Derek hears laboured breaths and thinks things are about to get awkward. But no sexy time; just Stiles strangling himself in his sleep. Wait…
I imagine Stiles waking up with marks or not in his room, feet all torn up from sleep walking somewhere.
Also, Papa S - he knows about all this stuff now and this is a result of trying to save him.
Imagine him hearing a crash in the middle of the night dashing down the stairs to find Stiles standing in the middle of shattered glass, muttering in his sleep in what seems to be gibberish.
Hearing the crunch of glass and realising Stiles wasn’t even feeling it. So he’d have to pull him out of there.
Scott calls the next day, sees bloody footprints going across the carpet. He’s about to freak the hell out when a sleepy Stiles wanders in
"Oh. Hey, Scott."
What if it got so bad they had to restrain him at night. The sheriff would be completely against it. But ever logical Stiles would be like; ‘makes sense, dad…’
But then if something were to attack at night and Stiles was defenseless.
Maybe something of that ilk happens and it results in Derek hanging around at night to protect him. He ends up sleeping there, Sheriff gets a fold out cot for him until they find a solution.
Derek can easily picture the scene; he doesn’t doubt Stiles’ recounting of it. “Okay. But I still don’t know what you’re doing here, Stiles.”
Stiles looks a little pleased. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” he says.
“You’re the Sheriff’s son,” Derek says. “Of course I remember you. The year we integrated you wore a foam werewolf hat.”
Stiles looks less pleased at that. “You can’t hold that hat against me. I was eleven.”
“I liked that hat,” Derek says.
“Oh,” Stiles says, looking pleased again.
In which Derek is a human and a model for a werewolf skin mag and Stiles is a werewolf and too eager to do an exposé on Derek’s life story.