Hunger

Chapter Thirteen

Derek

Stiles looked exhausted. Even after sleeping so long in the hospital, he had bags under his eyes and he kept nodding off every ten minutes.

"Stiles, if you're tired, then you should sleep," I stated worriedly, reaching over and feeling his forehead. He wasn't warm, but he was sweaty and cold. He looked like he was going to throw up. "Are you feeling sick? Should we stop?"

"No," Stiles retorted forcefully, crushing the cup of coffee in his hand. At first, I thought he was talking to me and I was a little surprised. But then he shook his head violently and snapped his head down towards his lap, away from the window. "This can't be right," he whispered tensely, his fingers pulling at his hair. I didn't know what to do because we were stuck in traffic and there was obviously something very wrong with Stiles. "It's not real!" This he screamed at the top of his lungs, covering his ears with the palms of his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

I hurriedly reached over and unbuckled his seat belt, pulling him as close as I could without swerving off the road. I watched the cars in front of me, but kept glancing down at the trembling boy wrapped under my right arm, tucked securely against my side. "Stiles?" I whispered. He had stopped talking, but he was breathing heavily and there were tears streaming down his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head again, whimpering when I tried to move my arm way from him. "Derek, I think I'm seeing things." He sniffed quietly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His legs were tucked up under him and his arms were both tightly wrapped around my torso. "I saw the man from my nightmare, just standing there. He was holding that knife. The one he always tried to kill me with."

I kept staring at the road, but I tried comforting Stiles by gently rubbing his arm and resting my head on top of his. "It wasn't real, Stiles. I think you're just stressed out and worried about too much. You need some sleep." I felt him nod against my shoulder and listened as his breathing slowed down. "I'll wake you up when we stop," I promised.

"What would I do without you?" he whispered, nudging my shoulder with his nose. He smiled slightly and wiped the tears off of his face. "I think I'd be dead by now, if I didn't have you."

"That goes both ways, Stiles. You've saved my life a few times as well," I assured him. "Now shut your mouth and sleep. You talk too much." I smiled as he nodded his head and closed his eyes, not bothering to move back into his seat. I didn't mind though, because it would keep him from having nightmares. I know I should feel awkward right now, especially after all of that talking about our feelings stuff, but this felt natural. Stiles pressed against my side as I hummed along to a catchy but stupid radio station he picked out earlier felt right, and I didn't know why.

Two more hours passed and Stiles was still sleeping soundly, other than a few mumbles I couldn't understand. Traffic had let up quite a bit since we started driving, but we were still moving slow. By the time we even got half way to Washington, we'd have to stop at a hotel for the night.

After another three hours, we were out of traffic and Stiles was just waking up. He looked around, his face flustered until he realized my arm was still around his shoulders. Even though it was asleep and had been for the past hour, but I didn't really care. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, scooting over into his own seat and leaning his head back.