The Spark of a Wolf

Broken Jeeps and rainy nights...

"No, no, no! Not here! Seriously?" Stiles groans, turning the key in the ignition with only a whining groan answering his efforts. "No! Fuck!" He yells, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel, leading him to instant regret. "Ow! Shit! Mother fucker!" He pulls his hand to his chest, fighting back tears as fresh pain courses through his hands. "Damn it." He whispers in the silence of the Jeep, a crack in his voice as the pain begins to throb.

He glares out the window for a couple minutes, staring at the large industrial building at the end of the road. "You couldn't just hang in there for a few more feet? Are you punishing me too, Roscoe? Like I'm not already well aware of how much of an idiot I've been."

With a sigh, Stiles throws open his door, grimacing at the prickly flash of pain in his palm as it presses against the door. He tumbles out, shutting his door and squinting as the rain pelts against his face. Throwing his hood up, Stiles jogs towards the darkened building looming in the short distance. He races right inside, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure the black Camaro was parked out front. He climbs the stairs two at a time, utterly out of breath when he reaches the top. Stiles stands in front of the loft door, breathing heavily, sopping wet and cold. His hands are still in excruciating pain, so knocking would prove difficult and well...painful. The cold, wet bandages sadly do nothing to ease the pain.

Stiles steps up to the large, sliding steel door with intentions to kick is as his form of knocking. He pulls his foot back but is halted mid-kick when the door is wrenched open.

Derek stands in the opening, his arm stretched out, bracing the steel in a red long-sleeved shirt with his thumb poking through the hole on the cuff. Stiles blinks at him, half surprised, half dumbfounded; this is the first time since everything came to light that he's seeing Derek. And he looks different somehow, but still the same. He looks warm, cozy, comfortable. Stiles is suddenly feeling exhausted and freezing.

Derek gives him a pointed look with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. Stiles steps forward into more light, his body quacking slightly as he begins to shiver. Derek reaches out, eyes wide with concern, pulling Stiles into the loft with a hand on his elbow.

"You're soaked. Stiles why are you so wet?" He asks, pulling him to the couch. Stiles sinks down, his body trembling. Derek reaches for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. "Take off the sweatshirt." Stiles shrugs out of the heavy garment with the help of Derek, it drops to the floor with a loud plop. Derek pulls the blanket around Stiles' shoulders before rising back to his feet. He's gone for just a moment; returning with a wool towel, kneeling down he covers Stiles' head with the towel, rubbing it over his hair to help dry it.

"Y-you still m-mad?" Stiles asks from under the wool draped over his head.

Derek sighs, pulling the towel off. "Why are you so wet?" He asks, ignoring the question.

"S'raining."

"There's an overhang."

Stiles shrugs, pulling the blanket tighter around him. "J-Jeep broke d-down. Right d-down the r-road." He stammers though more tremors.

Derek shakes his head, rubbing Stiles' arms through the blanket to help warm him up. "You could have called."

Stiles looked up, his gaze meeting Derek's. "Would you h-have a-answered?" He asks softly.

Derek pulls himself back, sitting on the coffee table across from Stiles. "Of course."

"Liar." Stiles says, leaning back into the cushions, slouching down. "I d-don't need wolf hearing to k-know you're lying."