Chapter 9: Smells Like (Dead) Teen Spirit

Closing his eyes, Stiles breathed in the silence and darkness of his room. It was past visiting hours and there was enough suspicion around him and the whole hospital that even Melissa wasn't going to risk the rules by letting the Sheriff stay. From what Erica had told him, Stiles knew that somewhere, outside the building, a werewolf was prowling, listening to his heartbeat. He wasn't sure if that was comforting, or creepy. The she-wolf had explained to him about the Alpha pack, but Stiles was pretty positive his babysitters were there for other reasons. Something had happened to him. They tried to dance around the issue in front of him, but he figured it out and weaseled the truth out of them pretty quickly. According to Melissa, he should have been dead. Which was super not disconcerting to hear, at all, by the way. They couldn't have waited like a day before dropping that bombshell on him? After his dad had finally been escorted out by a no-nonsense nurse, Stiles had spent the past few hours flipping through the encyclopedia of supernatural in his mind to figure out what was wrong - or right - with him. Apparently, Scott and Lydia and Deaton were already on it, and his doctor was considered a suspect too. But thinking over it helped clear the fog of morphine, so he ran down the list. He wasn't a werewolf. That was the first world-of-weird box that got checked off. He was pretty sure unicorns were still just a myth, despite his love of Harry Potter. The only other mythological creatures he knew that had healing powers were the Phoenix and the Caladrius, both from Greek mythology, both birds, and neither of them plausible. There was something about Medusa's blood too. There were more, but he needed his phone, or wifi, to find those. Besides, his room had been on lockdown since he arrived, by both hospital staff and some unruly teenage werewolves. Someone would have noticed a great bird, or were-bird person, sneaking in. And apparently, Stiles wasn't the only miracle case anymore. This morning, a bunch of people that should have died, just - didn't. So, what then? Magic? Some sort of spell? He thought of Druids and Native American shamans and tried to remember the history of the settlement of Beacon Hills in case the hospital was built on some spiritual nexus. He was going to need his laptop. Right then, though, he was becoming increasingly focused on the sharp pinging against his skull and the grinding in his stomach. He reached over, fiddling with the tap on his morphine until he felt more of the sweet bliss blanket him.

"You're in pain."

Stiles' entire body jerked when the shadow in the corner of his room suddenly spoke. The kid had been in the middle of attempting to readjust his upper half when a hiss had split his lips.

"Maybe I'm in pain because you just pulled a Batman on me. Seriously, Derek, how long have you been there?" And then Stiles tried to think back to the last time he noticed anyone enter the room, and the sponge bath he had been given twenty minutes ago. "Wait - how long have you been there?"

"You're in pain."

"Is the record in your brain skipping? And yeah, of course I'm in pain. That's what the ridiculous amount of morphine is for." He flicked the clear tube with two fingers and grinned.

"I've seen you messing with it whenever the nurses leave," the shadow stepped forward.

"Okay, really. How long have you been in here?"

"You're practically overdosing yourself - and you're still in pain."

"Unfortunate side effect from taking a beating and then crashing my Jeep through a wall to save all your werewolf asses."

"Stop."

"I'm sorry. I don't take orders from creepy guys who spend their time hiding in the corner of my hospital room. Did you watch me sleep? That's very Edward Cullen of you, Derek. But he was a sparkly, stalker douchebag, so - wait, actually, not too far off. Except you don't sparkle. Unless I squint really hard." Stiles chuckled at that, cradling his stomach, but made a mental note to maybe add vampires to his suspect list, if they were even real too. Their blood had been used in movies and books and television to heal sometimes, and even sometimes fiction got things right, so -

"Head injury."

Stiles grunted at the mental interruption.

"Do you only speak in one to three-word sentences? 'You're in pain'. 'Stop'. 'Head injury'. 'I am sourwolf'. 'I am alpha'." Again, Stiles was laughing at himself, brow bending and beading with sweat.

"Stop making yourself laugh, idiot."

"Can't help it. I'm just so hilarious. And adorable. Hilariously adorable."

"Alright, that's it. I'm cutting you off."

Derek made a grab at the morphine line, Stiles reaching up to block him. Their hands skimmed each other's skin and Derek felt the pain bleeding into him.

"Head injury," Derek repeated. "They said you had a head injury. So why are you in so much pain?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, big wolf-man," Stiles patted the werewolf's sleeve. "I'm fine. You got bigger things to worry about, Dere-bear. Alphas are coming! Oh, whoops. Shh. Quiet! Don't worry - Erica filled me in. Did you know we're dating now? Huh. Neither did I! Oh, and I fooled my dad. Lied - again. He thinks I got mugged. Ha. He thinks I feel fine."

Derek edged closer, seeing his opening.

"And how do you really feel Stiles?"

"I told you. I am fine. Perfectly, hundred percent-ly, fine. Just your normal insides burning, fiery hot, everywhere pain. I - I'm gonna give myself more morphine."

Stiles reached over just time to have his wrist grabbed by the Alpha. The kid looked like he might protest but then his cheeks lost a few shades of pink and Derek had the basin under Stiles' chin just as the boy's stomach's contents crawled its way up and out. Stiles was still retching as Derek turned down the tap on his morphine. He was coughing up bile as the werewolf placed a steadying hand on his back. And he was still dry heaving when the Alpha looked down on him with the same eyes that watched Jackson bleed black blood in the high school bathroom.

He had been sure Jackson was dying. If the black ooze hadn't been a big enough deja vu inducing clue - his scent had sealed it.

He had smelled like death.

And now, so did Stiles.

Derek had noticed it right away when Melissa had first accusingly dragged him and Scott into Stiles' hospital room. It wasn't until just then, though, that Derek realized that it hadn't gone away.

Stiles was getting better, and yet, there was still something wrong. Derek wanted to kick himself across the Preserve for not cornering that doctor on day one and forcing her to tell him everything. And now she hadn't shown up for her shift today. He had been busy with Jackson, and then had to hurry off when Isaac and Boyd were attacked by one of the Alphas. The two managed to escape, but only just. It almost seemed like the Alphas weren't even really trying. Like they wanted to scare them, but still wanted them alive. Derek thought that might just worry him more.

A/N: Who doesn't love some Derek-Stiles interaction? Especially when Stiles is heavily drugged. As always, please let me know what you're thinking about the story in the reviews!