Derek groaned. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he could have sworn that he'd just seen a pink rabbit dart around the corner of the door. It was a good thing that he could still make his way to Stiles' home without managing to kill himself in the process. Not that it would really take much at this point. Just because he was a werewolf didn't mean that he was immune to everything, and every once in a while he was hit with one hell of a flu bug.

His vision flickered again, and he hissed as the pressure at the back of his skull seemed to grow. When did school get out for Stiles again? He couldn't seem to recall anything, and the floor was actually very comfortable. Cold on his bare arms, too, which was an added bonus.

Actually, he really hoped that Stiles' dad wouldn't be home until late. He could only imagine how that one would play out. But at the same time, he almost wished that someone would get home. He felt like shit.

Derek shifted, but then decided against actually hauling himself onto Stiles' bed. It was too much effort. At the moment, all he wanted was to sleep.

The male finally decided on rolling over, coming to a sort of compromise with himself. Shifting was good. It meant that he was still alive and not actually burning in the pits of Hell, like his flesh felt like it was doing.

He must've fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was grabbing him under the armpits and dragging him across the floor. Something that all of his aching limbs protested greatly. Growling, his throat screaming at him not to do that again, he weakly swiped at whoever was pulling at him.

"Derek, I swear to God, I don't care if you're at Death's door. If you fucking hit me I'm dragging your ass outside and leaving it there."

"Please." he replied, imagining the rain that had been falling all day peppering his fevered face.

Obviously, that hadn't been the answer that Stiles had been expecting, as his grip momentarily loosened, but a moment later he noted that the grip he was using now was significantly tighter.

"You're fucking kidding, right? You're not actually sick, are you?" Stiles asked with a grunt, opening the bathroom door with a none too gentle kick with a socked foot.

"What does it fucking look like?" Derek snarled, immediately regretting it.

"Well, it's better than thinking you crawled in and died on the floor, asshole." Stiles snarked back. "Thanks a lot for the heart attack, by the way. That's always the first thing I want to see when I come home."

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, realizing in the back of his mind that they were no longer in Stiles' room.

"I-" Stiles began, propping Derek against the counter, "-am going to give you a cold shower."

Somehow, while the logical side of Derek's brain noted that, the fevered, hallucination half was wondering what the hell that would accomplish.

Stiles, on the other hand, was damn close to panicking. Sure, it wasn't as if he was about to go calling 9-1-1 or anything, but he was near hysterical. He didn't think he could recall any point in time where Derek was sick. Like, ever. The guy was like freaking Wolverine like that.

Leaning over the edge of the bathtub, Stiles used a shaky hand to turn on the tap to as cold as he could get it, turning his attention back to the very sick male behind him. Derek, to put it mildly, looked like Death had walked up to him and slugged him in the face. His face was pale, save for his flushed cheeks, and it didn't take a genius to feel the heat coming off of him.

"Why?" Derek mumbled.

"Because believe it or not, but it actually works." Stile replied shortly, grunting as he lifted the deadweight that was his boyfriend and debated how to get him into the tub before muttering "Screw it." and stepping in, dragging the dark haired male behind him.

As soon as the water hit him, Derek nearly collapsed in relief. The cool water was pure and utter bliss on his warm skin. Stiles, not so much. The blond teen yelped as Derek suddenly went down, landing heavily on his hip behind the werewolf and then being pinned there.

They sat there for a good half hour, Derek almost purring in relief, while Stiles slowly and surely began to freeze his ass off.

After he was sure that he would have hypothermia, Stiles tentatively shifted, wincing at his now bruised hip, before getting a mouthful of hair in his face.

"Derek? You still alive?" he asked into the male's ear.

"Shut it, or you won't be." came the less than threatening reply.

"Yeah yeah. Whatever. You're about as threatening as a drowned cat, Derek." Stiles chattered back.

Derek knew that he was sick, but he wasn't stupid. He knew quite well that Stiles was going to freeze to death in his stubbornness. Turning his head, he leveled a stare at the younger male, quirking a brow the best he could.

"Get out before you freeze, idiot. I know you're comfortable and everything, but you're going to be the one going to the hospital soon."

"I would, but I slipped and I'm stuck." came the attempted sarcasm. "So unless you move your fat ass off of me, I'm stuck straddling you until you get out."

"Oh."

That should've made sense, really. He was larger and stronger than Stiles. Stiles also didn't really have any body fat on him, despite the fact he played lacross.

Slowly, trying not to slip, the dark haired male sat up, limbs still protesting, but not as badly as they had been previously.

"Thank you." Stiles sighed in relief, pressure gone from his hip. As quickly as he could, the male clambered out from the tub, quivering fingers latching onto the nearest towel and wrapping it around himself.

"Stiles?"

He barely heard it over the sound of the water, but Stiles nodded. "Yeah, Derek?"

"Thanks."

His lips curled up, and the male laughed dryly. "No problem, Sourwolf."