The first time Stiles wakes up, he panics. There's something in his mouth he can't swallow around and usually that would make him grin like the Cheshire cat but this is not the time to be making penis jokes. It feels like someone's jammed something right into his lung and he has zero control over most of his body.

As soon as his heart rate starts climbing, something warm and solid is squeezing his hand and leaning over him.

Derek? Seriously? This has to be some sort of special brand of Hell concocted for Stiles and Stiles alone.

"Stiles, you have to calm down, okay? It'll be fine. You're in the hospital and you're sick but you'll be fine," Derek babbles and Stiles swears it's the longest sentence he's ever heard the dude say. The scary thing isn't Derek talking to him.

The scary thing is Derek actually calming him down.

To the point of Stiles falling asleep again.

(Well, that was actually a heavy dose of medication, but hey.)

The next time he wakes up, Stiles is distinctly throat-tube free. He's still got I.V.s up the wazoo and there's still the feeling of having a pencil jammed between his third and fourth ribs. He's sore and exhausted and still pretty confused.

Stiles goes to bring his hands up to his face - to rub the unconsciousness from his eyes - but finds that not only one, but both of his hands are otherwise occupied.

He looks to the left and sees his father hunched over in a chair, hand loosely placed atop his only son's.

Stiles looks to the right and sees Derek Hale asleep with his head on the small sliver of available space between Stiles' thigh and the edge of the bed. Derek has his fingers twined with Stiles' and their hands are curled towards Derek's chest.

It's almost like Derek is trying to protect him.

Stiles is confused and warm and not entirely unhappy with this. Instead of waking them up, Stiles gives in to his exhaustion and falls back into darkness.

After leaning over to give Derek more of his hand, of course.

The last time Stiles wakes up, he's tube-free. Well... I.V.s not withstanding.

It's the first time he's been completely lucid since being flat-out on his ass in the school bathroom and it feels... It sucks. Hardcore.

Stiles feels a lot like he's been his by a car. He's sore and achy and his chest hurts. But he's alive, which is more than he was hoping to be when he couldn't coherently dial for help.

Breathing is easier than he last remembers it being. Where there had been pain and lots of uncomfortable shifting in his chest before, there's an achiness that's still pain but not agony. There's one spot that flares to life when he attempts to sit up and Stiles vaguely remembers the feeling of having a pencil or something stuck there.
When he opens his eyes, the lights are blinding.

"Urgh... Could we dial down the high beams, please?" he mutters to himself. Or, at least, he thinks he's by himself. The instant the light is blocked out, however, he knows how wrong he was.

"Stiles... How are you feeling? Should I call a doctor in?" The face above him has little emotion written on it - in fact, it's expressionless. Despite the obvious concern in the voice.

Normally Derek would have slapped Stiles upside the head or slammed his head into something at this point. (What? He has street-cred to maintain and Stiles knows that his punishments for being stupid are always physical.)

"... Derek? Am I hallucinating or something?" Wow okay talking hurts too then, Stiles realizes as he winces ever so slightly.

Stiles' visage is the perfect picture of confusion and Derek's is... Amused? Maybe? Under the clear layer of stony indifference, that is.

"No. Your dad should be back soon. He went to make a phone call or something."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is literally all Stiles gets out of Derek. No 'hey I'm glad to see you' or 'hot damn it's good you're not dead'. Not even a 'son of a bitch how dare you nearly die!'. Weeeell fuck him, then. See what kind of gratitude he gets from Stiles and whoa where did that image come from?!

Of course Derek is still watching him.

Derek, who looks both constipated and like he hasn't showered in a week.

"Right... So... Do you mind filling me in?" Stiles asks, giving Derek a pointed look that says 'I'm awake now and you need to use your words, you ape'. His voice is scratchy and uncomfortable, but he figures Derek can do most of the work this time.

Derek's nostrils flare and Stiles groans, already predicting the next words to come out of Derek's mouth.

"You're an idiot. Do you realize exactly how ridiculously stupid you are? You were sick for days, Stiles. Days. You didn't tell your dad, you didn't call Scott or Isaac or go to the doctor." Derek's eyebrows were dancing on his forehead, distracting Stiles from what he's sure is a meaningful rant.

"Dude, it's not-"

"It is a big deal, Stiles! It's a huge freakin' deal! You got pneumonia, broke a rib, refused to go to the hospital, and wound up needing a breathing tube. Let's not forget the chest tube they had to put in because it got so bad that an infection started to build up outside your lung. Congratulations, Stiles, you win honorable mention for a Darwin Award."

Stiles is... Completely speechless for once in his life. Not only is that the longest sentence he's ever heard Derek Hale say, but it confirms that Derek doesn't live in the dark ages. He actually knows what Darwin Awards are! That's not even including the fact that Derek was apparently scared shitless for Stiles which said teenager finds oddly touching and more than a little bit arousing.

Derek gives him this look of disbelief, probably able to smell exactly how Stiles is reacting to his little spiel of concern.

"I... Dude, you know what the Darwin Awards are?" Stiles can't wrap his head around that little piece of Derek Hale trivia.

"Out of the entire situation that I just laid out for you, all you got out of that is that I know what the Darwin Awards are? Are you kidding me?" Derek's back to his default pissy look which makes Stiles smile a bit. Always good to know that there is some sense of normalcy even in the face of adversity. Hey... He should quote that. Put it on a card or a coffee cup or something.

"Yes. Because you're clearly the mentally defect one if you didn't think I wouldn't know that you've been sleeping at my bedside for... Jesus, how long have I even been in here?"

Derek's face is impassive and just a little pissed off. "Eight days."

"So you've been sleeping at my bedside for eight days, with my arm curled towards you. You clearly haven't shaved, you kinda smell funky, and you've got bags like Macy's has never seen before under your eyes," Stiles says matter-of-factly. He can feel his already raw throat starting to shred slightly with the effort of speaking. Derek seems to understand what's happening as well because he leans forward and puts a hand over Stiles' mouth - much to his amusement.

Stiles - just to be Stiles and a pain in the ass - licks Derek's hand.

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't move his baseball glove of a hand.

"No. No more talking. Yes, I was here all eight days. Yes, I have not showered or shaved in those eight days. Yes, I'm going to kill you when you're out of this hospital bed. No, you're not allowed to ask any more questions or make anymore comments. Understand?"

Stiles nods, mouth twitching into a smile when he notices that Derek Hale is actually blushing mildly. Which, when he thinks about it, is kind of hilarious considering he's blushing because of Stiles. (Secretly Stiles thinks Derek may have sustained a nasty concussion if that's his reaction.)

Derek just sort of glares menacingly - as usual - and slides his hand off of Stiles' face. Before Derek can retreat completely, Stiles grabs him by the jacket and pulls him forward. (Later he'll argue it was so that he didn't have to talk too loudly.)

"Thanks, Derek."

Derek just rolls his eyes, blushes a bright pink, and kisses Stiles' nose. Stiles squeaks and before he can say anything, Derek is out of the hospital room like Peter Hale is on his tail again. (Which is a really funny Benny Hill-ish vision in his head, when he stops to think about it.)

Stiles is left sputtering after Derek Hale, unsure of whether to be angry or aroused (well he can't avoid that one) when his father comes in.

"Stiles? Something you want to tell me? Also, you're grounded for the next week for not saying anything to me. Having Scott call me? Really, son? By the way, when did he and the Lahey kid start going out? Since when is Scott gay for that matter?" Sheriff Stilinski looks confused, tired, and just a touch angry. Stiles can unders - Wait... Scott and Isaac WHAT?!

Stiles groans and buries his head under the covers, pleading illness instead of the right to remain silent. It works just as well and he finds he has to say just as little.

Plus, he gets free Jello and a visit from Derek at least twice a day.

Life is good.