NOTE: I should really be working on He Runs With Wolves and a request from Spaghettitacos (which I will finish, I promise, but things have been kind of hectic) but my whole laptop went down for a while and I - an idiot - have not backed up any of my files so I couldn't really access them. I wrote this up in a notebook and it was already finished, so ... what the heck. No more one-shots before I upload the request (if you still want it) and the next chapter of He Run With Wolves though, I promise.

This is set probably a few months after the season 2 finale during which time Stiles and Derek have gotten a little closer ... while Scott and Derek really haven't. I may make this into a series at some point because I wasn't satisfied with the end; I don't know about you guys.

"I don't want your help."

Stiles purses his lips with a sigh, "You need my help, whether you want it or not. You think Scott's going to listen to you after all the shit you put us through?"

Derek pauses mid sit-up (and Stiles will marvel at that another time) to scowl at Stiles, " I don't care about Scott, and even if I did I still wouldn't need your help. I can deal with the pup on my own." He stands then, and Stiles knows he's trying to look intimidating but Derek may be twice as wide as him and possibly a hundred times as strong, but Stiles is two inches taller than him now and it's starting to show.

"God, you're such a bitch." He frowns down at Derek for a moment and then pulls himself up to his full height, "Look, you need Scott and he needs you. And you may not like it but you need to suck it up and accept the fact that You. Need. My. Help. God, listen to someone besides yourself for once. You think you're this great alpha werewolf but the truth is you suck, because you won't listen when people try to help you! It's no wonder half your pack left-"

He knows he's gone too far when Derek snarls loudly, but it's too late to take it back - he's being shoved backwards, crowded up against the wall, his head hitting it with a resounding bang! He cries out, eyes welling up as his hand flies to cover the wound. Because, of course, the impact has broken the skin, and he pulls back a bloody hand. Perfect.

Derek has gone limp against him, still wolfed-up, and he's looking at Stiles like he's not entirely sure what just happened. He stares for a moment, then throws himself backwards, looking suddenly horrified as he pulls himself out of his reverie. Stiles wants to laugh but he's feeling a little light-headed, and the sound he makes is more of a pained groan.

"Stiles-" Derek starts, and he still hasn't lost the teeth, though his fur is receding, eyebrows returning (which Stiles will laugh about later, when he's not bleeding all over Derek's floor), "I-" He's at a loss for words, and Stiles simply waves off his attempts at what is obviously meant to be an apology.

"It's fine. It doesn't matter." He's panicking a little, trying - and failing - to keep his heart rate in check. It was an accident, he tells himself, it's just a scrape, a flesh wound, "There's a first-aid kit in the jeep."

But then Derek's hands are on his head and he can't quite restrain a flinch at the contact. Derek's expression darkens impossibly further, but he carries on, tilting Stiles's head this way and that until the light hits the wound. He lets out a breath, dropping his hands from where they've come to rest on Stiles's cheeks.

"Hospital. Now."

He starts to protest but Derek is having none of it, hauling a tense Stiles up over his shoulder like he weighs less than a feather.

"Hey! No! What are you doing!?"

Derek lets out a long-suffering sigh but he's gentle as he carries Stiles to his jeep, "We're going to the hospital."

"Dude, no! It's just a flesh wound!"

"You could have a concussion." Derek grits out, and Stiles can practically hear the scowl.

He doesn't mean it. Really. It just slips out, "And who's responsible for that!?" God, does his brain have any grasp of self-preservation?

Derek falters and makes an odd noise that Stiles can't quite decipher, but he recovers quickly, bundling Stiles into the passenger seat with a scowl, "Come on, we don't want you losing anymore brain-cells. How many have you got left - five? They must be getting lonely".

Stiles grins, swatting weakly at him as he closes the car door. If Derek's joking again then it's probably safe to relax, "If I didn't know any better," He says when Derek climbs in next to him, "I'd say you cared."

Derek doesn't answer.