2019.02.05 - Comfort Food

*After a bitter argument, Ethan brings Stiles some tasty comfort food.*

Year Unknown; concurrent with the Seattle Expedition

Rowanwood House - the Room of Derek and Stiles

Ethan pokes his head inside the door, about an hour after Stiles left the Great Hall earlier. "Stilinski? You in here?"

Stiles is sitting at the tea table, nearest the fire, with a book. He's not reading the book, though, just has it sitting on the table as he... actually sits and has a cup of tea. Kind of weird, that, but hey, it tastes pretty good, especially with honey. He looks up at Ethan, his expression a bit pinched, as he's still clearly not in the best of moods, though he seems calmer than before. "What's up?" he asks, his tone low and a bit flat.

Ethan pushes the door fully open, revealing a tea trolley, which he pulls into the room. "You should eat," he says with all the authority he can muster, pushing the trolly over to the tea table. "Chicken noodle soup, a ham and cheese sandwich, and a nice cup of cocoa. Oh, and some of the fudge I mentioned earlier." He looks Stiles up and down then, frowning a touch. "I know you're frustrated. I know you're tired and hungry, and most of all, worried about Derek and the others. But you don't have to do this alone. Your pack is here for you, always." He tries to smile then. "And Derek will be back, I know it. He always comes back."

Stiles looks down at his teacup, then up at Ethan, arching an eyebrow and actually letting a slightly amused smirk twitch across his lips. "Cocoa over tea? I guess I'll trade up." He regards the soup and sandwich, then nods, moving the book out of the way to make room on the table. He sets the book on a nearby shelf, then gestures to the other chair. "Sit down if you want to." He frowns, shaking his head. "Look, obviously I wanna believe Derek's coming back, but I'm not going to pretend nothing could happen. It could happen. I trust Derek, but I can't act like nothing could go wrong." His frown deepens. "It'd be nice if the pack *felt* like it was on my side, instead of just giving me shit for working hard and, what, being a little stressed?"

Ethan moves the bowl onto the table, in front of Stiles, the places the sandwich plate nearby. "Okay, so I could have handled it a little better," he says, moving the cocoa cup last, then sitting in the opposite chair. "Maybe we all could have. But hey, what do you expect from a couple of wolves? We solve our problems with fists and claws. As for Ryan, well...He doesn't know you like we do. He was only trying to help, but he's stressed too, ya know. You have us. Derek, me and Aiden, Liam, Oz, even Lance. But Ryan's here all alone. None of his friends showed up, none of his loved ones. All he was trying to do is point out how lucky we all are." He lowers his voice a little. "You do work too hard though, and you are too stressed. I know you don't want to, I know it feels...wrong, but you need to take some time off. I don't mean a few minutes to sit staring at a book while you sip tea and let all the wheels keep turning in your head. Do you know what Oz and that Jace guy are doing right now? Playing strip poker. I know, frivolous, right? But they're letting off steam, relieving tension."

"Nobody's seen Lance," Stiles says quietly, looking down at the teacup. He finishes it off, then sets it aside. "I keep hoping he'll show up, make some dumb joke, then offer everyone edibles. But nobody's seen him yet." He shrugs slightly, but perhaps his statement gives some insight into another aspect of his frustrations. He shakes his head, then, and says, "If I'm working too hard, then it's just 'cause it's something I can do. It's something I *need* to do. I think it's great that Oz and Jace are relaxing. I seriously do. But I can't. Believe me, I'd *love* to blow off steam, and when this is over, I'll probably go freaking nuts blowing off all the steam, ever."

Ethan frowns, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Stiles's. "Lance isn't here? I just assumed he was busy doing something with the magic defenses. I'm sorry. But I'm sure he's okay. He's a demon, after all. Practically indestructible." He pats Stiles's hand a couple times, then withdraws his own again. "You can relax. You just won't let yourself. You're gonna work yourself into an early grave, and you know who Derek's gonna blame for that? Me, that's who. He's never gonna leave me to take care of you again."

Stiles snorts. "Ethan," he says with only a hint of irritation, "I'm not going to die from sleeping a normal amount, eating a mostly normal amount, and *sitting in a comfortable room, reading*. Just because I'm not taking breaks to play strip poker doesn't mean I'm going to drop dead." He folds his arms across his chest, doing his best Derek impression. (It's, frankly, not all that good, but the effort is there.) "And who says you're taking care of me? I'm not the pack's pet ferret or anything."

Ethan stands up and moves behind Stiles. "Eat your soup," he says, putting a little extra oomph into the command, as he starts to massage the young man's shoulders. "You're not the pack's pet anything. You're the alpha-mate, and believe it or not, your life is more precious than you could imagine. Your very presence keeps our alpha on an even keel. Pet? Stiles, you're our heart, on top of being our brains. Do you have any idea how important you are to us?" He begins working the muscles a little harder, though he's careful not to cause actual pain. "It's a big burden, I know, but you're up to the task."

Stiles grunts out an annoyed growl, but he seems appeased by the shoulder rub. He even takes a couple of spoonfuls of soup, then takes a bite of the sandwich. After he swallows, he says, "I'm not sure I'm *technically* Derek's mate. I mean, formally. There's... rituals and stuff." But he knows that's nitpicking. "Look, I'm glad you guys think I'm important, but the problem is, that doesn't work unless you trust me, too. You think I'm missing sleep, sure, tell me. You think I need to eat, fine. I'll eat. But don't give me crap for working. And don't expect me to be able to kick back and relax when we're in the middle of crazy shit, and Derek--or any of us--are out in the middle of it."

Ethan begins working the muscles between Stiles's shoulders. "Keep eating," he says, fingers kneeding flesh. "And keep working, by all means. But not *all* the time. The world isn't going to end if you take a couple hours to soak in the bathtub, or play a few hands of strip poker with the rest of us." He moves to the side of the chair and takes one of Stiles's hands, gently massaging it. "Okay, maybe not strip poker. Not sure I could resist seeing you in your Star Wars undies." He grins then, adding a wink, as he massages his way up the arm to the elbow.

Stiles snorts again, a little, but he does keep eating, here and there. "I can't relax... that much. Not until they're back, not... until things are different. Seriously, I'm not killing myself. I'm not frustrated because I'm working hard. I'm frustrated because of the situation. We're stuck in this... shit. The only time I feel relaxed *at all* is when I'm working, Ethan. Reading, studying... it's *something*. It makes my brain shut up a little for a minute. I'd be just as frustrated and pissed if I were sitting in a hot tub as I am when I'm researching, only I'd be freaking out, *too*. I'm doing the only things I can do." He sighs, then snorts again, but this time it's with a hollow laugh. "And are you seriously flirting with me *now*?"

Ethan steps behind the chair again, gently leaning Stiles forward to rub at the middle of his back. "Of course, I am," he says, a hint of wolfishness in his voice. "It's what I do. You, you figure things out, but me? I flirt with cute boys at the most inappropriate times." He starts working his way back up to Stiles's shoulders. "There, that feels better, doesn't it?" He steps back, cracking his knuckles. "And you aren't even freaking out." With a smug grin, he moves toward the door. "Hey, how about that? Maybe I can figure things out too, from time to time."

Stiles eyes Ethan as he goes, then cracks a small smile. "You're an ass," he declares, "but thanks." He gestures to the food, then rolls his shoulders a little. The smile twitches into a bit of a smirk, and he says, "And who knows? Maybe sometime I'll even let you see the underwear while I'm wearing 'em. Lance loves to party, you love to party... anything could happen. But not until this is over, and... Derek's safe, and... everything." Then, he picks up his spoon again and starts in on the soup again.