He doesn't want Derek to pull back. He doesn't like that he's responsible for making the older man flinch like that, either, but it's too late. He can't take it back now, and there's nothing in him that will let him reach out again. He has no right to ask that of Derek. But he can't make himself move away, even as he can't move closer. He just hovers on the edge of Derek's personal space, shoulders hunched in and hands tucked between his legs, one leg bobbing incessantly as he jigs it up and down.

It might be lies, he might be thin and worn, but his stubbornness is only increased, if anything. That's one thing that Scott has always understood. Once Stiles makes up his mind, there's no dissuading him. Sometimes he wishes Scott would be a little less understanding, or more; that he'd realize sometimes Stiles needs someone to ignore what he's saying and do what he needs, despite him. Derek might be the only person he's ever met who both gives a damn and can outstubborn him, and that's another thing he isn't sure what to make of. It hurts, when he thinks of losing this other unexpected presence in his life. A bond he didn't know he'd made. But whatever. He can do this.

"You need to sleep," he shoots back at Derek, eyeing him critically while still avoiding eye contact. Derek looks nearly as worn as Stiles feels, and he worries maybe more than ever now that Erica and Boyd are back. He can't work himself to the bone, and he can't waste time taking care of Stiles. "I'll be fine. I've been sleeping, when I can. My face is just sore." It's less of a lie this time, one that almost sounds like the truth. Almost.