek’s mouth flinch upward and the quick biting of his cheeks.
“C’mon let’s go, I guess we better inform the pack you didn’t die of suffocation.”
Derek playfully hit Stiles on the arm and all Stiles could think about was how to instigate his plan to make this whole wolf hug thing a more common habit