It Can Always Get Worse (But Sometimes It Gets Better)

Written in response to cottoncandy_bingo prompt: headaches. First Teen Wolf Fic. Characters not mine, please enjoy! Comments are awesome.

It starts with a dull throb, a pain behind Stiles' eyes that is annoyingly persistent when he's trying to fall asleep in the darkness of his bedroom. He's watched 1, 2, and 3 am tick by without success (and he even went to bed early, and without any werewolf related interruptions!), and despite a normal dose of his Adderall, he's still blinking aimlessly into the shadows as the headache builds and builds.

He must finally fall asleep, though, because the sound of his alarm clock rocketing him back into consciousness comes as quite the surprise a scant three hours later.

His head is pounding, and the overly cheerful birds chirping away in the tree outside his window are making him consider very violent things.

Even the sun seems too bright - of course it couldn't be cloudy and gloomy, no, there's not a cloud in the whole damn sky - and the light hurts his eyes and by extension, his head.

He grumbles as he sits up, which only serves to make his bass drum of a headache worse, and he zombies his way through his morning routines with exaggerated movements and closed eyes. He's five minutes behind schedule when he gets out the door, but that's fine.

But, then the Jeep won't start and apparently the universe has decided that it hates him today. It is apparently Hate-On-Stiles Day and no one told him. He totally would have marked it on his calendar and planned to skip school today, but then telling him would have helped, so, obviously that couldn't happen.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel and starts walking.

He can see it all now:

He'll be late to school, given detention by Harris (because of course, that's his first class, thanks so much universe), asked about the roughest question on the Chemistry homework that will mysteriously have gone missing even though he did it, damn it! and then his favorite pen will die. Or explode all over him. Either option is viable. And that's just in the first thirty minutes of class.

From there, he imagines remembering the fact that they have a test in Math today, despite the fact that he's sure that's next Thursday, at the last possible second, once he's already sitting in class and fumbling through his backpack. Then there'll be a really involved group assignment in English wherein no one else will have read the assigned parts of the book and he'll be stuck doing all the work. And by now he's sure that he'll have forgotten his wallet, too, so there goes lunch, he can feel his stomach grumbling already. And with his luck, Scott will have taken off to go hang out with Allison and won't be any help and then there's still Spanish and History and Gym and then Harris' hellishly long-winded detention to struggle through before Lacrosse practice and that's all assuming that nothing werewolfy intrudes upon his day and causes even more chaos.

And that, all of that, lays in front him while he has the worst headache he has ever had the misfortune to have.

Things could not possibly be any worse.

And Stiles sighs, not at all surprised by the sudden downpour of not at all forecasted rain, because he should have known better.

It can always get worse.

He's almost at the school when he realizes he's forgotten his Adderall, and there's no way he'll survive today if he has a crazy ridiculous headache and a seriously limited attention span. Not a chance. He turns around and a familiar black Camaro zips by him, splattering him with the water from a murky puddle of rain along the side of the road.

Stiles throws his hands up, flipping off Derek's car as it skids to a stop a few yards off.

"Thank you so much for continuing the pattern of shitty things to happen to me today. However can I repay you for adding to it?" Stiles gripes, not quietly (but then what does it matter? Derek could hear him either way) as he approaches the still stopped car.

The window rolls down and Derek looks over his water-logged person for a second before he says, "Get in the car," and reaches across to open the door for him.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, and you're letting water in, so hurry up."

"Like I'm not still going to be letting water in once I get in? I'm soaked."

Stiles sees a subtle flash of red eyes (like going all Alpha-y works on him. Hello, not a werewolf) but he gets in anyway, sliding into the passenger's seat and pulling the door closed.

"Shouldn't you be at school already?"

"Jeep died. I was walking, but I forgot something, so I was going back home and with the way this day is going so far, I might just stay there."

Derek glares at the road as he heads off in the direction of the Stilinski house. "It's that kind of day."

And, yeah, it's certainly gloomy and overcast now, Stiles thinks, but the endless sound of rain pounding down against the car and the road and everything else, coupled with the grumbling roar of incoming thunder doesn't help his headache much more than the sun had. "Bad day, too?"

He gets a grunt in response and nothing more and it takes a few minutes of mental calculation for Stiles to remember that today is the day. The anniversary of the fire day (and the first one without Laura), and okay, he imagines that would be a much worse bad day than his own.

By now they've stopped on the street outside of Stiles' house and he's quick to babble out an excuse. "You know what? Never mind. I totally know the answer to that and I am going to stop complaining about obnoxiously awful headaches and busted cars and rain and a detention I haven't gotten yet exactly now and thanks for the ride and I don't even care that you splashed me and-"

"Stiles."

"-you should totally not... yeah?"

"Shut up."

And Stiles can do that. He forces his mouth to close, even though he can still feel words, feel them bubbling to come spilling out of his mouth, but he stays quiet and doing that more would probably also help his headache but then there's a hand reaching out and Derek's pressing his palm against Stiles' head and there're all these pulse-y black veins and that better not be any more gross wolfs bane stuff because he's not in the mood to cut off any limbs today. "What're you-"

A glare reminds him he's supposed to be shutting up, so he drops the question.

It takes him a minute to realize what's happening, that his headache has significantly lessened - is almost gone, in fact, and that? That is awesome.

"And you should totally come inside with me because that was seriously the worst headache ever so thank you," belatedly he realizes it was kind of like a smoke-induced headache, the kind you get after breathing in way too much of it (and that it's probably because of what today is and jeez, was he inflicting that upon all of the pack as a result of some werewolf mojo thing? (and does that mean he's pack, too?)) "and if you don't want to spend today alone, brooding away at any of your hideouts, then you can maybe stay here?"

There's a pause for a moment after Stiles finishes rambling. But then, wordlessly, Derek twists the keys and kills the engine. And then he's climbing out and Stiles follows because it's still raining and no one needs to stand in the rain any longer than necessary (and Stiles reached that point something like ten seconds after it had started raining on the walk to school).

They're inside in seconds, Stiles doing most of the talking for both of them. He leaves Derek alone long enough to take what is probably the fastest shower ever (because as much as he said he didn't mind Derek's car splashing him, gross gutter water is gross and needs to not be on him) and pull on clean clothes.

"If you're still here," Stiles starts, still tugging a t-shirt over his head as he stumbles back downstairs, "then I vote that we order Chinese food and sit on the couch watching movies all day. And I promise no werewolf movies. Or very few werewolf movies, at least." Stiles finds Derek sitting at the kitchen table (right where he left him) staring at nothing and that's a little worrisome, and "Derek?"

He jolts to attention, head spinning to look at Stiles. "Sounds good," he says, pushing himself up and out of the chair in a move Stiles barely even registers. "You call. I'll pay," he offers, retreating to the living room where an array of movies and the sofa await.

And this? This is weird, because Derek is agreeing to things that Stiles is suggesting and as much as the phrase 'kicked puppy' sticks in Stiles' mind, that's not how he's used to thinking of Derek. He wishes he could do something to help, but he doesn't know what would. So he orders the food and throws on a cheesy, old horror movie (though he mentally runs through all of his choices to make sure fire is not involved at all) and sits down with Derek because that's all he can do right now.

After their food arrives, Stiles realizes they're sitting closer together on the sofa, but he's not sure which one of them made that move.

The credits are just starting to roll on Night of the Creeps when he notices Derek staring at him. He doesn't know why Derek is staring at him, not unless Derek has suddenly decided that he'd like a snack to go with his sweet and sour chicken, or if Stiles still has muddy water in his ear or something. But, as is often the case when Stiles doesn't know why something's happening, he starts talking.

"So, did... did all of us get headaches today? The pack, I mean? I bet Jackson woulda been seriously bitchy. And Erica. Yeah, I'm kinda glad I'm skipping school today if that's what I would have had to look forward to. And would you have brain ninja'd all of them, or..." He's starting to suspect the answer is no, though, because he hasn't gotten a text from Scott complaining about any headaches and no one else seems to be pestering Derek about it (not that they would, in all likelihood, not unless they all got together and realized that they were all suffering and even then Stiles is pretty sure they wouldn't be able to figure out why), so...

But Derek's still watching him, still quiet.

"Are you okay?"

A nod, slight and barely noticeable, and then he's focusing back on the television with the hint of a smile on his face. "I'm... I'm getting there."