Chapter Title: After the Storm

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or copyright of anything depicted or over anything you might recognize.

When Scott was finally allowed in, he hesitated.

He hovered in the doorway to the darkened hospital room, the ceiling lights dimmed to keep the patient resting on the bed inside as comfortable as possible. Scott didn't need the light to properly see him. Stiles was still unconscious, a combination of heavy sedatives from surgery and a hefty amount of trauma, but the Sheriff had told him the doctors expected him to wake within the next couple of hours.

It had been utterly horrifying listening to his friend spiraling towards death's door when there was nothing he could do. He had half a mind to barge into the operating theatre and give Stiles the bite, if that were the only thing that could save his life. He didn't know if that was what his friend wanted, but he figured it would be better than death. But Scott did know that if Stiles was already dying, the bite wouldn't save him. It would only accelerate the dying part.

Another part of Scott had wanted nothing more than to shut his ears from the terrorizing sounds of Stiles crashing and the doctors desperately trying to bring him back. He nearly had. But he was certainly going to drive himself mad with speculation if he had stopped. So, he was forced to simply sit and listen as the doctors had shocked Stiles' heart two times before his vitals stabilized enough for them to continue. That had been one of the most hellish experiences of his life. He hadn't even noticed the tear slipping down his cheek until Lydia had called it out, worry strikingly evident in her tone.

Eventually, the doctors settled their erratic conversations and their voices lowered into normal, casual exchanges as they started to finish. Scott had visibly relaxed. It was only then he dared return to himself and the waiting area with Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski, and his mom. As Stiles had been wheeled into a private recovery room, his dad was the only one who had been allowed in for the remainder of the night. Scott stubbornly remained in the waiting area until he was allowed inside.

He was lingering in the doorway, insecure and uncomfortable.

Stiles still looked startlingly pale, the dark blue hospital gown effectively washing away any color he maintained. Underneath, the four, deep gashes that had been carved into his side were wrapped and secured by thick, white bandages and gauze. Several colored wires ran from under the gown to portable screens by the bedside, monitoring his various vital signs. It filled the quiet room with a monotonous, low beeping as his heart beat steadily along in his chest. One IV had been inserted into the nook of his elbow, supplying him with blood, while another line was taped into the back of his hand, feeding him fluids and antibiotics. Both of the thin tubes connected to each their own bag, hanging on a tall, metal rack by the monitor screens. His dark hair was flat and lifeless against his skull, looking almost inky black against his ashen complexion. His head was tilted slightly to the side, exposing the discolored, mottled bruise that ran from the corner of his eye and down his cheekbone, where Alexander had kicked him. His lips were lightly parted as he slept soundly. The pained, drawn lines on his face, which had been present the last time Scott had seen him, were gone.

It gave the young werewolf some measurement of comfort, knowing Stiles wasn't feeling any pain.

It encouraged him to fully enter the hospital room. The contrasting smells of disinfectant and injury was assaulting in his sensitive nostrils but underneath it all, Stiles' familiar scent was reassuringly present, smelling of home and security.

Scott settled into the cushioned chair that had been drawn up to the side of the bed. It was still warm from Stilinski's presence sitting in it all night. Scott curiously eyed the soft, tranquil features of his sleeping best friend, not entirely sure what he was searching for. He raised his hand, his palm hovering a hesitating second above Stiles' lax arm.

Then he lowered it, his warm fingers wrapping themselves around the pale skin. He meant it as a comfort, but it was also to doublecheck that his friend actually didn't feel any discomfort and wasn't trapped in some pain-addled nightmare. As his flesh connected with Stiles', his sharp hearing caught the sound of a barely audible moan whispering past Stiles' lips.

Scott's head snapped up in excited surprise. Two brown, tired eyes looked at him past heavy eyelids and a quiet, relieved laugh erupted from his throat at the comforting sight.

The moment was short-lived.

A second later, Stiles' eyelids fluttered down, his breath deepening as he drifted off back to sleep.

But it was enough.

Scott tightened his grip on Stiles' arm to let him know he wasn't going anywhere.

Scott didn't know how long how he sat there, keeping a tentative eye on Stiles and impatiently waiting for him to wake up again.

It must have been a couple of hours. He had steadily been drifting off into a light slumber when someone rapped their knuckles on the doorframe into the room. Scott was violently torn out of his doze and he jerked around in the chair to face the sudden presence.

Derek stood in the doorway, gazing intently inside. He shot a quick glance at Stiles' sleeping figure and gestured with a short nod towards the hall. Scott rose from his seat with a quiet groan and shuffled silently outside, careful not to disturb his slumbering friend.

"What's up?" he greeted, once they were safely out in the hallway. He still kept his voice low, in case Stiles could hear him.

"I tracked his scent from the high school," Derek reported. He didn't need to clarify who 'he' was. "But the trail went cold once I reached the woods. He's probably masking his smell, so tracking him's gonna be more difficult than originally thought."

"So, he's gone?" Scott dejectedly sighed. He had hoped it would have been a little easier to locate Alexander's hiding place.

Derek's eyes glinted with the challenge. "I said difficult, not impossible."

"Thank you for doing this."

"I told you. I would stay to help you protect Beacon Hills. That includes protecting you, Stiles and everyone else from some rampant Alpha."

Scott nodded with agreement and gratitude at Derek's devotion to his pack. They had certainly come a long way from where they started.

Derek gestured towards Stiles' hospital room then. "How's he doing?"

"He woke up for a minute," Scott supplied with a shrug. "He was pretty out of it, but they said that was normal, so…"

It felt slightly awkward talking to Derek about Stiles' welfare like that. He always got the feeling that Derek only tolerated Stiles because of his respect for Scott. Perhaps that was true, but there was still some part of the former Alpha that had grown to care about the teenager, judging from the slight concern emanating from his scent. Scott smiled to himself at the thought. Stiles tended to have that effect on most people – and, it seemed, also on the shapeshifters that weren't constantly trying to kill them.

"By the way," Derek said, interrupting Scott's train of thought. "I did a sweep around the hospital before I got here. I didn't pick up on his scent here either."

Scott released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding onto. The thought had crossed his mind too, that Alexander would come for Stiles again. It was also part of the reason Scott had refused to leave at any point.

"Thank you."

"Sure. Stay here with Stiles in case he does decide to come back. I'll keep working the trail."

Scott felt the gratitude bubbling in his chest. Derek knew how much Stiles meant to him and how desperately he wanted to protect him, and this allowed him to do so, without feeling like he was abandoning the rest of his pack duties.

Casting an understanding tilt of his head, Derek departed down the hallway and Scott went back inside the gloomy hospital room.

There he immediately halted, his eyes widening in delight and a smile stretching across his face. He couldn't help the exclamation bursting out of his mouth. "You're awake!"

Stiles' eyes were open, fatigued and dull, but the most aware they had been since Scott had found him in library.

"I think your stench woke me up," Stiles muttered, his gaze lazily tracking Scott, who moved further into the room. "Honestly, dude, when was the last time you showered?"

Scott couldn't be bothered to wipe the grin off of his face as he sat down into the chair he had already been occupying for hours. "How're you feeling?"

Stiles grunted, then winced heavily as he accidently moved his sore body. "Rapidly understanding Lydia's urge to scream."

Scott huffed slightly and leaned closer to siphon some of the pain away. Stiles quickly discouraged him with a dismissive, clumsy wave of his hand.

"Don't bother. Whatever drugs they have me on are disturbingly effective. You think we could ask your mom to lend us some for crazy-werewolf-man?"

Scott faltered, his smile freezing and contorting into a grimace at the mention of Alexander.

"Geez, it was just a suggestion, Scott."

"Stiles, I'm sorry." The apology blurted out before Scott had a chance to stop it, his guilt-ridden thoughts overriding his logical reason and sense of preservation.

His best friend frowned in confusion at the downcast statement. "Why?"

"Alexander went after you, just to get to me. You're in here because of me."

Stiles didn't hesitate in his answer. His words came swiftly and confidently, as he said, "First off… crazy-werewolf-man's name is Alexander? How unbearably and annoyingly average. Second, you're gonna apologize for every freaky, mythical nut-job we've crossed path with, or ever will cross paths with?"

He didn't give Scott a chance to answer, before he continued, "No, because that would be stupid, and you're not stupid. So, no, I will not hear your apology. If I didn't want to be part of the whole supernatural shitshow with you, I would leave, alright? So, let's leave it at that."

He was quiet for a second, before he added in a more somber tone, "Besides, I'd rather it be me, than someone else."

Scott wasn't entirely sure how he should interpret the last sentence, or how he should handle it. Ultimately, he decided to let it go by for now, uncommented, when he noticed Stiles growing more and more weary during their conversation. He settled for a lighter reply, hoping it would still get his point across.

"I'd rather it was no one at all."

"Yeah, that would be nice. And cheaper."

TBC