Derek didn't know what to do. The conversation between him and Jackson just days ago still played in his head. Even though he didn't let it show, the words had hurt. They stabbed him in the chest, a blade that had made it's home right in his heart, it's only purpose being to let the guilt seep through. Jackson was right. His pack shouldn't have to relay old news to him. He should've been there, he should've been able to do something about as soon as the situation presented itself, not when it's two days later and he is just getting home from a week long trip.
He was failing. After managing to form a somewhat stable bond between him and his pack, he was slowly starting to lose them again. If they ever decided to leave, to desert him. He knew the first to go would be Jackson. He realized this during their altercation. He could smell the anger and resentment coming off the beta in waves. He saw the icy stare directed at him and for a moment, he saw himself. He saw the seventeen year old him, who had just lost everything, yet was already being hassled by heartless reporters. A broken boy who was lost and confused, but most of all. Heart broken.
Derek sat there on the forest floor, eyes closed, body relaxed as he breathed in the forest scent and listened to the rustling of leaves in the wind. He needed this. He needed the calming sense that he had time. Time to think and plan. No matter how badly he wanted to ignore that feeling deep in his chest, he couldn't. It kept telling him Stiles was going to die and nothing could stop that. Except...
Scott was tired. He wasn't getting much sleep, too busy worrying about Stiles, always staring at his phone late at night in anticipation. He had this fear that his mother would call him, her voice choked and nothing but a whisper as she told him something that he wouldn't, couldn't bear to hear. He couldn't lose his best friend.
"Damnit!" Scott shouted, punching the a near wall and effectively creating a big gap in the structure. But it was okay, he was in the ware house. The Cage as Stiles liked to call it, where Derek would tie him and the rest of the pack up during full moons. It stunk, the musky scent strong. But, Scott didn't care as hot tears fell from his closed eyes. He began to blindly punch the wall repeatedly, cursing himself as he did. His tears began to come in heavier, choked sobs escaping his lips as he slowly slid down the wall, forehead pressed to the cool surface.
"Why...Why him?" Scott growled to himself. The grief and guilt was like a ton of bricks slowly breaking his ribcage, it's pressure unbearable. He couldn't keep doing this. He would have to go see Stiles again, he owed Stiles that and more, way more. But, he couldn't will his legs to work, his arms refusing to help him up. He was drained and tired. Too tired to even cry anymore. He had to see Stiles. But, he was so damn tired.
He isn't sure what possessed him to come here. It wasn't like his presence would matter and like hell Stiles would want him of all people, to be standing over his bed, but Derek couldn't stop himself. Taking a seat next to the pale teen, Derek stared at him, unsure of what else to do. Was he suppose to have a one-sided conversation with him? Bring flowers? God, he was starting to actually regret not coming with Laura to visit Peter. He would've gone if he had known he'd be sitting in a hospital room again. He roughly coughed, feeling awkward in the all white room as he crossed and uncrossed his arms.
"So I guess I should stat talking to myself." Derek sighed before continuing. "I-"
"What're you doing here Hale?" Derek looked up to see the sheriff standing in the doorway, a puzzled expression on his face. Derek stood up quickly, shoving his hand in his pockets as he moved to walk out the room.
"No. It's fine if you're here. I mean, you are Stiles'..."
"Alpha." Derek finished, looking straight at Stiles' father. He noticed the bags under his eyes and the lack of color in his face.
"Right... Alpha. Still have to get used to that." He said, looking down at the floor before looking back at Derek. "I'm glad you're here." The sheriff said before sitting down next to his son. He didn't tear his eyes away from Stiles as he spoke.
"It's been four days..." The sheriff whispered, voice soft and fragile. Derek didn't say anything, just watched as he watched the man slowly lose his composure, his scent filled with grief and pain. It was like that for awhile, Derek standing a few inches away, looking with gloomy eyes as Stiles was slowly slipping away.
"I uh... I was looking through the family album last night. It's been awhile since I've seen it. Stiles looks at it all the time. To remember her face..." The sheriff trailed.
"I looked in it and I saw the darnest picture of him." He chuckled, tears sliding down his face.
"He was three and him and his mother were dressed up as Indians for Halloween. Instead of using mom's foundation to darken his skin, he got a hold of the chocolate frosting." The sheriff paused, a thick laugh escaping his lips.
"Smeared it all over his skin." He laughed out, a tear rolling down his cheek. Derek couldn't help but smile, able to picture a 3yr old Stiles covered in chocolate frosting. "He had to much pride for a three year old. He was a handful, always getting in trouble. Now. Now he's just borderline out of control. But, that's just Stiles I suppose." Five minutes went by and nothing was said, just the sound of the sheriff sniffling.
"They had the nerve to ask me to pull the plug on my son." The sheriff said, eyes watering. Derek looked at the sheriff with wide eyes. "I could never do that." Derek relaxed slightly, eyes landing back on Stiles.
"These doctors don't believe my son will make it. They doubt Stiles will ever wake up. I thought this hospital was meant to save people or die trying... But, I see now that they can't do anything for him." The sheriff trailed before looking up at Derek with an intent stare. "But you can. Derek, give him the bite."
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