AN: Sorry this chapter's taken longer than I planned. I'd had it written for a week but never got around to proofing it until now.
Chapter 3:
Scott was on his feet before he even realised he was awake. Dawn light was streaming through the window, but he fuzzily realised this wasn't what had awakened him. Scott had never been a morning person but he was ashamed that it took his brain so long to process what he was seeing. Stiles was twisting left and right on the bed, in obvious pain and seeming to find no relief in any position. The sheets were thrown to the bottom of the mattress to become tangled in his legs and Scott could see he was covered in sweat. What frightened Scott most though, was how erratic Stiles was breathing and how fast his heart was beating. Scott could hear it racing with his werewolf hearing, and knew it wasn't normal.
Grabbing Stiles' shoulders mindful of his injured side, Scott tried to get him to focus on his face but Stiles had pushed his face into the pillow. "Stiles…STILES! Oh man…Stiles. What's wrong?... Crap."
Scott was working himself into a panic watching his friend suffer and not knowing what was wrong or what he could do to help. The best he think of, was to sit on the side of the bed and take Stiles' hand. Scott didn't mind at first when Stiles' nails dug into his palm hard enough to draw blood but he's pretty sure he just heard something break. 'Note to self: Stiles has a strong grip' Scott stored the knowledge away among the many other quirks he knew about his best friend.
After what seemed hours - but was probably 10 minutes, Stiles' shaking lessened and he was able to turn his head away from the pillow without screaming. Scott noted his breathing was still highly irregular, but was glad when his eyes floated around the room before locking on his own.
"Scott…?" Stiles croaked, looking completely terrified. His eyes were wild and Scott couldn't help comparing his friend with an injured animal cornered and wanting to flee.
"Stiles, are you OK? What the HELL just happened?"
Stiles looked at Scott with confusion, but didn't reply. The confusion quickly turned into panic and Stiles suddenly sat up straight, his hand rising to cover his mouth. Scrambling off the bed, Stiles flung himself into the ensuite bathroom with Scott following quickly behind. He found Stiles on his knees in front of the toilet throwing up violently. Scott moved forward to place his hand supportively on Stiles' back, but jumped back with shock when he caught a glimpse of what Stiles was throwing up. Scott didn't mind horror movies. He and Stiles had spent many nights watching marathons with the lights turned out. Some of them though, contained images that were particularly gory, and he wished he'd never seen them; Stiles throwing up black blood was one such image. Unfortunately this wasn't a movie, it was reality and Scott knew the image would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. Something was seriously wrong with Stiles and Scott didn't want to admit to himself what this meant. If it meant what he thought, Stiles was not turning into a werewolf; that was for sure.
Stiles had never been in as much pain as he found himself now. It had started after only a few hours of sleep. The slight throbbing that seemed to spread from his shoulder, suddenly sharpened into the feeling of red-hot pokers stabbing into his veins. He twisted and turned on the mattress, kicking the sheets to the bottom of the bed where they tangled between his feet. He couldn't escape the pain and it only grew stronger. Sweat broke out over his body, and he couldn't help but whimper into the pillow. He tried to contain himself for as long as possible hoping against hope that the pain would just pass and there wouldn't be any need to wake Scott. The power of positive thinking just wasn't cutting it though, and a sudden flare in his shoulder was the final straw. Stiles screamed as he had never screamed before, finding that the release wasn't diminishing the pain at all. If he were coherent enough to form thoughts, Stiles would have worried about Scott's neighbours calling the police, but as it was the pain was all encompassing. Stiles pushed his face into the pillow in an attempt to stifle the screams while his body curled into a foetal position and was wracked by tremors. Everything in Stiles' universe had faded away into red tinged vision and seemingly never-ending agony. He couldn't tell where he was and he couldn't even tell if he was breathing. What could have only been 10 minutes, seemed like a lifetime.
Eventually a new sensation broke through and he could feel a warm in his own tight grip and hear his name being shouted with panic. The pain continued to diminish, until he was able to take a deep breath without the fear of screaming it out again. Focusing on Scott's voice helped bring him further into reality and boy did Scott sound panicked. Stiles supposed he was panicked about him, which of course he was because Stiles had just had a fit. Turning his head to the side of the now smothering pillow, Stiles was slightly disgusted at how sticky he was. It seemed his clothes were soaked through with sweat, and the pillow was coated in a glistening layer of what he was ashamed to discover were fresh tears. Above him Scott still looked really worried and Stiles thought it wise to let him know it seemed to be over. Unfortunately while moving his head hadn't cause any flare-ups, speaking proved more painful. Even saying one word hurt. Screaming so much obviously hadn't been good for his vocal chords.
Swallowing in preparation of speaking again, Stiles opened his mouth only to clamp it shut a second later. An intense nausea overcame him and Stiles knew he had t-minus 10 seconds to get to the toilet, or a bin. The pain of only moments ago was forgotten in his mad rush to the bathroom. It seemed one moment he was in the bed and suddenly he was on his knees with the toilet in front of him. He arrived just in time. Stiles thanked his lucky stars he didn't trip on the stumble into bathroom, knowing Scott would never let him in his house again if he threw up on his carpet.
'Funny… I don't remember eating molasses' Stiles thought as he realised what was actually coming out of him. It seemed never ending as Stiles was wracked by convulsions bringing up more and more of the toxic looking black blood. At some point he felt Scott rubbing circles on his back, which was nice of him even if it didn't do much to ease his discomfort.
It took a few minutes for Stiles to realise that the black ooze had stoped coming because he was still having gasping convulsions. This was familiar territory for Stiles though. Panic attacks were almost normal at this point, all he had to do was lean back against the support behind him – he didn't realise the support was actually a teenage werewolf named Scott McCall, and think about each breath, forcing them into an even rhythm.
'If there was ever a time for a panic attack now was it', Stiles justified. Something was seriously wrong with him; he was having agonising fits, throwing up supernatural tar, and his mouth tasted like an ashtray in a truck stop bathroom. If now wasn't a time to panic Stiles didn't no when was?
"Stiles…? I think it's time we get you to Dr. Deaton." Stiles craned his head up, just noticing Scott crouching behind him supporting his weight. Scott looked more afraid than Stiles had ever seen him, and through his own trembling he could feel the shaking in Scott's hands where they grasped his shoulders.
Stiles could only nod his head in response still breathing too heavily to talk.
The sudden burst of energy that got him to the bathroom was well and truly used up. All Stiles' limbs felt weighed down with exhaustion and it was all he could do not to fall asleep on the toilet seat right next to its toxic contents. Stiles was eternally grateful Scott was with him tonight, if not for his werewolf strength he knew he would never have been able to get himself off the tiled bathroom floor. There was one more moment of panic after Scott levered him into a standing position when he thought the nausea had returned, but he manage to supress the urge. Scott seemed a little less enthused to be carrying most of his weight when the possibility of being hurled on became apparent.
"Don't worry buddy, Dr. Deaton will know what to do. What do you always say? He's the master of all mystical knowledge… and a doctor, he'll fix you right up."
When Scott was the rambling one and Stiles the quiet of the two, you knew something was seriously wrong with the world. And so the best friends made the rambling trek once again to Stiles' jeep, but not before a stop to the bathroom sink. Stiles didn't think Scott's nose could be anymore scrunched up as he tried to avoid the intense smell of Stiles' foul breath, and even with his miniscule energy levels Stiles relished cleaning his teeth of the bad aftertaste. For good measure he gargled two lots of mouthwash as well.
Before leaving the house Scott left a note for his Mum. He was glad she seemed to be late this morning coming back from her night shift. If his Mum had walked in on Stiles being violently ill she would have rushed him to the hospital, being the responsible nurse she is. She may know about werewolves now but Scott knew he wouldn't have been able to convince her that Stiles shouldn't see a doctor. The only doctor who could possibly help was Dr. Deaton… or so Scott hoped.
Looking over to the passenger seat as he manoeuvred through early morning traffic, Scott couldn't help noticing how deathly pale Stiles appeared, or the sweat coating his forehead. There was also a dab of black at the corner of his mouth that looked to have been coughed up. At least Stiles was talking. Normally he had to actively drown out Stiles' rambling just to stay sane, but now all he could think was how much better it was to hear Stiles talk instead of scream in pain.
"You don't think I'm turning into a Kanima, do you Scott? Because I just don't think I'm a lizard sort of person…. You know? I mean Jackson's a lizard person - he's totally cold blooded, I can understand him turning into lizard boy, but me… I'm more… I don't know, cuddly. If I'm turning into something other than a werewolf - because you never told me about barfing black blood so it doesn't seem I am, maybe I'm turning into a were-cat or something. I like cats… maybe that's what this is. Stiles the were-cat! It could be like one of those animas where I get the furry little ears and maybe a tail. Yeah that's probably all this is. I'm not turning into a werewolf I'm turning into a were-cat."
Scott looked at his friend sideways, unable to stop picturing Stiles with furry cat ears. "You really want to be a cat?" Scott asked disbelievingly.
Stiles sighed. "…No! Of course I don't won't to be a cat. It's just…it's just better than the alternative." Stiles it seemed, wasn't able to continue his optimism while he was feeling so terrible.
"It's going to be alright. Whatever is going on, Dr. Deaton will fix it… even if you do grow a tail." Scott smiled reassuringly at his friend pulling into the car park where Stiles dropped him off only yesterday. Just one night had passed since he received that text from Derek, but it already felt like another lifetime ago. Driving into the car park Scott also realised a new problem. Dr. Deaton wasn't only a supernatural expert; he was still a working veterinarian with his own clinic. A clinic that was due to open in another hour. People would be coming for appointments any minute now and if someone saw him dragging an increasingly ill sheriff's son into the animal hospital, they would definitely call said sheriff. Especially after last night, Scott knew Stiles wanted his father as far away from werewolves as possible… while still living in Beacon Hills.
When Scott went to grab Stiles out of his seat, furtively looking around to make sure no one was in the vicinity to witness his condition, Scott noticed his trembling was beginning to intensify. Stiles was breathing in short gasps again, and he could hear his heart beat thumping much too quickly in his chest. 'God, please don't start screaming' Scott begged inside his head.
"Stiles are you alright. We have to get you inside." Using his werewolf strength, Scott hauled Stiles out of the vehicle and started in the direction of the clinics back door. He felt almost naked out in the open supporting Stiles' dead weight even as he tried and failed to support himself. Usually they had the cover of darkness when they brought an injured person to Dr. Deaton, and more often or not the roles were reversed and it was Stiles bring Scott for treatment. Now the responsibility was all Scott's and the bright morning sunshine didn't help one bit.
Halfway to the door Stiles, lost all control of his legs and almost brought Scott down with him, but thankfully his werewolf strength saved him again. "Scott… hurry. The pain's coming back… I don't know…. " Stiles stammered out between gasping breathes. Suddenly he grabbed Scott's shirt forcing him to look into his hazel eyes usually warm and amiable but now glazed and unfocused, "Get me to the drugs!"
"Morphine… got it. Hold on Stiles we're nearly there." Moving as quickly as possible, Scott made it to the door and began banging with all his might, and calling for Dr. Deaton.
Dr. Deaton would surely be inside preparing for the day and checking all the animals that stayed last night, but Scott still gave a relived sigh when the doctor answered the door.
"Scott? What's going on…?" Catching sight of Stiles slouched over his shoulder, Dr. Deaton's eyes went dark and he stood back holding the door open for the pair. "Quickly, come in and get him on the table."
By the time Stiles was sitting on the sterile metal table - that for an animal clinic was funnily just the right size for a human, he was hardly breathing except for the occasional shuddering gasp and now shaking in agony. He was almost as bad as earlier when Scott woke up. This time though, Dr. Deaton was there and he immediately injected Stiles with what Scott hoped was a strong painkiller. It didn't knock Stiles out, but he settled down somewhat and it seemed the pain became more bearable. It was only when his breathing went back into a semi -normal rhythm that Scott realised he was grasping Stiles' hand and let go, finally turning his attention to Dr. Deaton who had discovered the bite on Stiles' shoulder.
While cutting away the arm of Stiles' t-shirt and removing the bandage Scott had covered the wound with last night, Dr. Deaton finally asked. "Scott, what happened?"
It was Stiles who answered, a bemused look coming over his face, probably due to the drugs. Animal tranquilisers can definitely make a guy loopy. "It was the Alpha pack. They forced Derek to lay a big ole' bite on me."
Dr. Deaton raised his eyes to Scott's his anger clearly visible, and surprisingly Scott felt the sudden need to defend Derek's actions, "He didn't have a choice. They were going to kill him if Derek didn't bite him."
Dr. Deaton sighed loudly, "I was afraid of that."
Scott didn't know if he was talking about Derek being forced to bite Stiles, or because he had just uncovered Stiles' wound and it looked very different too when he treated it last night. The curved row of teeth marks just below Stiles' left clavicle, which last night had been neat red punctures, were now highly inflamed and you could see black lines shooting from the wound following the zigzag pathways of Stiles' veins. What was bleeding bright red last night, now dribbled the same black ooze Stiles was throwing up earlier. When Dr. Deaton poked at the wound releasing more of the black blood, Stiles yelped and tried to push away from the doctor's invasions but proved too weak.
Do you know what's wrong with him? Can you fix it?" Scott could hear the desperation in his voice and his anxiety only grew stronger at the pitying look on Dr. Deaton's face.
Instead of answering Scott's question Dr. Deaton spoke directly to Stiles. Placing a hand on Stiles' good shoulder and looking solemnly into his eyes, "I'm sorry Stiles, there's nothing I can do. There is no cure for an Alpha bite."
Stiles mouth hung open in shock and his eyes flitted around the room, as he struggled to realise what he was being told. "What…what do you mean?"
Dr. Deaton sighed again - Scott really wised he would stop doing that, before explaining fully. "There are only two outcomes to being bitten by an Alpha werewolf. You're either transformed into a werewolf or werewolf offshoot, or you're body rejects the transformation and shuts down. It's why most Alphas only bite those who agree to it, there's less of a chance of rejection. I'm sorry Stiles, it looks like you're body in rejecting the change."
The room descended into silence. "So…I'm dying." Suddenly, Stiles chuckled darkly causing Scott to shiver involuntarily. "Fan-freakin-tastic."
Scott found himself shaking his head. NO. There was no way he was going to accept that Stiles was going to die. There wasn't a world that made sense that didn't have Stiles Stillinski in it, being his normal boisterous self. Scott couldn't remember a time Stiles hadn't been there for him, from school bullies to parent dramas and tragedies to all the little things in between. Some of his best memories were of the two of them getting into mischief – as their parents would say, and just goofing off. He wasn't giving up on him now without a fight. Scott knew he owed Stiles more than he could ever repay, not only because Stiles stayed around through everything. The only reason he was able to cope with becoming a werewolf was because Stiles was by his side. Dr. Deaton was wrong, Stiles wasn't going to die. Scott wouldn't let him.
And besides he said there were only two options, when clearly Lydia presented a third. Lydia was bitten by an Alpha and she didn't die or become a werewolf. They had already theorized about using Lydia's immunity to cure Scott, but that had been more of a long-term plan. It looked like the deadline – 'no pun intended' Scott thought to himself, had drastically reduced.
"NO! Stiles it won't happen. I won't let it happen." Scott swore vehemently curling his hand into a fist with conviction.
Stiles already looked resigned, even in the face of Scott's determination. It was sad to think maybe Stiles had been preparing for this eventuality for the past year. He may have spoken with his usual sass but Scott could hear the defeat in Stiles' tone, "Yeah… What are you going to do Scott? I've already been bitten and unless time travel is another special werewolf power there is nothing you can do."
Scott tried to shut down his senses, to stop himself smelling the fear radiating off his friend. "We use Lydia. We were already thinking her blood could be used to make a cure for me… why not you?"
Turning to Dr. Deaton where he was trying to give the best friends a bit of room to come to terms with the situation, Scott asked probably the hardest question he'd ever asked, "How much time does he have?"
"It depends on the person. Most people die within two days of being bitten, but I've known of a few who've lived to see four."
The reality that Stiles might be dead in two days hit him, and he almost lost himself to panic but managed to keep his mind on the track of saving Stiles. "Is there anything you can do, to extend that?"
Dr. Deaton suddenly looked thoughtful if a bit weary, "Well… there may be something, but I wouldn't recommend it normally."
"What…what is it?" Stiles spoke up dejectedly from the table, but Scott could see the slightest hint of hope starting to appear on his face.
"Well, if we inject you with wolfsbane, it may help your body fight the infection. It won't cure you, but it will delay the inevitable. I wouldn't recommend it though, Stiles. Your body is going to be in tremendous pain already as you reject the transformation adding wolfsbane will intensify that ten-fold. It won't be pleasant."
Scott thought unpleasant was a massive understatement and by the look on Stiles' face he agreed. He needed Stiles to do this though; he needed time to save his life. "Stiles, please. Lydia survived and if we use her blood I'm sure we can save you too. Plus if we bring Lydia in on this we can use her brain as well. You always say there isn't a problem Lydia Martin can't solve.
Scott heard Stiles mumble, "That's true… I do say that." But when he met Scott's eyes the intensity of Stiles fear almost made him give in and let him go without the wolfsbane. "You don't know how much it already hurts though Scott. I'm not strong like you, I don't think I can handle much more pain."
Letting all his own desperation and fear shine through his eyes as well Scott tried one final plea, "Please Stiles, you are strong… you just don't see it. Do it for me… do it for your Father. Isn't it worth it if it means we have time to save you?"
Stiles broke eye contact first lowering his head at the mention of his Father. Scott knew it was a low blow. Stiles would do anything to prevent his Father from being completely alone. "Alright, you can inject me with wolfsbane, but first I think we have some calls to make. You call Lydia and tell her to get here… I'm going to call my Dad."
Dr. Deaton walked out of the room knowing exactly how bad the next couple of days were going to be. He guessed he should cancel any appointments that might be coming. The screams would probably carry to the car park.
AN: Get ready for a extremely emotional conversation between Stiles and his Dad. Can you wait... I know I can't. They're probably my favourite part of Teen Wolf.
