Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks again for reading and reviewing. I know a lot of you wated longer chapters, so this one is about seven pages on Word. It's spring break and I've had tons of time to write. :)

Please review or provide feedback! It makes me a better writer and allows for me to know what my readers are thinking!


"Derek's scared, Stiles," his father told him through his Bluetooth, fingers gripping the steering wheel as he headed home from the pharmacy.

"Scared of what, Dad? Isaac's home now."

"He's still adjusting to being a dad. Give him some time," he said.

"This is all new to me too and I'm not acting like a lunatic!" Stiles exclaimed.

"The adoption part, yes. But not the asthma."

And suddenly Stiles understood what was eating away at their relationship, could see the instances that had occurred in the past four months where his father's words were blatantly obvious, their first visit to the pediatrician the most vivid in his mind.

"You and Mom learned how to handle it, though," Stiles said, voice slightly whiny.

"Yeah, and we were petrified when you were diagnosed. We used to take turns checking on you in the middle of the night because we were afraid you'd stop breathing or have such a bad attack that your wheezing would disappear before we could hear it."

"Really?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"You're in control of your asthma because you're an adult, and you're good at controlling Isaac's asthma because you know what symptoms to pick up on. But being the parent of a child with asthma when you don't have it yourself can be terrifying because it feels like one giant guessing game. That's why Derek's a nervous wreck when it comes to Isaac's breathing," his father explained. "I know it tears you up to watch him struggle, but I'm betting Derek feels even more hopeless, guilty even, because he always feels like he couldn't see it coming when he should have."

Stiles just took a deep breath and focused on the road, unsure of what to say in response.

"And don't even get me started on the peanut thing," his father groaned, trying to make the conversation light again. "I can't keep a damn jar in the house because he always finds it and replaces it with soy butter or whatever that crap is."

Stiles laughed softly and took another deep breath. "I think the last week has been really hard on him."

"Well, it doesn't help that you kept your asthma from him and then proceeded to have one of your worst attacks," the Sheriff said.

"Yeah, wasn't using my best judgment there," Stiles sighed.

"He was scared then, that night when you were at the hospital, and he's scared now. Because he's gotta worry about it happening to not only you, but Isaac, too."

"Fuck," Stiles said in realization, the curse low enough that he wondered if his father had heard it through the phone.

"You created your own monster, kiddo," he sighed.

"Yeah, so now what do I do?"

"You fix it."

"Easier said than done," Stiles griped. "Thanks, though. I really appreciate it."

"Yup," was all his father said before he disconnected the call.

"Why couldn't I see it?" Stiles whispered to himself, the sudden silence making his mind race. He hadn't had any Adderall in a few days and it was really starting to affect him, so he pushed play and hoped that whatever CD was in the player wasn't Derek's Avenged Sevenfold or Isaac's Raffi. Thankfully, it was the Mumford and Sons that he liked to listen to on his drive home from work, the soothing sounds helping him even out his breathing as his fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel.

"How am I going to fix this?" he asked himself out loud, head pushing back into the headrest, memories of their first doctor's visit playing over in his head as he made the right turn to enter the windy road up to Griffith Park, promising himself just five minutes of peace before he walked back into the house that hadn't felt like a home in two weeks.

x

Isaac sat in Stiles' lap on the exam table, shirt off as the nurse had advised them. He ran the yellow wooden car in his hands back and forth along the paper and against Stiles' leg, giggling softly between vrooming noises. A bout of dry coughing would surface here and there, the toddler continuing to play even though it was obvious he was struggling in the way the muscles of his upper body worked hard to regulate his breathing once the fit was over. The rasp in his voice overshadowed the low dialogue he was having with himself, wheeze present each time he tried to take a deep breath.

There was a knock. "I'm Dr. Marmon," a woman smiled as she entered and closed the door behind her, hand extending to Stiles and then Derek as they introduced themselves. "And you must be Isaac!"

The toddler's eyes tracked the doctor in the white coat nervously as she moved to wash her hands in the sink, wheezing picking up as he whimpered and clung to Stiles. He held the car tightly in his fist and against his chest, afraid that she might take it away.

"She isn't going to hurt you, Isaac. She's just going to listen to your heart and breathing and make sure you're healthy. And I'm going to be right here holding you, okay?" The toddler shook his head 'no' and coughed into Stiles' chest, anxiety obvious in the way he had curled his body into a little ball.

"Sounds like the little guy has a bit of asthma," she noted as she dried her hands with a paper towel.

"We were given an inhaler, but it's almost out and it doesn't really help much," Derek explained.

"I'm just going to take a listen," Dr. Marmon smiled as she put the buds from her stethoscope in her ears and approached Isaac, who flinched and scrambled to get off of his dad's lap. Stiles' hands grabbed hold of him quickly and just enough to keep him from falling.

"No," Isaac whined, whimpers and wheezing growing worse as he fought Stiles' grip, car still tight beneath his fingers.

"She's not going to hurt you," Stiles cooed as he adjusted Isaac in his lap. "She just wants to listen."

"No!"

Derek held back as he watched Stiles struggle to keep Isaac in his lap, feeling powerless yet again; the toddler always seemed to be in fight or flight mode, sudden movements and strange people guaranteed to cause panic, and nearly everything Derek said or did to help was useless. Though they'd only had Isaac for four days, it was obvious that he was more attached to Stiles, and Derek wished he had that special touch that seemed to come so naturally to his husband.

"Isaac, honey, calm down," Stiles tried to soothe, but it was obvious that he was growing impatient, and his hold on the toddler increased. Suddenly, Isaac's wheezing became fast and high pitched, body stiffening in Stiles' arms as the car fell from his fingers and on to the floor. Eyes wide, he looked to Stiles for relief as he struggled for breath.

"H-he had an episode like this last night," Derek stammered worriedly as the doctor quickly set a nebulizer next to Stiles and prepped the machine.

"I ended up giving him a treatment with my nebulizer," Stiles admitted as he took the mask from the doctor and waited for her to turn the machine on. "Helped enough to give him four hours of sleep. That's the most he's slept consecutively since we brought him home."

Tears streamed down Isaac's red cheeks as Stiles held the misting mask lightly over his tiny face, strap unsecured so that it couldn't throw him into another level of hysterics. "It's okay, Isaac. You're okay. Daddy and Papa are here," Stiles cooed as he cradled the toddler in his arms, chest rising and falling rapidly as he inhaled the medication.

"It might make it easier if you show him what you're going to do using me first," Derek proposed as he remembered a strategy that the child psychologist had suggested, the doctor nodding and putting the stethoscope to his chest before asking him to take a deep breath. Isaac watched Derek intently as he breathed from the mask, Stiles taking the opportunity to secure the strap since he was distracted.

"See? That's all she's going to do," Stiles explained, voice soft as he positioned Isaac so that the doctor could take a listen. The toddler moved close against Stiles' chest, fingers twisting the fabric of his t-shirt.

"No!" he cried, whimpers muffled by the mask. "No!"

"Shh," Stiles soothed, kissing the toddler's head as the doctor successfully lay the disc of the stethoscope against his bare back. "You're okay," he coached each time Isaac flinched as she lifted and placed it. "See? It doesn't hurt."

"How often were you giving the albuterol?" she asked as she continued to listen to Isaac's breathing.

"Every six hours or so," Derek said.

"When was his last dose?"

"Around eight this morning."

"I'm surprised that he's still so wheezy despite the inhaler and treatment," she concluded as she put the stethoscope back around her neck. "He doesn't sound congested, but I'm going to check his oxygen level just to see where he's at."

"Is he having an attack?" Derek asked, nervous.

"It's not so much an attack as poorly controlled asthma," she explained as she clipped a pulse oximeter to one of Isaac's index fingers. "The reports that you had faxed over indicated that the frequency of his attacks were the reason CPS got involved. It's hard to tell since his lungs are so sensitive right now, but I have a feeling he has a pretty severe case of asthma to begin with."

Isaac fought to keep his eyes open, eyelids finally falling in defeat as the pulse oximeter beeped alongside his heartbeat, panic, flare, and medicine having worn him out. Stiles felt the toddler's muscles relax as the medicine moved deeper into his lungs and adjusted him so that he could be comfortable. Derek picked the wooden car up from the floor and held it in his hands, eyes fixed on it as he took a deep breath to try and calm his anxiety.

"That's definitely not good," Stiles whispered when he saw a digital 94 appear on the screen of the handheld device.

"What would be a good number?" Derek asked as he looked from Stiles to the doctor, confused.

"100," Stiles and the doctor said simultaneously.

Derek swallowed and took a deep breath as he fiddled with the car in his hands. "How do we get it up to 100, then?"

"You're looking at it," Stiles said softly as his eyes fell upon Isaac cradled in his arms, mist around the mask clouding his face.

"Once the medicine opens him up we should see the number climb," Dr. Marmon explained. "His normal might be a little lower than 100, though. We'll know in a few weeks once the medications really start to take effect." Derek nodded at the information, feeling like the room was closing in on him, the sound of his heart beating in his ears alerting him to the fast, low beeping on the pulse oximeter beside Stiles on the exam table.

"Should his heart be beating this fast?" Derek asked nervously as he watched the little lines rise and fall in time with Isaac's rapid heartbeat on the small screen.

"It's just the albuterol. His heart rate will go back down soon," the doctor assured him.

"A-and the shaking. Is that normal? He was doing that last night, too, after we used the nebulizer."

"It's just a side effect. That will go away once the medication wears off," she said as she began to flip through the paperwork in Isaac's file on the counter.

"Calm down, Derek," Stiles whispered once the doctor had turned away.

Derek didn't say anything as he lifted one hand from the car and pushed his fingers through the toddler's little blonde curls, touch light enough that Isaac didn't even stir. At least you understand everything that's going on right now, Derek wanted to say in his usual manner, but he held his tongue and concentrated on breathing slow and even to keep himself together.

"He's going to be fine, Der. We just need to get him on the right meds."

Derek sighed, afraid to admit that he was overwhelmed; watching his son fight against the doctor and breathe from a mask made his heart ache in a way it never had before.

"Isaac's up to date on his shots and his blood work from the hospital a month ago looks great," Dr. Marmon smiled. "He's a bit small for his age, but according to the hospital records he was born prematurely. They did a skin test for allergies about six months ago and he was positive for mold, pollen, and a few types of grasses. Fall can be a particularly hard time for people with allergies and asthma, so that might be part of what's going on right now."

"The case worker said he had a peanut allergy," Derek remembered suddenly, thumb turning one of the wheels on the car over as his anxiety continued to grow. "We've been avoiding peanut butter but I was reading some stuff online and I'm a little worried."

"I have that in my file as well. I'll write you a prescription for an epi-pen and teach you how to administer it before you leave. I have a link to a great website that can tell you everything you need to know," she smiled as she began to fill in pages of her prescription pad.

Derek hated that she was smiling so much; he knew that it was probably to help keep the patients and parents calm, but instead it filled him with anger. She wasn't the one who would be coaxing Isaac into sitting still for a breathing treatment like they'd had to the night before while he kicked and fought and fear coursed through his tiny body. She wasn't the one who would be reading label after label in the grocery store to make sure the cookies he was about to eat with his lunch weren't made in a plant that processed peanuts, something Derek had only known because he'd been up all night after Isaac's terrifying episode the night before and started doing research using what they'd been told by Social Services.

"Der," Stiles whispered as he watched the way his husband's eyebrows were arched together in concern, lips a straight line as his eyes focused intently on Isaac.

"Don't," he whispered as he looked away, one sniffle enough to dissolve the tears that had started to fill his eyes. Derek barely listened as the doctor showed them how to give the epi-pen, eyes following her hands in a daze as she used a demo on Stiles' leg. There was so much information, so much that he didn't know, and it was all coming at him so fast.

"I wrote the link to the website on the yellow post-it," she said, pulling Derek from his fog as she handed him a stack of prescriptions.

"This is a lot of medication," Derek said as he paged through them. Words like Ventolin, Flovent, and prednisone jumped off of the first three pages, his ability to read messy handwriting not helping the uneasiness sitting in his stomach at the moment.

"Once we get his asthma under control we can wean him off some preventers and the steroids," she explained. Steroids? Derek thought, tears pricking his eyes; he remembered Stiles mentioning something about the probability of the doctor placing Isaac on them in the car, that they were different, somehow, than the ones he'd always read about in the news, but that the side effects could be less than desirable.

"Right now his airways are constricted and inflamed, which is why he's wheezing so much. To be honest, I'm almost ready to admit him based on his oxygen level, but everything is new to him right now and he was having such a hard time handling my office that I think the best thing would be for you to take him home and let him rest. Start the breathing treatments and keep them up, get him familiar with the inhalers and spacers. If it really seems like he's struggling to breathe, you can take him to urgent care or the emergency room and have them page me."

By then the nebulizer was dry and Isaac had woken up enough for Stiles to help him shimmy his shirt back on, so they were given the go-ahead to leave. The toddler shook in his father's arms from the medicine as they exited the office, his breathy whimpers a sign that he was feeling absolutely awful.

"Can you grab his juice cup?" Stiles asked Derek as he shifted Isaac so that he could rest his head on his shoulder. "The albuterol probably made his mouth dry."

Derek pulled the juice from the bag around his shoulder and wordlessly handed Isaac his Batman cup, the child sipping franticly as he snuggled against Stiles on their way to the parking garage. He had to look away to keep the jealousy at bay, which made Derek feel even guiltier; he hated that Stiles had known that Isaac's mouth would be dry because of the medicine, that his whimpers had signaled that he wanted something to drink. And the way he was curled in Stiles' arms made him wish the toddler would do that in his own, the comfort that would appear in his blue eyes always making him feel more distanced, somehow.

Out of fear he watched Isaac's sleeping reflection from the rearview mirror on the ride home, fist clenching in nervousness with each of the toddler's mid-slumber coughs.

"He's fine," Stiles stated when he caught Derek's eyes in the mirror and realized what his husband was doing.

"I was just making sure," Derek grumbled as he tore his gaze away from Isaac and looked out the window instead.

"He's going to be okay-" Stiles started.

"With the right meds, I know," Derek whined.

"You're still freaking out."

"Of course I'm freaking out!" Derek's voice rose, Stiles' accusation lighting the match. "Our son just had an asthma attack and he's being put on more medication than I've ever been on in my entire life and I can't understand how none of this seems to bother you!"

"It does bother me!" Stiles yelled, then realized that he needed to lower his voice when he saw Isaac move in the rearview mirror. "Look, we went into this knowing our child was going to have a chronic illness. We can manage this. He just needs to do his treatments and inhalers and hopefully one day he won't even need daily medication at all."

"He can barely climb the stairs without taking a break, and when he gets to the top he's wheezing and coughing. Hell, by the time he knows it's happening he can't even speak!"

"That's only because he hasn't been on preventers, Derek. We need to help him understand his triggers and symptoms," Stiles said. "Help him figure out when he needs to slow down."

"What, so he can be the kid sitting on the sidelines all of his life?" Derek asked.

"I have asthma and I wasn't sitting on the sidelines," Stiles reasoned, eyes focused on the road.

"You were second string for lacrosse until your junior year of high school," Derek pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was because I sucked at lacrosse, not because of my asthma."

"You heard what Dr. Marmon said, about how his case is probably severe."

"What she said was that we won't know for a few weeks. And even if it is, we'll be okay," Stiles assured him as he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Isaac watching the two of them argue, tears and hiccupy breathing starting due to the tone of their conversation.

"But what if we're not okay, Stiles? Hmm?" Derek asked as his anger flared, unaware of that fact that Isaac was awake and about to have a fit in the back seat. "What if the wheezing stays and his oxygen levels don't come up and he continues to have attacks in the middle of the night?"

"Seriously, Derek, you need to calm down or you're going to make him have anotherattack," Stiles warned as he stopped at a red light and unwrapped the lollipop they'd gotten at the doctor's to calm Isaac down.

The thought of sending his son into an episode was enough to quiet Derek and keep him from bringing the topic up again. Because he knew that his view on situation, that his overbearing tone would only make things worse for this new family that he so desperately wanted to work. So he bit his lip and watched Isaac sniffle and lick his orange lolly from the side mirror, fingers crossed the entire ride to the pharmacy that things would get just a little bit easier for them all.