[ Closing his eyes and sitting there like that as Deaton finishes with his work, Derek breathes in, blatantly scenting as the smell of blood fades the slightest bit. It's not completely gone, but it's been washed away for the most part, and it's enough that he just savors the warm spice that lingers at the tail end of summer, the faint juniper that Stiles carries everywhere with him now. Stiles is safe, the pack is safe. The thought is his mantra, and he rubs his thumb across Stiles' hand before opening his eyes to look down at him with the touch to his cheek. ] In your honor.
[ With the joke, he moves to sit up with him, bracing his hand against the back of his shoulder to help him up. While Deaton bandages him up, sighing heavily at his commentary, the faoladh just laughs and knocks his forehead into his temple. ] If it means you won't rip open again.
I'll be sure to leave you a favor. [ He smiles a little in response, eyes twinkling with mischief, and Stiles carefully sits up, aided by both Derek and Deaton as they get the bandages around his waist. It's uncomfortable and it's gonna suck ass for the next forever, but it was worth it. ] I love you for your ability to kick ass when I boss you around.
[ That part's also definitely a joke, and he laughs a little as he sits there with his forehead to Derek's for a moment, his eyes fluttered shut and the picture of calm. He was going to need about a thousand drugs for pain later, but for now, the adrenaline's just barely worn off and he just wants to sleep forever. There's a dirty joke on his tongue and he glances at Derek with his mouth open and his eyebrows up before he hears Deaton clear his throat and he snaps it shut again. ] I'll try. No guarantees.
I'll treasure it forever. [ His fingers curl against his shoulder, gentle but firm to make sure he stays steady-- and also as further reassurance that he's there, he is-- and Derek tries to keep in a laugh at the second comment. It comes out, but he at least muffles it to a heavy chuff, eyes fully cleared of red and focused on that mischievous glint. ] The faoladh always has to listen to the lupa.
[ Tone obviously dry, because that's so far from the truth-- for as much as he really does listen to Stiles when he gets bossy-- he rubs his nose a little against him again, already thinking of how they're going to have to send out for more herbs before they begin to move. They need to get as much as they can to drug Stiles up, when they start moving, regardless of where they go.
A laugh startles out of him in response to Deaton clearing his throat and Stiles' mouth clicking shut again. ] You have a letter to write, anyways.
As it should be. [ By the time he's finished, Stiles looks down at Deatons handiwork. All in all, it looks like he's going to be out of commission, at least physically, for a week or so. But he's not bleeding to death and he's not in a ton of pain, so Stiles is just gonna chalk that one up as a win.
His brown eyes track between Deaton and Derek, like he's considering the possibilities. ] We can't go anywhere until Maria has her baby. And even then, someone'll have to go out and get poppies to make milk so she doesn't get sick on the journey, and the baby'll have to be in good shape, too. There's a field of poppies like ten miles down the way, past the jagged face, so if someone goes out that way and gets them, by the time she's prepped we should be ready to go. [ But he stops and looks at Derek, wide brown eyes blinking at him. ]
[ A wolfish huff leaves him at that, but he certainly doesn't argue. Instead, Derek reaches out to gently set his fingers against the bandaging, making sure to keep it below the actual injury itself to keep from provoking it any. His other hand still keeps hold of Stiles', focusing on that touch as he listens to Stiles speak. ]
The weather's been fair so far, so the field should yield a good count and the baby will be strong. [ There's no doubt on that one. Too many horrible things happen in his life, he doesn't risk jinxing others around him when there's no call for it. Words have power, after all, and so does the belief in them. But he looks to Deaton, who lets out a thoughtful hum and murmurs "I'll call her in" from where he goes back to gathering the dirtied materials he used.
Meanwhile, the faoladh raises his brows, briefly transfixed by those big browns of Stiles'. (He will never get over them, and he knows it.) ] To Laura. Regardless of how the rest of the pack handles the prospect of moving, we need to get in touch with her as soon as possible. God knows how long it might take.
[ He nods, pondering the couple in question, and the baby--it's been a while since any new kids were born into the pack, and every new faolan was a blessing, out here in the cold. ] It'll be fine.
[ It has to be, comes unspoken. The last thing they need is another complication. They'll have to get moving as soon as possible, and Stiles nods his gratitude at Deaton as he gets up, chewing his bottom lip. ]
You want me to write to Laura? [ His eyebrows go up, though, matching Derek's. ] Are you just saying that because you don't want to deal with her?
[ Stiles has only really spoken to Cora so far, and he's a little scared of Laura, to be honest. Some of the stories Derek tells about her are terrifying. ] Alri-iight, but if she says no, that's so on you.
I want you to write Laura. [ Derek's blatantly amused at his reaction, but just shifts to get back up to his feet. Rather than picking Stiles up and righting him to his feet, he just adjusts his grip on where they're holding hands and waits for him to brace himself. ]
You were the one in the encounter, it'd be best if you wrote it. [ He offers him a lopsided quirk of a smile, reassuring and entirely entertained at the same time. ] Also because I don't want to deal with her, and you need to talk to her eventually anyways.
[ Besides, he has a lot of work ahead of him. If they can identify the interloper, they have to decide whether or not they have to send word (and warning) to a family, a group, whatever she belonged to. Arrangements for a burning will have to be made, one which Derek will absolutely not participate in regardless of status. ]
That's what I thought. [ He makes a little noise, soft and amused, and Stiles squeezes Derek's hand tightly as he pulls himself to his feet, slowly, carefully trying not to stretch his stitches. It's slow going, and when he gets up, he leans into Derek's side, using him as a support. ]
But I can do that, I guess. [ He'll have to be formal, something he hasn't really managed in letters to Cora. Great. ] I faced down a huntress today, what's another faoladh, right?
I want to lay down somewhere that doesn't smell like weird herbs. [ A beat to look back at Deaton. ] No offense, dude. [ But then he turns back to Derek, a little, lopsided smile of his own on his face. ]
Lay down and like pretend this was all just a really trippy dream.
[ Reaching his free hand out to curl around Stiles' shoulder as he works to ease him back up to his feet, Derek practically conforms to his shape as he leans into his side. They already fit together so well, making it fairly easy, but this is an attempt to warm and protect where he couldn't before. ]
Laura will like you. You'll like Laura. It'll be fine. [ He noses at Stiles' temple a little, trying to keep back a snort as Deaton just lets out an amused hum in response to his pseudo-apology. Honestly he can't blame him, considering how much he hates coming into Deaton's tent, himself. But sometimes, even he's needed it.
Brows raising, he just inclines his head to their healer before giving Stiles a careful nudge. ] Come on, we'll go set you up. You won't have to move at all.
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[ With the joke, he moves to sit up with him, bracing his hand against the back of his shoulder to help him up. While Deaton bandages him up, sighing heavily at his commentary, the faoladh just laughs and knocks his forehead into his temple. ] If it means you won't rip open again.
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[ That part's also definitely a joke, and he laughs a little as he sits there with his forehead to Derek's for a moment, his eyes fluttered shut and the picture of calm. He was going to need about a thousand drugs for pain later, but for now, the adrenaline's just barely worn off and he just wants to sleep forever. There's a dirty joke on his tongue and he glances at Derek with his mouth open and his eyebrows up before he hears Deaton clear his throat and he snaps it shut again. ] I'll try. No guarantees.
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[ Tone obviously dry, because that's so far from the truth-- for as much as he really does listen to Stiles when he gets bossy-- he rubs his nose a little against him again, already thinking of how they're going to have to send out for more herbs before they begin to move. They need to get as much as they can to drug Stiles up, when they start moving, regardless of where they go.
A laugh startles out of him in response to Deaton clearing his throat and Stiles' mouth clicking shut again. ] You have a letter to write, anyways.
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His brown eyes track between Deaton and Derek, like he's considering the possibilities. ] We can't go anywhere until Maria has her baby. And even then, someone'll have to go out and get poppies to make milk so she doesn't get sick on the journey, and the baby'll have to be in good shape, too. There's a field of poppies like ten miles down the way, past the jagged face, so if someone goes out that way and gets them, by the time she's prepped we should be ready to go. [ But he stops and looks at Derek, wide brown eyes blinking at him. ]
A letter?
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The weather's been fair so far, so the field should yield a good count and the baby will be strong. [ There's no doubt on that one. Too many horrible things happen in his life, he doesn't risk jinxing others around him when there's no call for it. Words have power, after all, and so does the belief in them. But he looks to Deaton, who lets out a thoughtful hum and murmurs "I'll call her in" from where he goes back to gathering the dirtied materials he used.
Meanwhile, the faoladh raises his brows, briefly transfixed by those big browns of Stiles'. (He will never get over them, and he knows it.) ] To Laura. Regardless of how the rest of the pack handles the prospect of moving, we need to get in touch with her as soon as possible. God knows how long it might take.
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[ It has to be, comes unspoken. The last thing they need is another complication. They'll have to get moving as soon as possible, and Stiles nods his gratitude at Deaton as he gets up, chewing his bottom lip. ]
You want me to write to Laura? [ His eyebrows go up, though, matching Derek's. ] Are you just saying that because you don't want to deal with her?
[ Stiles has only really spoken to Cora so far, and he's a little scared of Laura, to be honest. Some of the stories Derek tells about her are terrifying. ] Alri-iight, but if she says no, that's so on you.
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You were the one in the encounter, it'd be best if you wrote it. [ He offers him a lopsided quirk of a smile, reassuring and entirely entertained at the same time. ] Also because I don't want to deal with her, and you need to talk to her eventually anyways.
[ Besides, he has a lot of work ahead of him. If they can identify the interloper, they have to decide whether or not they have to send word (and warning) to a family, a group, whatever she belonged to. Arrangements for a burning will have to be made, one which Derek will absolutely not participate in regardless of status. ]
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But I can do that, I guess. [ He'll have to be formal, something he hasn't really managed in letters to Cora. Great. ] I faced down a huntress today, what's another faoladh, right?
I want to lay down somewhere that doesn't smell like weird herbs. [ A beat to look back at Deaton. ] No offense, dude. [ But then he turns back to Derek, a little, lopsided smile of his own on his face. ]
Lay down and like pretend this was all just a really trippy dream.
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Laura will like you. You'll like Laura. It'll be fine. [ He noses at Stiles' temple a little, trying to keep back a snort as Deaton just lets out an amused hum in response to his pseudo-apology. Honestly he can't blame him, considering how much he hates coming into Deaton's tent, himself. But sometimes, even he's needed it.
Brows raising, he just inclines his head to their healer before giving Stiles a careful nudge. ] Come on, we'll go set you up. You won't have to move at all.