You Know What That Was For! (A STRREK Fanficiton)

Chapter 7

Derek's POV

The Pack have all gone home now and it's only five minutes to eleven and Stiles still isn't home.

"Easy nephew, I can smell your anger from here. He'll be back on time." Peter tells me, slapping a hand on my shoulder for comfort, not that it does much good. There's a chug, chug, outside and I am up and at the door before the engine of that death trap Stiles left in has even cut off. "Just wait for him to get to the door" Peter urges, moving to stand beside me for, what, back-up? There's barely even a knock at the door before I'm wrenching it open and there is Stiles.

"Heyyyy S-sourwolff" he slurs, giving me a wave as he leans into Dan for support, or is it Dom?

"What the fuck?" I seethe, turning to the idiot beside Stiles and giving him my 'if looks could kill' glare. He has the grace to shrug and gives a nonchalant smile.

"I told him to lay off but he wouldn't." He tells me and then Stiles launches himself into my arms, hugging me around the waist tightly. I have to turn away to stop myself from gagging at the alcohol that comes off of him. His friend glares slightly and anger emanates from him, fucking idiot. Peter must sense the kids anger too because he moves in front of me whilst I wrestle Stiles into a normal standing position.

"I think you better go." Peter tells the boy, starting to shut the door on him. But Dom? Dan? Doesn't move, he just stands with his arms folded across his chest in defiance. That anger now a fury that seems to be dominating all of my senses, even overtaking that of Stiles' new alcohol induced one. "I wouldn't boy. Either go now, or I'll drag you" Peter snarls, and I can tell he's trying to hold off from shifting, hating that he can't rise to the challenge the boy is throwing out.

"Human" I whisper in reminder.

"That's meee" Stiles sings, tilting his head back to look at me. "Weak- puny- human" he growls out, if you can call it a growl and I think he is imitating me and I can't help but smile at him. Peter shuts the front door, so the idiot must have left, and turns to face the very drunk teen in my arms.

"I'll get him some water and a bucket, you put him to bed." He tells me and we both nod in unison, Peter stalks off for a bucket and I sweep Stiles up into my arms and head for the stairs. I want to be furious at him, for getting himself in such a state, but even I know he probably needed it.

"I don't feel so good" he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face, which is paler than usual. I go to respond but then he's sick. All. Over. Me. And not just once. Repeatedly.

"Oh god Stiles!" I groan, hastening my pace up the stairs and taking him into the bathroom. I sit him on the bathroom floor and open the toilet seat. Stiles' head flops down on the rim of the toilet so I place a hand towel under it for comfort. Peter emerges with a bucket biting back a smile when he sees the opportunity for it has come and gone. "Don't. Just don't say anything." I warn, rubbing Stiles' back as another wave of sickness hits him.

"Someone's not going to school tomorrow." Peter points out, frowning at Stiles whose head has now lolled into the toilet itself. I quickly move him away, of all the ways to go, drowning in toilet water filled with vomit probably isn't the best and his Dad would surely kill me. Oh crap! His Dad! "Clicked has it? Glad it was you that offered to babysit and not me, though I would like to be there when you ring his Dad, for entertainment purposes of course." I want to punch Peter in his ridiculously smug face, but it finally looks like Stiles is done throwing up so I slide out of my shirt, trying not to gag as it passes over my face. Then I lean down and manoeuvre Stiles out of his t-shirt too and then scoop him back into my arms. Peter flushes the toilet for me and then follows me as I take Stiles to the bed, bucket in hand just in case.

"I am going to murder that so-called boyfriend of his" I snap as I lay Stiles down. I notice that his vomit is on his trousers too, so Peter helps me take off his shoes and then his trousers, leaving him with just his boxers on.

"Now, now. Boys will be boys and he is a teenager Derek, even you got a little wild at his age, I remember a few nights where you came home steaming drunk, Laura on your arm. A pair to be reckoned with you were." I sigh heavily, I haven't thought about those memories in a very long time. I feel my uncle pat my shoulder reassuringly before placing the bucket at the side of Stiles' bed, well my bed, and leaving the room. Throwing a "call his Dad" over his shoulder as he goes. I huff and settle into the chair that is in the corner of my room and pull out my phone. I find Sheriff Stilinski in my contacts and hit call.

"Derek" he greets immediately and I can hear how tired he is just from his voice.

"Sorry to be calling so late, Sir. It's just that... I let Stiles go to a party tonight and he came back very drunk..." I trail off, trying not to flinch at the silence. Then John sighs, like the world his on his shoulders and I feel all the more dreadful, I should have told Stiles no.

"It's alright Derek, it's not the first time and I daren't say it will be the last. Just keep him off school tomorrow and make sure he doesn't choke on his own sick. Thanks for telling me son" I relax, and smile to myself, it's been a very long time since anyone called me that.

"How's the case?" I ask, slouching down in the chair some more, but still making sure I can see Stiles in his bundle of blankets. I notice then too that Peter did bring him a glass of water and it's sitting on my nightstand.

"Ah, we've had another murder tonight, same MO as the last but we can't see any obvious connections. It's looking like a serial killer. But I don't want you getting involved, would be just my look that the case gets spun around on the Pack, so just keep looking after my son and leave the policing to me." There was no question in John Stilinski's voice, he wasn't asking me but telling and I can't help but feel like an errant child who has been told off for misbehaving. An ache in my chest awakens, an ache that reminds me just how much I miss my family. My parents and siblings and I think of Peter who is still here, still looking out for me, even now.

"I won't interfere. Goodnight, Sir" I tell him, and he grunts in appreciation before telling me;

"Goodnight son." Then the line goes dead.

...

"Urrrghhhh" I jolt awake at the sound, slightly disorientated. I'm in my room, on the chair. Stiles is in my bed. Throwing up into a bucket. Oh god.

"How you feeling?" I ask as he leans his head back against the headboard, bucket resting on his lap ready for another round.

"Swell" he grumbles and I am instantly reminded of the phone call with his Dad the other day, maybe Stiles inherited his sarcasm from him, sure seems like it. "How did I get home?" He asks, frowning as he looks around the room and then under the blanket as it nearly naked form. "And where are my clothes?" A blush creeps onto his cheeks.

"Well. Your boyfriend drove you home and as I was bringing you up stairs you threw up on yourself... and me" Stiles flinches, looking at my shirtless form and making his own conclusions. "Peter and I had to strip you off and put you to bed, but not before you threw up in the toilet and then nearly drowned yourself in the toilet bowl." He buries his face in his hands and groans, clearly embarrassed.

"Oh god, I'm sorry Derek" he sighs, looking at me with big, rueful eyes.

"S'alright, why'd you let yourself get so drunk, that was very irresponsible of you" I admonish, raising my eyebrows to try and convey that I am being serious. "That boy said he even tried to stop you."

"Y-yeah. Guess I just lost control" he mumbles and I frown because it was only a few days ago that Stiles was telling me how he hated feeling out of control and used, so why would he let himself get in such a state? "Did you tell my Dad?" He asks, looking away like he's afraid of the answer.

"Yeah, he wasn't pleased but he wasn't surprised either, I don't think he'll shoot me for letting you go." I joke and see a small smile tug at his lips but then his eyes go wide and and he lurches forward, heaving into the bucket as he's sick some more. "Lovely" I grin and receive a middle finger in response, which only makes me chuckle to myself.