Anything to Save Stiles
PenPatronus
Scott had no destination in mind when he left Stiles in the MRI machine. In a tiny conscious corner of his mind he registered doors, hallways, stairs and faceless people walking past him. At some point he ended up in a patient's room. An ex-patient's room, to be precise. Maybe the scent of death lured him there. Someone had died in that room not twenty minutes before Scott wandered in. The room was in between its purposes – the body had been carted down to the morgue but the orderlies hadn't come in to clean up yet. So Scott walked into the dark, empty room, closed the door behind him and just stood there with Death.
At some point Scott got used to his supernatural life. He'd learned to go with the flow. Sure, strange things popped up… frequently. They were strange but at least they were physical. There were throats he could wrap his hands around. Scott could fight those monsters. Problems were solved with his speed, with Isaac's claws, with Allison's arrows, with Derek's teeth, with Lydia's insight. Scott stared down at the palms of his hands and, for the first time since he'd become a werewolf, felt truly helpless.
Rage. Untamed, feral, primal rage bubbled up inside him. A rage that had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with the fact that Stiles might be dying. Scott's nails extended, his hair bristled, his eyes burned blood-red and his fangs spiked out. He pivoted on his heel and grabbed the end of the hospital bed. He wanted to lift it into the air and throw it across the room. He wanted to rip everything into the smallest pieces possible. He wanted to roar so loudly that the glass windows would shatter.
But, suddenly, the rage vanished as quickly as it appeared. Scott transformed. Not from top-of-the-food-chain predator back to his human self, but some level beneath that. His arms turned to lead and his knees shook. A breath later and he landed on his knees, hard. So hard that water burst from his eyes. Some unnamed emotion that lay dormant in his chest shook itself loose. An emotion he hadn't felt since his dad left. It clawed his rib cage to ribbons, strangled his stomach, turned his blood to ice. If felt like every inch of himself was in a blender with barbed wire.
"Stiles," he sobbed.
Something perched on his shoulder. It felt warm, gentle but sturdy. Scott sniffed. He was surprised, at first, about who had found him but, after a second thought, realized that he really wasn't. Inhaling deeply, like he'd been shown on the hospital roof mere hours before, revealed the newcomer's emotions: worry, hesitation, uncertainty. And, on the tail end of the scent, a brotherly love.
"I'd leave you alone if it wasn't urgent," Derek said softly. When Scott didn't respond, Derek started to remove his hand. He didn't fight it, though, when Scott's hand wrapped around his wrist and held it down for a long minute. Derek waited patiently.
Finally, a lifetime and a half later, Scott spoke. "I didn't expect you to come." He slowly stood up and turned to face his pack-mate. "Not that you and Stiles aren't friends but he's just having tests tonight."
Derek pursed his lips together. "I need to talk to you about Kira but…" The werewolf shifted his weight and stuffed his fists in his jeans pockets. "I would've come anyway. Stiles is… well, irritating, but he's kind of grown on me."
Scott chuckled quietly. "Yeah, he does that." The Alpha wiped his running nose across his sleeve and took a deep breath. "He's just one of those guys you can't help but like, you know? He's just…" Scott stammered through a half-dozen words. They were all accurate, he just couldn't find the right word.
Derek nodded. "He's special. I, um… I'm starting to get that." Derek motioned for Scott to sit on the side of the bed. He joined him and the two sat side by side in the moonlight watching them through the window.
"Derek?"
"Yeah?"
"I hate to ask, dude, really, but… Do you know why some people – people like Paige – why some people can't handle the bite? Is there a way to tell before you bite them, a way to tell if they'll become a werewolf or if they'll die?"
Derek flinched at the mention of Paige. "I don't know. I don't think anybody does. Why?"
Scott ignored the question. "People who are sick. Gerard, like Gerard, right? He knew the bite would cure his cancer. It would heal him. Would it cure anything? Even the brain?"
"You want to bite Stiles and hope that will cure him?"
Scott remained in his own thoughts. "Jackson was… he was dead. He was basically dead and the bite revived him. It… it brought him back to life so…" Sweat crept along Scott's hairline.
"Scott?" Derek's eyebrows closed ranks in concern. "Hey, take a breath." He patted his friend on the back until Scott's eyes focused on him.
"What if – what if he won't let me?" Scott whispered. "Peter offered and he didn't – but he wasn't dying then so… What if he decides he'd rather be dead than – than a monster? I could bite him anyway, hope for the best. I'd rather he be alive and pissed at me than… than…" Scott's throat betrayed him. It choked up until he couldn't say another word.
Derek's hand clamped down on Scott's shoulder. "Listen, if it makes you feel better, I promise I'll do it. I don't think I could stand to lose him, either." Derek was surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth and doubly surprised when he realized that he meant them. "If it comes down to that, if we don't have any other choice, I'll bite him. He can get pissed at me and never see me again but at least he wouldn't blame you."
Scott stared at his knees, considering it. Suddenly he ran his fingers through his hair and hopped to his feet. "I should go downstairs. I want to be there when his MRI is done. And you, uh, you needed to tell me something about Kira?"
"Yeah." Derek followed Scott to the door. Right before they reached the threshold he decided that one more thing needed to be said. "Scott, nobody cares about Stiles as much as you do. But, I just want you to know that he's – honestly – important to me, too. And I'll do anything to save him. From dementia, demons, whatever. I'll do anything."
Scott stood up a little straighter as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He nodded a 'thank you,' then led the way back to the chairs outside of Stiles' room.
The End