This fic deals with mentions of cancer, so if that makes you uncomfortable in anyway, I wouldn't suggesting reading it. Otherwise, I hope you like it c:
Honey brown eyes flickered from the darkened patches on his skin, examining each and every one of them carefully for what had to be the fifth time since noticing them. Scott was the one who had pointed them out to him just after the lacrosse game, but the funny thing was that Stiles was benched the whole time. The only time he had risen from his seat was to cheer for Scott from the benches before he would sit right down again. The only thing that he could possibly think of was the day he had accidentally hit his hand against his desk, but that wouldn't have given him such an array of bruises running along his arm.
Of course the bruising situation wasn't the only thing that had plagued his mind and driven him to the point of paying his doctor a visit, but the fact that he was enduring frequent headaches, fevers, uncalled for weight loss and an unusual weak and weary feeling had alarmed him greatly.
Before arriving at his doctor's office, Stiles, of course, had done some research on his own. He recognized the symptoms from being around his mother, she had, from what he remembered, gone through all of the same symptoms he was experiencing in that moment, but he didn't want to access those memories. He didn't want to find out that they were going through the same exact things, fighting the same exact disease that had killed her off. As pessimistic as he could be, he was hopeful that whatever it was he was attempting to fight off was merely a cold, or some form of the flu that was stronger than most others and had the ability to make him bruise easily.
The only person who knew where he was happened to be Scott's mom, but only because she worked at the desk meaning he had to get through her to get to his doctor which proved to be an interesting task. Neither Scott nor his father knew of his whereabouts as Stiles kept it enclosed. He didn't want either of them worrying about him when he was probably dealing with something small. His father had enough to deal with on his plate just by being the sheriff and Stiles didn't want to keep adding to it, he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already thought himself to be. Scott was somewhere out in the woods with Isaac last time he checked—of course he told Scott practically everything, but this could be kept to himself, it had to be kept to himself as there were other priorities and this doctors visit could merely be considered a checkup of sorts, right?
Nonetheless, Stiles sat in the waiting room where his doctor had told him to step out to after checking on him. It was odd—he was pretty sure that he was supposed to wait in the actual checkup room only to get the diagnosis, but all he could really do was sit and wait.
As he looked down at his phone, his eyes caught sight of a figure standing just in front of him of him and it was all too familiar. "Nooo," he said, disbelief plaguing his tone as he shook his head before his eyes flickered to Scott's mom just behind the desk.
"Sorry, kiddo, I had to call him," she said, holding her hands out in front of her chest.
He looked back up at his dad before slipping his phone into his pocket and rising to his feet. "What happened to 'I'm working on a case, see you at five with Chinese food."
His dad raised a single eyebrow before shaking his head. "..I never said anything about Chinese."
"You did, you just don't remember, but shouldn't you be out there fighting crime and solving cases?" He asked, finger pointing towards the door.
"Your health is more important to me—"
"Stilinski?" The doctor called, moving towards them with his clipboard in hand and Stiles' paperwork. "Come on; let's discuss this in the back."
Hearing the news more than shocked him, horrified him and sent him into a quiet, near motionless state with a stoic expression. All he could do was shake his head as his doctor continued to speak, but there was only so much he could handle in that moment. He rose from his chair before beginning to head to door. "I—I need to go," he spoke, quickly exiting before either male had time to stop him.
His feet carried him to the jeep to which he slipped in and started it before driving off with no set destination in mind. He just needed a clear head; he needed to be alone for a little while. His first instinct was to run from the problem until it went away, but this problem was stuck with him, latching onto him like the leech it was.
What seemed to be no more than two hours later did Stiles find himself walking through the front door. His first turned to head into the kitchen to set his keys down, although he was greeted with his father sitting there, just as the table.
"Hey dad, grab any food?" he asked in order to further evade the talk to come despite the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit hungry.
"We have to talk about this, you know."
"I think that what we have to talk about is our dinner plans for the night, but clearly you don't feel the same way." His tone lacked the usual use of sarcasm, but he was trying—he was trying so hard to activate the defense mechanism he so desperately needed in that moment.
"Stiles—" His dad spoke, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes conveyed concern that he never wanted to see directed towards them. He didn't want his dad worrying for him, he already had enough on his plate, but apparently Stiles wasn't making it any easier for him.
"What more is there to talk about, dad? We did all of that in the office." His voice rose further than he meant for it to, but he quickly brought it down to a level tone before he hesitantly took a seat just across from his dad, setting the keys down on the table.
"You can't keep avoiding this, I get it, we talked about the treatment, we talked about everything, but this is a lot to take in… And I know Scott's going to want to know what's going on too, Stiles, there's a lot more we can talk about right now."
Almost soon as he heard Scott's name, he shook his head. "I can't, he's.. he's got a lot to deal with already."
"You're on the top of his priority list, I'm sure that's where your best friend status leaves you." He wasn't going to mention the blossoming crush he began to spot recently, but it was definitely there.
"I'm don't think I can tell him," he breathed out, his defenses coming down.
"Tell me what?" came the voice Stiles had been dreading to hear. He shouldn't have left the window open for Scott as he usually did, he should have locked it almost as soon as he returned home because he knew that the situation he was stuck in would have come sooner or later, but he would have preferred it coming up later—so much later. That was what Stiles got for being so hopeful.
He found himself taking in a slow, considerably shaking breath of air as his hues flicked up to Scott standing in the opening to the dining room. There was general concern in the other's tone despite having no idea what was going on. As much as Stiles loved Scott, telling him this piece of information only to see his best friend's reaction would rip him apart. He wasn't able to tell the other boy that he was 'fine', not as he usually did. He couldn't pull that off and he knew for a fact that Scott would ask him again after hearing his beating heart speed if the lie rolled off of his lips.
Before he had too much time to process what he was beginning to say, Stiles spoke. "Tell you that.." His words unintentionally dragged out as he spoke, trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say and how he planned on saying it. "My dad here," he continued, motioning to his father. "Is going to be at the game tomorrow, front and center. It's a dream come true." While Stiles chose to ignore it, his father had shaken his head in the background.
That was among the few times he had lied to Scott with full intention over something so important. If he lied to the other, it was to protect him, nothing more than that, but he always told the wolf everything. It wasn't that he wanted to, but.. he wasn't ready to tell him about how the disease that had taken his mother was attempting to take him too. There was a lurching feeling in his stomach to which he laid a hand over his abdomen in hopes of holding it all in, holding and suppressing every rotten feeling that washed over him so that he could save it for later when he was alone or not acknowledge it at all. Luckily neither his father nor Scott could see where his hand lay due to the way Stiles was sitting at the table or surely both people would have been further concerned than he ever wanted them to be.
"Stiles, you're lying. Your heart is pounding." Scott stated, his eyebrows creasing, concern plaguing his brown hues as he took a few steps closer to his friend.
Stiles' eyes fluttered closed as his hands flew to his forehead. He took in a slow breath of air before taking another one, and another one. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell him. Saying it aloud meant that he was confirming it, it meant that he was accepting it when the truth of the matter was that he had no choice but to accept it. He didn't want it—who did? Every time he attempted to open his mouth to say the words, he felt as if the breakfast from that morning followed by his dinner from the night before would make a reappearance. He just couldn't do it.
"Come on, what's wrong? Stiles, talk to me." Scott's voice was much closer to him than before as the other boy had moved towards him. The next thing he knew, he had felt a warm, gentle touch, taking his hand from his head before Scott bent down just next to him, although his head hadn't turned to look at him.
Somehow Stiles felt a small wave of comfort wash over him despite the situation, Scott's touch never failed to have the power to comfort him even if slightly.
His dad watched the two boys with softened eyes, remaining quiet as the scene played out before him. He would only step in if his son needed him to as it wasn't exactly his news to tell his son's best friend and, from recent observance, crush. He didn't want to intrude and make either of them comfortable so he merely patted the table with his hand before slowly rising from his seat. "How about I go get us all something to eat tonight," he spoke and while both boys heard the words that were spoken, Scott acknowledge them with a silent nod while Stiles couldn't find it in himself to acknowledge it at all as he was too far in his thoughts.
Scott's hue soon caught sight of the purple discolored patches of Skin on Stiles' arm to which he shook his head, eyebrows creasing further. "There's more," he observed, as his hand moved to grab a gentle hold of his arm, examining it. He took in a slowed breath of air before his hues flickered up at Stiles, waiting for the other finally meet his gaze. He had no idea what was the cause of the bruises and unless the other boy was in a secret fight club, there was no other explanation that his mind could immediately jump to. "I'm right here, I'm all ears, just tell me.. please." He spoke lightly; worry filling every fiber of his being as the silence carried on.
Stiles brown hues finally met with Scott's reassuring ones before he let out a heavy breath of air only to look away once more. His free hand rested just on the table, fingers tapping gently, quietly once. He hated feeling so weak especially if he let it show in front of other people, but he was human and that very piece of information shook him up as soon the words hit his ears. He wanted to be able to say that he was fine despite the fact that he clearly wasn't, but what else could Stiles possibly do?
"Leukemia," he mumbled, voice barely audible. "I have leukemia like.. like she did." He knew he didn't have to name who he was talking about, Scott knew better than anyone else.
His friend's eyes widened before his mouth slacked, yet not even seconds later did his features brighten with a sudden idea. "I can help—I mean, I can get rid of it." He did it all the time at clinic in order to help the dogs plagued with sickness, who was to say that it wouldn't work on Stiles too?
"What are yo—"
"Do you trust me?" Scott asked, eyes desperate as he rose to his feet although he never let go of Stiles hand.
"Always, but you have to tell me what you're trying to do, I don't—" He had started to say, although he was cut off as the grip on his hand became firmer. It was in that moment he began to feel the fatigue begin to lift away to which he looked at Scott, eyebrows furrowed before looking down at their arms where he could see the sickness quite literally surging from himself to his friend. The nausea was the very next thing to go. His eyes watched speechless as the process continued, he never thought that it could work on him—the dogs at the clinic? Of course, but him? It just didn't seem like a plausible thought.
A cough came out of Stiles' lips, followed by another one.. and another, each one progressively becoming harsher. The nauseas feeling came back stronger than ever before a metallic taste filled his mouth. "Scott—" He choked out desperately past the violent coughs. His eyes had begun to sting as his body wracked with coughs—he thought he felt awful earlier, but in that moment it felt like nothing he'd felt before.
Scott, in his attempts to remove the cancer by putting it into himself as opposed to leaving it in Stiles, realized that it only seed to make Stiles feel worse after the initial feeling of the sickness leaving his body. The boy let go of his friends hand as if his touch burned him and he soon found that he left a bruise in his wake.
He knew that Stiles never liked to cry, especially in front of other people, but Scott was easily able to spot the tears that began to form in his honey brown hues. Stiles was fighting it—he was fighting so hard not to succumb to the urge, but Scott was going to encourage it. The teen moved sit just next to Stiles, an instinctive comforting arm wrapping around his shoulders as Scott pulled Stiles in against his chest. He could feel the other shaking slightly beneath him—he couldn't have felt any worse for causing this. "I'm sorry," Scott whispered. "I'm so sorry, I thought it would work, I didn't think that anything bad would happen, it always works."
Only a few beats after his words came Stiles' voice. "It's okay. I'm fine."
Scott's eyes flickered down when he heard the hitched breathing—Stiles was most definitely holding it in, suppressing what it was that he was feeling. "It's me, Sti. Just you and me, you can let it go." His hand absentmindedly ran through his friend's hair. While the boy's body was trembling, he hadn't let any of his tears fall, he didn't plan on it. The feeling that was left after crying was among being one of the worst he had ever had to experience, he didn't want to find himself crying and especially not in front of Scott .He was worried enough as it was.
Scott couldn't remember a day that he had been around when Stiles had let go of the feelings he so often surprised as opposed to hiding it behind his veil of sarcasm aside from the day his mother passed. Surely there would be glazed over eyes and of course Stiles would often near the point of breaking down, but it had been a while since Scott was allowed to offer him a warm, comforting hug or anything of the sort.
He wished that Stiles would understand that it was okay not to be okay. How he handled not being okay was really what mattered and, quite frankly, surprising those feeling would leave it to build up. When it was finally time, when the walls holding him together shattered, it would be far too much to handle and Scott didn't want that for him.
"You'll fight this," he mumbled. "I'll be by your side every step of the way."
All was quiet for a moment. His eyes closed as he gently rested his chin against Stiles' head. His head rested on Scott's chest whilst his hand gripped the other's shirt and, after a while, his breathing had come to a slower pace, a normal one.
"What if I lose, Scott?" His voice was barely present. His mom lost, his mother fought hard and yet she still lost the waging war.
If Scott was speaking honestly, he had no idea how to answer Stiles. He didn't know nor did he even want to begin to think about the loss of his best friend, he couldn't even begin to fathom life without him.
"You're stronger than what you give yourself credit for."
Eventually his father had come home with food to which the two boys ate before silently sitting in Stiles' room and watching TV, although the air was heavy, neither of them spoke too much. It was when his father finally went to check on the boys did he see them laying close together on the floor, their limbs sprawled out. Letting out a soft sigh, he moved to grab the covers from Stiles' bed and gently laid it over them.
With a lingering glance, he turned off the light and closed the door, hoping that the case at hand would not be a repeat of what cancerous cells plagued Claudia. He didn't think he could bear to lose his son as well as his wife.