I FANGIRL OVER YOUR NOTES SO MUCH.

It's getting ridiculous. Like, you guys are amazing. I squee with reckless abandon. It's insane.

NOTE: So, I was waiting for Monday's new episode because I have a clear idea of where this is going, and I was wondering if canonically, it would be difficult to write with the show. BUT YOU GUYS. I always saw this as a two-parter. This chapter marks the end of Part One. I nearly screamed because the show is actually going roughly in the SAME direction as I had in mind! *muppet flails* Which means: my brain won't get all jumbled because of the episodes.

After this chapter: everything's gonna shift. You'll see why. Let's just say… it's my 'atomic number' moment. *evil chuckles*

Chapter 8

If You Have it, Don't Share. If You Share, You Can't Have.

"Wake up.

Wake up, Stiles. Wake up, wake up, wake up."

He says it over and over. The answer is always the same.

Silence.

Mr. Stilinski buries his face into the clean sheets. The smell of disinfectant burns his nostrils and he fights the urge to pull away, but he doesn't. He's afraid of pulling away. He's afraid of not being present. Because last time he wasn't present and he missed his family's last moments of life. Someone was going to have to drag his ass out of this room if they ever wanted to leave.

There's a slight tapping on the door. Mr. Stilinski looks up from Stiles' bed, his eyes darkening when the person walks through. "You know, I really don't have the energy to deal with you right now." He states, straightening when Agent McCall strides into the room. "It'd probably be best if you just left."

But Agent McCall doesn't leave. He steps up to Stiles' bed. Mr. Stilinski contemplates telling him exactly where he could go, but can't bring himself to do it when he sees a slight softness around his eyes. "Did his surgery go well?" He finally asks, reaching out to touch Stiles, but stopping before he could do so.

Mr. Stilinski looks at his child. So still. He can barely hear the beeping of the heart monitor. If he wakes up, he'll never tell Stiles to be quiet again. "Yeah. The doctor said he should've woken up by now, though, but they're not sure why he hasn't." Mr. Stilinski reaches out to grab Stiles' shoulder. He knows exactly why he doesn't wake up, but he doesn't say that to Agent McCall. Instead, he says, "He thinks it has to do with the seizure he had before the surgery. That maybe it caused more damage."

"I'm sorry," Agent McCall says, not taking his eyes off of Stiles. "Hell of a kid. Really."

Mr. Stilinski snorts. "Yeah. Sometimes too much to handle."

"He loves you, though."

Mr. Stilinski stares at his face. What he would give to see those eyes open. "Yeah, he does. Makes some questionable decisions because of that, too."

"That sentence could apply to both of our sons. Well, with Scott and his mom." Agent McCall grows quiet.

Mr. Stilinski grabs Stiles' hand. He can't help it. He needs to touch him. Make sure he's there. Make sure his skin is still warm, to make sure that the beeping in the monitor isn't a glitch. He can't help but feel a little trace of pity for McCall. As much as he wants to loathe him, it was so much easier to do from afar. Now that he's here and he sees the desperation in his eyes as he tries to reach out to Scott, he pities him.

Because, he's not ever questioned for a second if Stiles loved him.

"Do you want anything?" Agent McCall asks after a second, clearing his throat and retreating from Stiles. "I could get you a coffee or maybe some dinner?"

Mr. Stilinski motions to a table filled with food and mugs of coffee to his right. "People have been bringing me stuff all evening. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Don't mention it." Agent McCall huffs, but he hesitates at the door. His hands grip the frame. He turns around. "I was sure he was on something. I was certain of it. I-I had no idea that he… I didn't know—"

"None of us did," Mr. Stilinski says.

"I never would have taken him in if I'd known."

Mr. Stilinski lets out a breath. There are too many emotions lit inside him that he doesn't know which to choose. He tries to speak as evenly as possible. "I know. You wouldn't do that." He states.

Agent McCall nods and moves to turn around.

"But let me say this," Mr. Stilinski says, his jaw set. "If that was any other kid in any other situation, you wouldn't have done what you did either. If any child in that high school was having the symptoms that my son displayed, you wouldn't have taken him directly to the police station. You would've taken them to the nurse first and then to the station. That's the protocol. I understand that you and I have our differences. We have our history. But the fact that you would project that history on my son is unacceptable."

"Listen, I—"

"No." Mr. Stilinski snaps. He gives a humorless laugh. "This kid, this jumble of energy and double talk and research and mischief – he's all I have left in this world. You're messing with me, but you're messing with him as well. And I can't – I won't – have that. I know he's difficult to deal with sometimes. He talks too much, can't concentrate, and damn it all, he's way too smart for his own good. But he's my person. And you better treat him as you would any other teenager in that school from this moment on. Not at the teenager of the man you have a vendetta against. Are we clear?"

"Sheriff—"

"I said, are we clear?"

Agent McCall looks at Stiles one last time. With a slight nod, he exits the room.

His absence is replaced quickly.

Except this visitor doesn't say much. He stands by the doorway, glaring at the sight before him. Crossing his arms, Derek's gaze is fixated on Stiles, the lines in his face deepening.

"Hale?" Mr. Stilinski asks, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

Derek doesn't respond, but moves closer until he's looming over Stiles' bed. "I didn't think it was possible," he mutters, his words barely understandable. "I had to see it for myself."

"What?"

"Silence in the same room Stiles is in." Derek mutters. He looks around. "It's nothing like I would've imagined." Derek moves to the corner of the room and sits in a chair. "It's so much worse."

Mr. Stilinski frowns. If this was the chessboard, Derek was a pretty big piece of the puzzle. He wasn't sure if he should threaten him for all the trouble he's caused or thank him for saving his son more than a few times. He settles on the most pressing question. "What are you doing here?"

Derek blinks. It's clear he's asking himself the same thing. "We look out for each other. All of us." He settles on.

"We?"

"Scott, Isaac, Stiles… me." Derek says. "Usually there's something we can do. The two of them – Scott and Stiles – they're always in motion. Always trying to do the right thing. It's exhausting," Derek laughs softly. "I never thought a bunch of teenagers would be so integral to my life, but there it is." Derek bends forward, studying Stiles intently like he's a puzzle he's desperately trying to figure out. A riddle. "It's so frustrating, not being able to do anything. Not knowing anything. Just waiting."

"I'm guessing it's not in a wolf's nature to be patient."

Derek chuckles. "That it is not."

Neither of them say much after that.

It's aggravating how much Mr. Stilinski appreciated Derek Hale's presence next to him. There's something to be said for people you can sit in complete silence with and have it be normal. Not that he ever thought a convicted felon would be that person, but it was a nice change of pace.

The lights flicker.

Mr. Stilinski lifts his head up. "What was that?"

Derek is already on his feet. The machines in the room flicker and Mr. Stilinski grips his son's arm. He's hooked up to machines. Now is not the time for them to malfunction.

The lights go back to normal.

Derek doesn't relax, though. He peeks his head out the door to see a few nurses running down the hallway, confused. "Must've been a glitch," and "be sure to comfort anyone who was startled," can be heard, but there's no explanations. Frowning, he returns his attention back to the sheriff. "It looks like it was just a generator surge." Derek says with a shrug.

Mr. Stilinski sighs. "Out of all days for something like that to occur, of course it had to be this one."

"That does seem to be our luck," Derek says, but he still doesn't sit back down. Something doesn't feel right.

Everything is a little colder. The hair on the back of his neck prickles and he clenches his fists.

The lights dim again. Except this time, they stay dim.

The machines start to make a myriad of horrible noises, their light flickering a few times before going out completely. "What the hell—" Mr. Stilinski shouts, leaping up from his chair.

Derek's mind goes blank.

He freezes. It's the world's most inopportune time to have his brain shut down, but suddenly the hospital's dark and all of the machines are no longer on. He looks from Stiles to his father, who is standing at the side of the bed, staring at his son in horror as the darkness makes his skin a ghastly white.

Derek shakes his head. "Start compressions on his chest! Take the breathing tube out! I'll go get someone."

Mr. Stilinski peers at his son, his hands quaking as he attempts to do as he's instructed. But there are so many wires and his hands are shaking so much. He lets out a frustrated noise, stopping Derek before he can rush into the hall.

Derek can sense the pain radiating off of him. It's almost too much to handle. There are very few things in this world that would make him emotional, and that feeling of such intense love that the Stilinski's have for one another is one of them.

Derek puts his hands over the sheriff's, untaping a few of the tubes from Stiles' chest. "Let me help," he says quietly, removing Mr. Stilinski's hands. "Why don't you find someone?"

Mr. Stilinski blinks away a few tears. "I can't leave him."

"I'll be here." Derek states calmly. "I will do it. Go get help."

Mr. Stilinski squeezes his eyes shut, his fists trembling. He moves swiftly toward the door. "You better." He snaps. "My son better be alive when I get back. I don't care if you're a supernatural creature, I will do some research and I will kill you myself."

Derek only nods.

As soon as the sheriff leaves Derek notices his hands are trembling themselves. Not like Mr. Stilinski's by any means, but quaking a little. He presses them against Stiles' chest, rhythmically pushing down. "You better stay alive because I one hundred percent believe that your father will murder me if you don't."

It's odd. All the times he wished Stiles would shut up and he could be at peace with his thoughts, he never thought he'd be begging for noise. But being alone with Stiles and silence isn't like anything he ever imagined. It's a loneliness that cannot be expressed. Because there should be noise. And his thoughts are too loud and too awful to listen to.

So he keeps the compressions. Steady. Rhythmic. One right after another.

"Oh my God, is he okay?"

Scott rushes into the room, soon followed by his own 'pack.' Derek can only look up, but doesn't respond. He can't be distracted. Steady compressions.

"Derek, what's going on? Is Stiles okay?" Scott asks again, rushing over. He looks from Stiles to Derek's concentrated face, pressing his chest again and again. "The lights are out, what is going on?"

"Shut up, Scott!" Derek breathes, his hands faltering as he yells. Clenching his jaw, he continues. "If this kid dies, I'm going to have a bullet of mountain ash in my skull. So let me do this and shut up."

Everyone grows quiet. Derek can hear Lydia's stifled whimpering and Scott's heavy breathing as he tries to maintain some level of composure.

"Let me," Isaac says, stepping next to Derek. Derek glares at him, but Isaac hovers his hands over Derek. "I'll do this and you can talk to Scott and everyone. To calm them down." Isaac states, widening his eyes.

Derek doesn't stop for a second. He's afraid to. He's afraid that one moment, that one misstep would mean the end of a life. But after a few more compressions, Derek raises his hands ever so slightly and Isaac scoops under and takes over.

Derek sighs, ignoring the slight tension in his arms. "I don't know what's going on, but this isn't good. Those machines are keeping him alive – I don't know what any of it means."

"Does it feel… colder to anyone else?" Allison asks, clutching her arms to her chest.

Derek looks around and notices everyone is shivering. He steps outside of the room, peering down the hallways. There aren't any nurses. No one's running around, desperately trying to turn the lights back on.

Somehow the hallway's getting darker.

"You guys," Derek says, backing away from the door. "I think we've got a problem."

"What else is new." Isaac mutters, his eyebrows furrowed.

Swinging the door shut, Derek starts placing chairs against it. "Push everything you can up against the door. Make sure no one can get it. Don't let anyone in."

"Who?" Scott asks, staring as Derek starts moving a few pieces of furniture against it. "We need medical help and they're not going to be able to get in if you continue to—"

The door rattles.

"Don't let them in!" Derek shouts.

Scott stares incredulously. "That could be his dad! Or my mom! We need medical help, Derek!"

He moves to pull some of the stuff away from the door, but Derek lunges in front of it. "Scott, don't! It's not safe! It's not safe to let them in!"

Scott's eyes flash red. "How do you know?"

Then Lydia screams.

An earth-shattering, painful scream that causes everyone to duck to the floor, covering her ears. It rattles the windows and furniture, making Derek wince. It's several seconds until it subsides.

Derek shakes his head and stands, watching as everyone else does the same. Then his heart stops. "Isaac – Stiles!" He shouts, but it doesn't matter.

Isaac scrambles off the floor, returning his hands to Stiles' chest. "Oh my God," he breathes, flinching when he does so, but he doesn't stop. "He's so cold."

Scott rushes over, his eyes widening when he takes his best friend's hand. "No." He breathes, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no, NO!" Scott shouts, gripping Stiles' arm. "He can't be…"

The intercom crackles. Everyone looks up, except for Isaac, who's entire body is shaking. One. Two. Three.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily… merrily."

The words are broken and shattered over the intercom, but understandable. Derek's breath hitches. It's so eerie and severe, but he knows exactly who it is.

"Stiles…" He breathes, looking at the still boy on the bed.

"Life… is but… a dream."

XXX

"Let us in!"

Muffled shouts call from the other side of the door. Everyone in the room tenses as it shakes, but then the lights flicker back on.

"Derek Hale, if you do not open this door in two seconds, I'm killing you anyways!"

Scott rushes to his feet. Pulling pieces of furniture away from the door, Scott tugs it open. As soon as the door is even a little bit, Mr. Stilinski comes barreling in, tripping over a chair. "What the hell?" He snaps, staring at the mess on the floor. "What the hell happened?"

But he doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he runs over to Stiles. "He's so cold. Melissa!"

Ms. McCall isn't far behind, desperately trying to drag a cart into the room. Scott shoves things aside so it can get in, but she doesn't wait. Instead, she runs to his side and places her stethoscope to his chest. "Still has a heartbeat. It's faint, but it's there. Scott, I need you to hand me those warming blankets. Wrap them around his legs and feet. We need to get his temperature back up."

"Where were you?" Derek cries, yanking the cart into the room for something to do.

"We got locked out of the hospital." Mr. Stilinski says.

Derek stares. "Locked out of the hospital? How is that even possible? Why were you even outside!"

Ms. McCall glowers at him and his loud growling softens to a dull roar. "I have no idea. One moment, everyone's freaking out because of the outage, the next there are these firefighters shoving everyone out of the hospital. The sheriff here almost punched on in the face, but by the time we realized something else was going on, we couldn't get it. What happened?"

Everyone looks at each other, but doesn't say a word.

What could they?

But the words – the words projected over the intercom haunt the room. Everyone is clutching themselves. Lydia stares at Stiles like he's already dead, silent tears streaming down her face. Scott collapses on the ground, putting his face in his hands. Derek even notices Allison grab Isaac's shaking hands. He hasn't stopped shaking since he let Stiles go. She whispers something in his ear, but he only looks at Stiles.

Then there's a skip.

"Seriously," he chokes and everyone in the room freezes. Stiles' eyes flutter open, unfocused and distant.

"Can you guys just do each other, already? The sexual tension is killing me. Literally."

A/N: Ta-Da! He's awake!

I'm so excited because canonically, as I stated above, the show is now running along the lines of what I had in mind. So think of this as the end of 'Part One' (Or 3A if you will – but hopefully makes more sense than the actual 3A… lol). Now that Stiles is back in the land of the living, what's going to happen? Dying is never a good sign, especially when you're lying on top of the Nematon singing creepy songs, amirite?!

Please leave a note if you have time! It makes me want to snergle you all!