"So you're werewolves." Stiles repeated again, and Talia smiled as she motioned for Gramma to walk over.
"Gramma, do you have the hand?" She asked, and the old woman nodded as she held out a severed hand. When he saw the exchange, he stared in disgust at it until Talia turned to Peter and passed it to him. He gave her a 'I don't want it' look, but her intense stare seemed to make him oblige to shoving the gross object in his jacket.
"Why do I have to deliver it to Deaton," Peter complained as he lifted the gun and pointed the hilt at Stiles. "You might want to take this. It's your fathers."
At first it hadn't occurred to him that the gun he retrieved from the Walcott's trailer was his fathers, but now that he looked at it without the cloak of panic of trying to escape, he could see it was the one his dad had retrieved in the vehicle before he went outside the car. A feeling of despair was brewing inside him as he looked up at Peter, then immediately said, "Where's my dad? Is my dad okay?" The prospect of his father not being alive terrified him, and it was evident in his voice.
"Don't worry," Talia cautioned as she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Your father is alive. Wendigos have a type of venom that puts their victims to sleep for a short duration of time to preserve them because they enjoy live kills. But in a rare situation where wendigos have to protect themselves or don't take a target, they can administer an overdose of the venom in a victim, which causes a coma-like trance. It's only broken by taking the venom from the family of wendigos it came from and creating an antidote from it." She motioned to Peter, "Peter will take it to our emissary, Deaton. He'll make the antidote and give it to your father. We have connections at the hospital your father was admitted to, so we will be able to give it to him tonight. Time is of the essence, however, as after twenty four hours the victim stays asleep. So Peter..." She gave him a pressing glance, and the other sighed loudly to show his displeasure of being dismissed. He did turn and start off in the direction of the trailer.
"Stiles," Talia said again, noticing how distracted the boy was as he looked at his father's gun. "He'll be fine. But we have more urgent matters to attend to. We should go back to where we're staying in the motel to carry on this conversation."
"I need to go see my dad," Stiles said quietly, and looked at Talia. For a moment, he thought she would tell him it wasn't possible, but the woman's face softened and she frowned.
"Derek, take him to the hospital to see his father. On your way there, and after to the motel, you can take the time to explain a little more about our family." Stiles turned to look at Derek, who nodded at his mother's orders. "Don't take any detours."
"I won't. Come on Stiles," Derek said, waving the other in the direction of the car. "It's a bit of a walk."
Stiles stumbled after the other, pocketing the gun in his jacket. "Ugh. I'm wearing a wendigo's jacket."
"At least you're not naked," Derek said with a grin, and then motioned for Stiles to walk down a hill to the road. He had parked off the road so Peter's car wasn't noticeable until they were right in front of it.
"That would've been extremely uncomfortable. I don't think I could have looked at your Gramma the same way," He admitted, and then hesitated as Derek opened the passenger door for him. He looked at the other. Derek raised his eyebrows, motioning to the seat.
"Well?"
"It's just, I don't know. Sorry." The shorter boy ducked into the car, and leaned back in the seat as Derek shut the door and circled the vehicle. Getting in on the drivers side, Stiles was still looking a little blankly ahead of him. "So Luna...she's a little wolf puppy?"
Derek grinned as he started the car, and then turned off the music Peter had been playing as the car powered up. Stiles glanced over at him, and then glared. "What?"
"I just find it really funny for someone who hates my family so much, you seem to like my daughter an awful lot." The car rolled out onto the road as Stiles gave Derek an indignant look, putting up his hand.
"Hey. For a baby she's okay. So is she?" He put his hand down, looking at Derek now as he drove. "Does she wolf out?"
"Wolf out," Derek smirked as he said, "Yeah, she wolfs out. But my mom and Gramma are gifted with the ability to transform fully into a wolf. Luna...she's like me. We can transform into a wolf, but we retain most of our human form."
"Like wolf man. So why couldn't you show me that?" Stiles asked, looking perplexed.
"Probably because Peter thought you wouldn't be able to handle the 'wolf man' form. It's a bit easier for people to see a wolf than a human who has features of the wolf," He turned the car down a paved road, and then picked up speed. "That and Peter thinks you're a wuss who can't handle anything remotely bizarre."
"What?" Stiles looked a bit offended as he scoffed at the remark. "Peter is a dick."
"Yes he is," Derek agreed fully. The silence monopolized the conversation for a few minutes.
"...I could handle Luna as a wolf. That explains why she looked weird that night I picked her up. She was doing the wolf thing wasn't she?"
"Well," Derek began, frowning. "The fire was on a night of a full moon. That's...another story. But yeah, she was 'wolfed out'. Look, about Luna...I should probably tell you this now." He glanced at Stiles, surveying the look on his face before he continued. "When werewolves, natural born werewolves, are young...they don't know they're different. It's something that you learn as you grow up in a pack. In the first two years, they learn who their pack is, and after that, they're very suspicious of everyone else. Only the pack is supposed to be around the baby. I didn't want you to hold her when I left her with you. It was my fault."
"Why would that matter?" Stiles asked curiously, not getting what Derek was trying to say.
"Because that day she marked you with her scent, and that you can't wash off. It's a way to claim territory. I realized she had done it when I picked her carrier up. So I started following you around to make sure you weren't the target of anything. I didn't know what else to do. And as you can tell, there's a lot going on in Beacon Hills right now. Not the best time to be marked." He sighed. "Don't blame her though, she's just a baby. She must have seen you, thought you were someone who looked familiar, and marked you because she liked you. She didn't know what it meant for you, she just wanted to show she loved you and accepted you as her own."
Stiles bit his lip as he looked out the window of the passing trees. He realized now that the baby was responsible for his life being turned upside down. He had been furious when he thought it was just generally blaming the Hales for stalking him, but now that he knew Luna started the chain of events - he didn't know how to feel. She was a baby, and she had lost her mother. He could feel Derek's eyes on him as he waited for a response, so he finally said, "I don't blame her, she's just a kid. She didn't know."
Derek nodded as he pulled into the hospital, looking relieved as he parked.
Stiles looked over and saw Derek had buckled himself in. He offered him a small smile and said, "Hey, look who learned that restraining strap and buckle isn't just a car decoration."
Derek rolled his eyes as he unbuckled and climbed out. "Come on. The quicker we visit here, the quicker we'll get back to the motel."
"Why the hurry?" Stiles asked as he shut the door after climbing out himself. "Walcotts are gone, aren't they?"
"It's not the Walcotts we're worried about," Derek said, circling the car to the trunk. He popped it and retrieved a pair of Stiles' old sneakers. "Here." He tossed them to Stiles, who barely caught them in his arms.
"Wait, where did these come from?" He asked, and looked at the shoes. "These are mine."
Derek shrugged. "I figured if it was the Walcotts again they'd burn your clothes." He pulled out a bag and tossed it at Stiles. "There's your clothes. Change inside."
"Thanks?" Stiles said, not sure if he was supposed to be creeped out by the fact Derek knew which shoes were his or which clothes were clean in the mess that was his room. Or that he had been in his room at all. He pulled the shoes on as they headed towards the building, and carried the bag along. Looking at the receptionist at the front desk, he leaned on the counter. "I'm here to see my dad, Sheriff Stilinski." The receptionist looked worried to see him - most likely because his father was in the critical care unit with no explanation of why he was in a deep coma. Stiles followed her through the halls until they reached Sheriff's room, and he motioned for Derek to walk in with him.
When he saw his father in the dim light of the sterile white hospital room, lying still on the hospital bed, his heart sunk in his chest. He put the bag down on the end of the hospital bed, then sat on the edge. He found his father's hand underneath one of the blankets someone had put on him, and rubbed his thumb on the back of his hand. "Hey dad," He said, staring at his father. He looked like he was just asleep, but for Stiles, even the peacefulness of his face was disturbing. "I'm here."
Derek moved into the room, letting the door shut. He made his way to one of the chairs near the wall, and sat down.
"Hey dad," Stiles said as he reached in his pocket, realizing he had walked past security with a weapon. "I brought your gun back. Bastards took it." He dug it out of his pocket, but didn't know where to put it, so he sat there with it in one hand and the other holding his dad's hand. "Guess I probably should have left it in the car and given it to you at home." He sighed when his one-sided conversation continued to be one-sided. In the absence of responses, his mind wandered to a time he didn't want to remember: visiting his mother in her hospital room. He didn't remember it all too well and he wasn't sure if it was this very hospital, but every inch of the room reminded him of something he abhorred.
"Stiles," Derek said finally, breaking his silence. "We should probably go."
"Yeah," Stiles said as he pulled his hand away from his father's, and then set the gun down on the bed-stand as he grabbed the bag of clothes. "Wait out in the hall would you? I'm going to change."
Derek pursed his lips as he stood to his feet, and then walked out the door and shut it firmly behind him.
Stiles glanced over his shoulder, making sure the other had left. He pulled the jacket off of himself, and then he dropped the pants in a heap on the floor. He couldn't wait to get out of the clothes simply because he was so angry at the Walcotts that he didn't want any reminders. Picking both of the articles up, he shoved them in the hospital gown basket in the corner. Then he opened the bag and pulled out a pair of boxers.
The door creaked open an inch. "Stiles, Deaton's here." Derek informed him. Stiles froze as he kept his back turned to the door. He waited a moment before he finally said loudly,
"Door, Derek. My bare ass can feel the draft, I know you didn't shut that."
The door shut with a thud.
"Bastard was probably looking at my ass." He muttered under his breath as he pulled on the boxers, then the pants and tugged on the shirt. He yanked the socks onto his feet and then slipped on his shoes. Ambling over to the door, he opened it and cordially invited everyone in with a wave.
"Come in." He said, watching as Derek moved inside, then a dark-skinned man wearing what looked like a lab coat who must have been Deaton, and finally Peter. Deaton moved to the bed and grabbed the IV drip full of saline solution and detached it, sticking in a syringe of what looked like toxic green liquid. When he had finished, he attached it again, and Stiles pointed to it. "So...that's not going to cause any horrible side effects, is it?"
"Not to my knowledge, no," Deaton gave Stiles a reassuring smile. "Your father will be fine. He'll be awake in an hour."
"Good, we can go now," Peter said, clearly bored. Derek glared at him and then motioned to Stiles.
"Stiles has that call, Peter," Derek reminded his uncle, and Peter gave Stiles a cynical look.
"Well?" He asked, and Stiles continued to look at his father. Peter pulled out his phone, and then after a minute he said, "It's been a whole minute, Stiles. Are you waiting for him to get up and sing show tunes? Just let the medicine do the work and let's move on to more important things."
Stiles turned quickly to glare at Peter. "Nothing is more important than my father being okay. You're like some sort of pharmacist or medical person, right?" He asked Deaton, and Deaton smiled.
"You could say that, yes."
"Can you watch him? I'm trusting you." Deaton nodded, and then Stiles pointed to Sheriff. "This is my dad. I don't have to remind you people I only have one dad, and just so you know, he is my last remaining family. If he dies," He started, about to enter another spiel to stir them into making sure Sheriff made it. But the thought of his dad dying made Stiles freeze in place, overwhelmed by even considering the possibility. He looked at his dad, and then walked over to his bedside and leaned over to kiss him on the head. "You better wake up," He whispered, and then he stood upright and walked towards the door. He paused to glare at Peter again, who was using his phone.
"You should probably stay away from deep water, because your heart is a rock and you would sink to the bottom and drown."
Peter gave him a skeptical gaze in return. He opened the door and didn't hold it for the two Hales trailing after him as he made his way back to the parking lot.