The hospital waiting room had always been one of Stiles' least favorite places in the world to be stuck.
It reminded him too much of his mother, her memory surrounding him everywhere he looked. She was in the chair beside him, muttering under her breath about things Stiles didn't, couldn't understand. She was pacing the hallways, feet shuffling, her soft cotton pajama pants making a gentle swishing sound with each step. She was even there, in the overflowing chaos of the emergency room; monitors announcing death like roosters crowed the dawn.
Claudia was everywhere inside Beacon Hills Memorial, and Stiles had nowhere else in the world he could possibly be. Most of his pack was there, in trauma rooms of their own or collapsed in exhausted heaps in waiting room chairs. Pack heartbeats echoed the halls, soundless to Stiles' ears. Not hearing those steady thumps, sounds that he had grown so accustomed to hearing, made his stomach churn and his lungs squeeze tight in his chest.
Stiles looked around him, trying to remind himself that he had more to be thankful for than to be fearful of. His pack was still intact, for the time being, and that was what he should be focusing on. He should be breathing easier with the knowledge that each member of his pack still clung to life, not chewing his fingers and choking on worry that they might not make it through the night.
With a deep inhale that sent oxygen rushing to his brain so quickly it made him dizzy, Stiles watched Allison shift around in the wheelchair Melissa had confined her to, wincing and hissing through her teeth when the fresh stitches in her leg tugged.
She had a deep gash on her thigh and a minor concussion, but was otherwise mostly okay. Melissa had seen to Allison personally, but Allison had waved her away the second her sutures were finished, sending Melissa to tend to the rest of the pack.
Scott and Isaac hovered around Allison like overprotective handmaids, drawing her pain when they thought she wouldn't notice. Scott himself was in decent condition, once they'd gotten away from the blast site and he finally stopped inhaling wolfsbane. His skin had already finished knitting itself back together, but his eyes continued to flash Red every now and then. Stiles suspected that had more to do with the current state of his pack than it did with any lingering effects of the bomb. Isaac was pale and jittery, never more than a few inches away from either Scott or Allison, like he was afraid they'd disappear if he let too much distance get between them.
The rest of the pack were either in surgery, the ICU, or the ER; each of them being treated to the best of the hospital's ability. Considering that the hospital was well above capacity, Stiles was grateful that all of them were in one place at all. Half of the injured were being sent out to neighboring hospitals, since Beacon Hills Memorial was already full to overflowing.
Erica and Boyd had been found buried beneath a pile of rubble, Erica mostly unharmed – save for some minor bruises and abrasions – but Boyd pretty heavily battered and stinking of the Kearney's wolfsbane concoction. He was in one of the trauma rooms, Erica snarling at anyone who tried to make her leave his side.
Jackson and Liam were both in rough shape, having caught the blast more directly than the rest of the pack.
Liam had used his own body to shield Chris from the blast, had undoubtedly saved Allison's father's life. Unfortunately, that meant that Liam took a significant dose of the bomb's contents straight to the back. According to Scott, Liam already smelled more human than wolf.
Jackson had chosen the worst possible moment to become self-sacrificing and had probably saved both Scott and Allison's lives with his efforts. He had helped Scott shield Allison from the explosion, only to end up disconnected from his wolf and thrown halfway across the Square.
Malia was still in surgery, her body unable to expel bomb shrapnel on its own without her shifter abilities. Kira paced the hallway outside the OR, eyes raw and red while she chewed relentlessly at her fingernails, waiting for news.
Stiles understood the inability to sit still, had alternated between sitting and pacing so many times it was a wonder he hadn't gotten whiplash. His body was nearly vibrating with anxiety, his mind unable to focus on anything other than the terrifying prospect of losing his father or Derek, or both of them. The sound of the explosion kept playing in his mind, accompanying the loop of images from the blast site. It was making Stiles dizzy; the memories of his pack, of innocent people, lying broken and bleeding all around him.
Lydia watched Stiles while he paced, her eyes tracking him like she was afraid he might shatter if she wasn't looking. He might have been offended if not for the fact he was almost positive it were true. It got harder to hold himself together the longer they waited for word on his father and his Mate.
The idea of losing either one of them, of Derek or his father being ripped away like his mother had, left Stiles with a clawing ache in the center of his chest; like a black hole had opened up beneath his sternum and was slowly sucking the world in on itself.
"Deaton's coming." Scott announced suddenly, bolting up out of his chair beside Allison and Isaac.
Stiles whirled around, his heart lodged in his throat as he watched the mouth of the hallway where Derek had been wheeled away nearly three hours before. Deaton appeared a few seconds later, his face drawn and set in a clinical mask. He looked up at the pack and Stiles' heart nearly stopped with the anticipation of what news he might deliver.
"Derek has stabilized." Deaton told them calmly. Stiles almost crumbled to the floor, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. Scott's hand on the back of his neck was the only thing keeping him standing when Deaton continued, "Liam's step-father managed to remove the glass embedded in the lining of Derek's lungs and repair the damage enough that his own healing could take over. Most of his breaks had to be reset, but they are now healing as they should."
"Can I see him?" Stiles croaked, his voice rough from shouting and then not using it at all.
"Melissa is having him moved into recovery as we speak, so as to avoid further exposure. I'll take you there, if you would like."
Stiles swallowed hard, his throat clicking around the racing heart stuck there. "Did you... My dad?"
Deaton smiled sympathetically, an expression that made Stiles' chest clench. "Your father is still in surgery, Stiles. Deputy Parrish is posted outside of the OR with Miss Yukimura, but beyond that, I'm afraid I don't have anything new to report at the moment."
Scott's grip on Stiles' neck tightened and he pulled Stiles into his side, pressing his forehead to Stiles' temple in comfort. "Go see Derek." he commanded softly. "I'll come and get you when we know more about your dad."
Stiles nodded stiffly, feeling wobbly when Scott released him and he no longer had the anchoring touch of his brother's hand to his neck. Following Deaton down the hallway, Stiles' footsteps felt heavy, weighted. By the time they reached Derek's new room, Stiles was surprised his steps hadn't left deep trenches carved in the marbled tile of the hospital's hallway floors.
"Don't be alarmed if he remains unconscious for a while longer." Deaton said quietly, peeking into the open doorway. "His supernatural healing is intact, but he has suffered a serious trauma."
Stiles felt a small wave of relief wash through him. Knowing Derek hadn't been poisoned by the Kearney's was enough to loosen the tight, snarled knot in his stomach just the littlest bit.
"Go sit with him, Stiles." Deaton urged gently, a knowing smile curling his mouth. "Having you nearby will help speed his healing, and I'm sure he will be glad to hear your voice."
A hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Stiles ducked his head and stepped into Derek's room.
It was surreal, seeing Derek Hale laid out in a hospital bed, his skin waxy and pale, eyes closed and unmoving beneath his lids. Derek had been injured, near death even, more times that Stiles could count, and yet he'd never been in a hospital bed. The pack always went to Deaton when they were gravely injured, either ending up in his exam room or back at Derek's loft. The only human pack members to ever actually end up at Beacon Hills Memorial were Stiles before he turned, Lydia, Allison, Melissa and the Sheriff. Hell, even Chris preferred Deaton's treatment over stepping foot inside the hospital.
The human pack members utilized the hospital's services, and even Cora and Isaac had both been forced to at certain points, but Derek never had. To avoid exposure, to slink off alone and lick his wounds, or to allow the pack to take care of him; Derek had always managed to avoid being hospitalized.
Seeing Derek confined to a hospital bed knocked the air out of Stiles. Derek was lying in the railed bed, hooked up to a heart monitor and a bunch of other machines Stiles didn't know the purpose of. There was an oxygen hose taped to Derek's face and Stiles could see a pair of electrodes peeking out of the neck of his hospital gown. All the tubes and wires made him seem small and fragile, vulnerable in a way Stiles had never imagined Derek could be.
Stiles stopped at Derek's bedside, flexing his fingers in the hopes of easing their trembling before he reached out. With fingers still shaking too much to go unnoticed but unable to wait any longer to feel Derek's warmth under his fingertips, Stiles lifted a hand to Derek's face and traced the sharp cut of his cheekbone, then brought it up to smooth Derek's hair back from his forehead.
"Hey, babe." Stiles whispered, voice breaking with tears he refused to shed. He leaned down to press a ghosting kiss to Derek's temple, breathing in his scent and leaving his own behind. "You've gotta get better soon, okay? I can't do this without you, do you hear me? I don't know how, and I don't ever want to have to try to figure it out."
Stiles hesitated, looking down at Derek and listening to the rhythmic blips of his heartbeat on the machines. Shaking his head at his own hesitance, he blew out a breath and climbed into the bed beside Derek. He tucked himself carefully into Derek's side, avoiding any wires or tubes as he slipped under Derek's arm and curled into his Mate's solid warmth.
As soon as Stiles settled, he felt his chest loosen. Being close to Derek, even without his wolf, made Stiles feel better. There was something about their bond, about simply being together, being close, that eased the worst of Stiles' pain and made the world seem a little less terrifying.
Head on Derek's chest, listening to that familiar beat with his own ears, Stiles kept talking.
"Deaton said that hearing my voice might help, but I'm not so sure about that. I mean, you're always telling me to shut up, so maybe it won't. Or, maybe you'll wake up just to make me, which is fine too. I just... I need you to wake up, Der, because our entire world is falling apart and I have no idea what to do. My dad is-" Stiles choked back the tears welling in his eyes, closing his throat, and muffled his words against Derek's chest. "Scott said you saved my dad's life. We can add that to the list of things I have no hope of even beginning to process right now, I guess. You saved my father, but you almost killed yourself doing it, and I am so fucking angry with you for that."
Tears spilled hot and wet down Stiles' cheeks, soaking the fabric of Derek's gown beneath him. Stiles clung harder to Derek's unconscious form, his shoulders quaking with suppressed sobs as the last few hours - the last week - caught up with him.
"I'm gonna kick your ass so hard for this when you wake up, you bastard." Stiles promised through a shuddering breath, his knuckles aching with the pressure of his grip on Derek's limp form.
He was quiet for a long moment, trying to get himself back in check. His head was throbbing, his whole body keeping time with the pounding in his head, but he fought to even out his breathing and stopper his tears.
"I'm tired, Derek." he rasped after a while, sniffling. "So fucking tired. Everything just keeps spiraling out of control, you know? There's never any time to breathe anymore, to just fucking rest. It's like we're hurtling toward the sun and no one but us can see it coming, can maybe try to stop it.
The Kearney's are out for blood, and they don't give a shit who they have to hurt to get to me. They blew up an entire city square for fuck's sake. Do you know how many innocent people are dead because of this war, because of something I did? How am I even supposed to begin making any of this right?"
Derek didn't answer, though his chest rising and falling under Stiles' head was enough to help soothe him. Stiles closed his eyes, tried to sync his breaths with Derek's. It was easier to block out the world when they were pressed together like that, their bodies seeking comfort from on another, even if neither of them were truly aware of it.
"Just... Wake up soon." Stiles whispered into Derek's chest, words slurring with the sleep quickly encroaching. "Because I love you, Derek, and I need you to be okay."
It didn't take long after that for Stiles' exhaustion to crash over him, dragging him under.
When Derek slipped back into consciousness, it was to find Stiles sound asleep on his chest, a small puddle of drool making his hospital gown stick to his chest. Derek smiled to himself, huffing a nearly silent laugh under his breath as he lifted a hand to grip the back of Stiles' neck. He could smell Scott's scent clinging there, and he was grateful that Stiles had Scott to lean on when everything else was falling apart around him.
Memories of the blast were crystal clear in Derek's mind, images flashing through his mind on replay. He thought he'd managed to protect John from the worst of the explosion, had gotten him into the nearest firetruck before the brunt of the blast could reach them. The sound of screeching metal and shattering glass was the last thing Derek remembered hearing before the truck flipped and everything went black.
He wanted to shake Stiles awake, to ask about his father and the rest of the pack, but Stiles was actually sleeping somewhat peacefully and Derek couldn't bring himself to take that away from him. Instead, he focused on the pack bond, felt out along the strings connecting them.
He could feel Erica and her protective anger, but could barely feel Boyd, which told him Boyd was more than likely mostly human by then. Malia's signal was weak too, but Kira's was bright and vibrant with emotion, so Derek figured Malia and Boyd were in the same boat.
Working his way through each bond, Derek figured out what shape everyone was in. Liam and Jackson were more human than wolf by then, and their signals were barely-there weak, telling Derek that they were probably still unconscious too. Parrish, unsurprisingly, was unharmed but worried, his signal coming across loud and clear.
Derek could feel Lydia, Allison, Scott, and Danny all together, Isaac with them but his bond almost as weak as Boyd and Malia's. Allison seemed to be in a fair bit of pain but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle, especially with that many of her pack mates around her. Melissa and Chris were together as well, but at the other end of the hospital. Chris felt more than a little angry, which Derek figured was about right.
The Sheriff's signal was strong, as strong as any human/wolf bond could be, but he was obviously unconscious and in more than a little pain. Derek found comfort in the fact that John was alive, that they had indeed managed to survive the bomb mostly intact.
"Der?"
Derek glanced down at the stirring boy draped across his chest, his chest filling with warmth when burnt whiskey eyes opened and looked sleepily up at him. He could hear Stiles' heart kick up in tempo, its cadence shifting closer to what Derek had come to recognize as normal for him.
"Yeah." Derek gruffed, his voice thick and gritty. "I'm okay." he assured, before Stiles could ask.
"You sure?" Stiles questioned worriedly, pushing himself up into a half-sitting position.
Derek nodded, wincing when pain shot across his shoulders. "Mostly." he amended. "You?"
Stiles scoffed, jabbing Derek sharply in the ribs. "I'm fine, asshole. You scared the shit out of me, you know that?"
Keeping his mouth shut, Derek waited for the reprimand he knew was coming.
"You were supposed to call me when you found it." Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He glared at Derek for a beat, before rolling his eyes and settling back against his chest. "You were supposed to call."
"I'm sorry." Derek murmured to the top of Stiles' head.
"No, you're not." Stiles laughed hollowly, pressing his body in closer, fitting himself all along the gentle slope of Derek's side.
Derek smirked, pressing it into Stiles' hair. "I thought you were angry with me?" he mumbled, wrapping his arm around Stiles' shoulders, curling him further into his chest.
"I am." Stiles shrugged. "But, I'm more relieved that you're alive. Angry can wait until we know the pack is out of the woods."
"Fair enough." Derek conceded.
They laid together in silence for a while, just holding on to one another. Stiles was nearly back to sleep when Derek shifted under him and said softly, "Scott's in the hall."
"Come in!" Stiles called, not bothering to sit up.
Scott stepped inside, his smile wide and saying more than his words ever could. "Your dad is waking up."
Stiles shot up out of the bed, stopping halfway to the door like he stepped in quicksand. He whirled around in place, eyes wide and warring, his desire to stay nearly as strong as his desire rush to his father's side.
"I-"
"Go." Derek waved him off, knowing Stiles wouldn't leave if Derek didn't tell him to. "It's your dad, Stiles. Go, I'll be right behind you."
"No!" Stiles narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger threateningly at Derek. "Wait for Deaton, at least. I know you're the Big Bad Wolf and everything, but- Please, just wait for Deaton?"
"I'll go and get him." Scott offered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "He's upstairs with Malia, but I can send him down when he's done?"
Stiles nodded hurriedly, recrossing the room and half throwing himself at Derek. He caught Derek's lips in a kiss just shy of bruising, every ounce of worry and fear coming through his kiss.
"Wait for Deaton." he ordered when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to Derek's.
"Go." Derek stole one more kiss before pushing Stiles away gently. "Tell him hi for me."
Stiles stopped in the doorway, Scott already outside in the hall. He looked back at Derek, his eyes bright and warm.
"You know that I- That you..."
Derek smiled, soft but genuine, his limbs tingling with the knowledge of what Stiles was trying to say, what neither of them had been brave enough to put words to yet.
"I know." Derek promised. "Me too."
Stiles' beaming smile stayed in Derek's mind well after he was gone.