A/N: Feels. All the feels.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
The phone dropped from Stiles' hand, clattering to the floor. The sounds of his classmates rushing past him in the hallway faded to a muffled blur. He stood, staring with unfocused eyes at his open locker. His phone was kicked to the side by the passing crowd but he didn't notice. It was as if his body had turned to ice, he was unable to move, unable to form cohesive thoughts. He stayed standing there long after the others had disappeared into their classrooms. He stood there, paralyzed, not even noticing the footsteps coming up behind him until Scott was right next to him.
"Stiles?" the other boy asked. Then he bent down to pick up the abandoned cell phone. He held it out to Stiles, brow furrowing in concerned scrutiny. "Are you okay?"
And then the levy broke. Reality came flooding back and Stiles' eyes went from glassy to tear filled. He shook his head, unable to speak, and looked like he was about to collapse. Scott reached out to steady him, and Stiles immediately sank against him. Scott wrapped his arms around his friend. "What's wrong?" he asked again. Stiles was shaking, clutching at Scott for support.
"M-my dad," he managed to stammer. Scott tensed.
"Did something happen? Is he hurt? Was it wolves?"
Stiles shook his head.
"What does that mean? Is he okay?" Scott was panicking. He gripped Stiles' shoulders hand held him out at arm's length. "Tell me Stiles!"
Stiles blinked, eyes red and wet.
"He's not okay," he whispered. "He was shot. In the head. He's in a coma," he robotically recited the facts without emotion, and then fell back into Scott's arms. Scott inhaled sharply, then rubbed his hand over Stiles's back soothingly.
"It's okay. It's going to be okay," he mumbled. "Come on, we're going to the hospital." He grabbed Stiles' bag from his locker and fumbled in the pocket for the keys to his jeep. Stiles' followed him to the parking lot and then froze when he reached the car.
"I can't," Stiles rasped. "I can't see him. It'll be like m-mom. I can't."
Scott squeezed Stiles' hand. "We have to go. Not in the room, but we have to be there." He opened the passenger door for Stiles and then got into the driver's seat. He held Stiles' hand as he drove, rubbing small circles with his thumb. It would be okay. It had to be okay. Stiles couldn't lose his dad, it just wouldn't be fair.
He raced through the doors of the hospital, frantically seeking out his mother. He found her at the nurses' station and she immediately pulled him into a hug. She pulled away when she saw Stiles and started to reach for him, but he took a step back. "Is he going to be okay?" Stiles asked, voice shaking.
Mrs. McCall shrouded her emotions and went into nurse-mode. "He was just brought in an hour ago. He's in a medically induced coma. We won't know the extent of the damage until we wake him up."
"Damage?" Scott asked.
"The bullet was lodged in his frontal lobe. We can't be sure of the effects on brain function—" she cut off as Stiles sank against the wall and slid to the floor. Scott crouched down beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
When Stiles finally stopped shaking twenty minutes later, Mrs. McCall led them to Sheriff Stilinski's room. The Sheriff's bed was surrounded by a curtain, and he wasn't yet allowed visitors, so they sat down on the cushioned bench in the hall.
The clock on the wall was moving at a snail's pace, as doctors and nurses passed in and out of the room. Stiles' stared numbly at the floor, refusing the food and drinks offered to him. He looked up briefly when Mrs. McCall gave them an uninformative update, and then went back to contemplating the linoleum.
Derek came as soon as he heard, surprising both Scott and Stiles. "Pack helps pack," he explained, sitting down next to Stiles.
Scott eventually drifted off to sleep, and woke up to Stiles pounding his fists into the wall, tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting unintelligibly. Derek wrapped his body around Stiles, pinning his arms to his chest. Stiles fought him, futilely, and eventually gave up, sinking against Derek. Derek held him close, rocking him side to side in a comforting rhythm while mumbling assurances into his shoulder.
Scott gave Derek an appreciative smile. Stiles needed all the support he could get right now.
A short while later, Stiles fell asleep using Scott's shoulder as a pillow. Derek asked a nurse for a blanket, and then gently tucked it around Stiles' tightly curled body.
Mrs. McCall came back when her shift ended. "Nothing's going to change overnight," she explained to Scott and Derek. "He can stay with us tonight."
Scott tried to wake Stiles up but he only latched himself further onto Scott's arm, still deep asleep. Derek helped pry him off, picking him up to carry him to the car. Stiles instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around him.
Derek tried to deposit Stiles in the back seat of Mrs. McCall's car, but Stiles refused to detach himself, so Scott ended up driving the jeep home with Derek and Stiles in the back seat.
Stiles woke up as Derek was carrying him into the house. He pushed himself off of Derek, muttering an apology. Derek brushed it off and made to leave, but Stiles looked suddenly panicked. "Stay," he rasped desperately. Derek looked at Scott, who shrugged, and then followed them into the house and up to Scott's bedroom. Stiles kicked off his shoes and dropped his jeans and then climbed into Scott's bed. Scott went to get extra sheets and pillows so he and Derek could sleep on the floor, but Stiles grabbed his wrist and pulled him back towards the bed.
"Need you," Stiles mumbled. "Both of you."
Scott allowed Stiles to pull him down next to him, and Derek slid into bed on Stiles' other side. Stiles relaxed, spooning into Derek, and wrapping his arms tightly around Scott. Derek rested his hand on Stiles' waist, and buried his head in Stiles' shoulder blade. "It will be okay," he promised.
Within minutes, Stiles was asleep again. The other two held him protectively, and eventually drifted off to sleep themselves.
(TBC)