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“There you go, let it out babe-- jesus christ, that smells terrible,” Stiles said, all but gagging at the acidic smell of bile in the toilet. Derek was hunched over it, claws scraping against porcelain with each gut wrenching wave of nausea that flooded him.
“That’s not very--”
His boyfriend didn’t have time to finish whatever he was saying because another splash of yellow-ish looking stuff was being emptied into the bowl of the toilet. If Stiles had to look away so he totally didn’t sympathy vomit all over Derek’s head, that was for him and only him to know. By the time this wave of vomit ended Derek was sliding back against the wall, using toilet paper to wipe his mouth before flushing it along with everything else.
Stiles grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet and made it damp with cold water, bending back down to press it against Derek’s forehead.
“Alright... think you’re done for now?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” Derek muttered, voice gnarly and breath a little raspy.
Stiles offered a small smile as he hooked his arms under Derek’s, helping the guy back on his feet and back to bed. It’s been like this for a few days, but this was probably the worst of it. Constant stomach ache, hot and cold flashes, and vomiting up anything eaten. Stiles absolutely hated seeing Derek like this.
Pale, weak, and just overall unhealthy.
Whenever Derek whimpered, Stiles’ heart did horrible flips behind his ribs. Like he said, he absolutely hated seeing Derek like this.
“Do you think we could try some tea soon? You’ve literally only eaten a saltine today,” Stiles suggested while laying the werewolf into bed, pulling the covers up while keeping the bedside bucket close in case making it to the bathroom again wasn’t possible.
Without a word, a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him into bed, Stiles’ face getting smashed into the mattress as a result. A small chuckle left Derek’s mouth and Stiles rolled his eyes fondly while adjusting his position so they were next to each other. Stiles flipped to his side, his nose burying itself into the messy hair Derek was sporting while his arms wrapped themselves around the broad expanse of chest.
“Hey Stiles?”
“Yes?”
“Your toes are really cold,” Derek said and Stiles felt like he nearly snapped his ankles with how fast he moved them.
“Sorry about that, shnookums,” Stiles huffed, kissing at Derek’s heated temple.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
With a smile he lifted his head up. “Shut your eyes and rest while you can.” He curled back in after that, waiting until Derek’s breathing evened out and the heartbeat under his fingers was calm before letting his own eyes slip shut.
##
“I’m not drinking that,” Derek whined, using his fingers to plug his nose like a child who wasn’t eating their vegetables. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles looked from Derek and the mug then back again.
“It’s ginger tea and it’s supposed to help with vomiting. You’ve been vomiting non-stop for three days, ergo, you’re drinking this tea, Derek,” Stiles said with finality, putting the warm mug -the Stormtrooper helmet one Derek bought him for Christmas- into the man's hands.
The werewolf looked at him, a scowl on his face, even though he knew that the whole sourwolf thing hasn’t worked for years. Stiles crossed his arms and arched a brow, but Derek thankfully put on his big boy pants and took a sip of the tea, only to pull it away while making a face.
“Ow…’s hot,” Derek whimpered.
Stiles frowned, “oh shit babe, sorry. You okay? Please don’t die.”
He took the mug away, setting it on the nightstand - with a coaster because Derek insisted that their furniture wouldn’t have stains on it- before sitting on the edge of the bed to make sure his boyfriend was okay.
“It’s already healed-”
Derek didn’t finish his sentence nor did Stiles have any warning time whatsoever by the time vomit was being sprayed onto the bed and both of them. What was Stiles’s first reaction? Scream like a little child and flail around like a fish out of water. Classy.
His second reaction was a lot more...calm and collected which involved him taking into account how embarrassed Derek actually looked, cheeks a furious red and eyes downcast, hands cupped over his mouth.
“Okay...no more tea, we need to get us and the bed cleaned up,” he said, jumping into action.
Somehow, he got the sheets all wrapped up and Derek in the shower within five minutes of the incident. He settled on just changing his shirt before frantically calling over both his father and Melissa. One armed with broth from the soup house in town the other armed with medicine for Derek.
Yes, Stiles truly had the “hook-up” and only offered the best for his boyfriend.
He grabbed a new set of lounge clothes for Derek, setting them on the bathroom counter for when he finished the shower. Right on time the loft door opened, his father and Melissa walking in both looked equally as worried.
“Ginger tea didn’t work?” Melissa asked.
“Nope. He just threw it up all over himself, me, and the bed,” Stiles said while pointing to the stripped bed. The two gave him looks of pity before moving to unload everything they brought. Melissa went over two pill bottles, one with enough anti-nausea medication for a horse and the other medical prescription grade stuff for the headaches Derek was constantly getting. Meanwhile, his father pulled out two containers of hot broth as well as some ginger candy, which may be a better alternative than tea.
The three of them paused when the bathroom door clicked open, Derek stepping out hesitantly. Stiles walked over, running a hand over the back of Derek’s neck where beads of water were still stuck to his hair.
“I kinda needed back up,” Stiles said with a small shrug, “is it okay that they’re here?”
“It’s fine,” Derek muttered, nose crinkling, “but what’s not is the fact you still smell like vomit.”
That got a laugh from the other two and Stiles looked to them with a mock look of betrayal on his face. “Okay, jeez, hint taken. I’ll take a shower,” he huffed, moving Derek to the couch before making his way to the bathroom.
##
Did he scrub his body a little harder where he got hit with puke? Yes. Yes he did. Honestly though he can’t be one to judge, considering he threw up on the walls all the time as a kid because he couldn’t make it to the bathroom, like, ever.
Besides, it was over and done with. Water under the bridge, bodies freshly showered, ruined sheets in the wash. Fully dressed and feeling much better, Stiles made his way out of the bathroom, pausing as the cold loft air hit his steam-heated skin. The TV was on, playing Buffy once again - it was secretly the cutest thing to Stiles...because werewolves, duh- with Derek watching it.
This time was different though.
This time he was sharing a big fuzzy blanket with both Melissa and his father. Melissa was taking the time to run her hands through Derek’s hair in slow and lazy motions, and his father was holding a mug of broth with a straw in it for Derek while making jokes at the episode playing.
Without hesitation, Stiles pulled out his phone and started taking pictures.
“Stiles, stop it and come here,” his father said when he was caught red handed. Shrugging he put his phone in his BHHS hoodie pocket before walking over to wedge himself between his father and Derek, feeling oh-so cozy.
“I took his temperature when you showered, it’s a little higher than normal, but he took some medicine,” Melissa informed.
“Wait, he let you use a thermometer on him? How come you wouldn’t let me?” Stiles asked, a little wounded.
Derek looked to him with a raised eyebrow, “because last time you shoved it in and I almost choked.”
“Well there’s a lot of things I shove--”
“Son,” his father warned and that got a laugh pulled from Melissa and a blush to cross Derek’s face. Stiles smirked and curled into Derek’s side feeling shameless. He was an adult with a boyfriend and unlike high school he was so not a virgin, stuff like that was bound to be said.
For a long while they stayed curled up, watching Netflix, his father making witty jokes about Willow and Spike, and Melissa using her badass mom powers to get Derek to finish the broth without vomiting. When the sun began to set, the party ended with his father saying he needed sleep for his night shift later and Melissa saying that Scott was stopping by her house soon.
“If you need it, take the medicine again in twelve hours for nausea, take the migraine one whenever you need,” Melissa instructed.
“With him around, I think I’ll need another bottle,” Derek teased.
Stiles gasped, smacking his arm playfully.
His father stood as well, a hand clasping around Derek’s shoulder. “Call me if you need anything, son.”
It didn’t take a genius to realize that “son” wasn’t directed to Stiles. He watched his boyfriend’s eyes widen significantly, something between complete happiness, shock, and pure fear washing over his face. There was a moment of silence and Stiles was afraid to even breathe, watching their eye contact convey something between them, something Stiles couldn’t even begin to decipher.
“Thanks John,” Derek muttered, voice breaking.
Stiles felt himself nearly coo when the two went in for a hug, his heart melting when his father added, “When you’re ready, you can call me dad.”
Then, as quick as they came, the two left. Glancing over to his boyfriend, he saw the broken look on his face, green eyes watery. It made him reach for the puke bucket that had been moved over from the bed.
“Babe?” Stiles prompted, not knowing if he needed it or if the tears were the byproduct of something else.
Derek shook his head, wiping his eyes and for a moment Stiles figured everything was okay. Nodding back, he stood up to deal with the left over broth containers and medicine. Better to clean up now than later. A sob ripped through the air like a gunshot in the silence. Eyes wide as saucers, Stiles whipped his head around to see Derek red faced and crying into his hands. It only got worse when Derek looked up with tear ridden cheeks and a devastated expression. It had Stiles' heart breaking in his chest with every passing second while watching the man crack and break.
"STILES!"
He bolted towards Derek, almost vaulting over the couch to get to him quicker. If only he'd had this kind of speed back when he played lacrosse... Nearly tripping on a pillow, he threw himself next to Derek and cupped the back of the man's neck, ducking his head down to meet eye to eye. "Derek....hey babe, w-what's wrong? I can go get Mel--"
"No...I-I just...my stomach," Derek wheezed, sniffling up the snot in his nose with a wet sound, "and y-your dad..."
"Okay, okay big guy, here I am," Stiles said soothingly, pulling Derek in close while feeling his own eyes pinprick with tears. "Shh, you're okay." For a while they just held each other; Derek quivering like a leaf while Stiles rubbed his hands up and down Derek's back, trying to get him to calm down.
There was a pause in the waterworks, long enough for Stiles to pull back to see how his boyfriend was doing. The shoulder of his shirt was sloppy with tears, snot, and most likely saliva, but he could care less, Derek's well-being was the number one for him as always. Stiles opened his mouth about to ask if he was okay, if he needed anything, and like usual he was beaten to the punch.
Derek shook his head, wiping his eyes, “‘m fine...can we just cuddle and watch more Buffy?”
“Of course.”