Derek rolls his eyes at the cover story, more because it's perfectly believable than anything. He doesn't want to think about how often Stiles lies to his father, or how long it'll be before the sheriff refuses to let the blatant falsehoods stand... and what will happen when that day comes. He definitely isn't going to follow through on the urge to tell Stiles he should just come clean and tell his father everything, because he knows that will just end in a screaming match and he's not up to that right now.
"If you're out of school for a concussion you should get extra time to do the work," he points out, and the growl in his voice is more for the teacher(s?) making Stiles' life hell than for Stiles himself. The irony of that isn't wasted on him, of course, given he's probably the single most important factor in making Stiles' life hellish.
He pulls in a slow breath through his nose as Stiles explains, or starts to, and doesn't tell him he knows exactly what he means. That he can't remember the last time he slept more than an hour at at time, and that hour restless and broken. Always conscious of the fact that he's weak and vulnerable, that the Hunters or the Alphas are after him and he has no strong Pack to count on. No one to watch his back... and that he hadn't even been able to give that much to the children he'd turned. Hadn't been able to even give them the illusion of safety, let alone the reality.
"Try now," he orders instead, low and gruff, but his grip on Stiles' ankle is still steady and firm. Warm. "You're exhausted, maybe you're exhausted enough to get at least a little rest now." Maybe... just maybe having him here, his Alpha, even if Stiles hasn't explicitly accepted him as much, will help the way it should. Or at least a little, anyway.
no subject
"If you're out of school for a concussion you should get extra time to do the work," he points out, and the growl in his voice is more for the teacher(s?) making Stiles' life hell than for Stiles himself. The irony of that isn't wasted on him, of course, given he's probably the single most important factor in making Stiles' life hellish.
He pulls in a slow breath through his nose as Stiles explains, or starts to, and doesn't tell him he knows exactly what he means. That he can't remember the last time he slept more than an hour at at time, and that hour restless and broken. Always conscious of the fact that he's weak and vulnerable, that the Hunters or the Alphas are after him and he has no strong Pack to count on. No one to watch his back... and that he hadn't even been able to give that much to the children he'd turned. Hadn't been able to even give them the illusion of safety, let alone the reality.
"Try now," he orders instead, low and gruff, but his grip on Stiles' ankle is still steady and firm. Warm. "You're exhausted, maybe you're exhausted enough to get at least a little rest now." Maybe... just maybe having him here, his Alpha, even if Stiles hasn't explicitly accepted him as much, will help the way it should. Or at least a little, anyway.