I honestly don't know what produced this and I'm sorry this is such a short chapter. But I'll be writing more soon.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. It all belongs to Jeff Davis. Especially the Sterek ship.
Stiles was with Derek when his phone rang. As usual he was trying to sort out a solution to the current predicament the entire Beacon Hills pack had managed to get themselves in to.
"Stiles?" Odd. It was Mrs. McCall. Unusual as she never called him unless something was wrong with Scott. Oh.
Stiles' heart constricted for a moment in panic and his stomach bottomed out. What happened to him in the several hours they had been apart since school had let out? Last he knew, he was going to spend the rest of the day on some secret romantic getaway with Allison.
"It's your dad. There's been some kind of accident. He's here in the hospital now."
The phone fell from Stiles' hand and hit the table him and Derek were sitting at. He didn't really have a response anyways. The chair flew out from behind him as Stiles rushed from his seat and out the door, fighting his jacket pocket for his keys. The fight continued with the lock and the ignition when he finally managed to get in the damn jeep. Before he could throw it in reverse he was yanked out of the driver's seat and onto his front lawn.
Huh. He didn't even remember to put his seatbelt on.
"Derek! What the hell?" Stiles' voice was higher than usual, panic and fear coursing through his body and being announced via vocal chords.
"You're in no condition to drive."
"You know what? I don't care what you think!" The scrawny teenager was on his feet, moving back towards the jeep now. "I have to get to my dad!"
"Then let me take you." Derek reasoned, grabbing Stiles by the arm and guiding him to the passenger side of the jeep. After he made sure the human wasn't going to try and maneuver himself into the driver's side and lock Derek out, Derek rounded the front of the beat up vehicle and climbed in. Of course Derek had heard the conversation with werewolf super hearing.
It took about ten minutes to reach the hospital with Derek's obscene driving, though Stiles didn't seemed concerned with speed right now. They had even passed a patrol car on the way over, but being the only blue jeep in Beacon Hills everyone knew when Stiles was around. There was no way that the officer inside the car didn't know about Sherriff Stilinski being injured, so the blue and white vehicle ignored the speeding.
Derek hadn't even managed to put Stiles' jeep in park before he was out and bounding into the Emergency Room entrance. Though a twinge of annoyance struck Derek it was drowned in familiar sorrow for the boy. He knew how much of a wreck losing a family member could be so it wasn't like he could hold it against him. He just turned off the jeep and locked it before hurriedly following Stiles.
By the time Derek had found the room they placed Sherriff Stilinski in everything was chaos. Stiles was being held back by two male officers who happened to be on duty with his dad at the time. He was yelling obscenities at the doctor and nurses by the bed, though most were choked by the tears freely flowing down his face. Derek rushed to him, moving the officers aside and taking hold of Stiles himself. Unexplainably Derek had the urge to protect him. In an odd way he was part of the pack and as the Alpha it held him responsible for the pack. It wasn't just being the Alpha though that had Derek restraining Stiles from behind though. It was the intense mourning he had felt way too many times before and still to this day felt. It was Stiles breaking down as the sight of the white sheet pulled completely over his dad's body. It was the feeling of losing everything you ever had.
"We'll give you some time." The doctor coughed, still flustered by Stiles' ongoing screaming. The nurses were on his heels on the way out, very obviously avoiding the gaze of the sheriff's son. The officers left as well, feeling almost intrusive now, shutting the door behind them so the crying and screams could be slightly muffled to everyone else in the hospital.
"Don't fucking start Derek! Just don't!" He thrashed out of Derek's grip, though in reality Derek let him go. Tripping over his long legs and blinded by tears Stiles scrambled to the hospital bed, shakily reaching for the bed sheet.
"Stiles!" Derek wanted to stop him, but the look the sixteen year old shot him made him stop in his tracks. He knew he should stop that shaky, pale hand from gripping the sheet and pulling it down some, but his feet were frozen. It was illogical sure, but it was happening. And so was the violent sob that tore through Stiles', his entire body wracked with shudders. Derek was right beside him, an arm around his shoulder as Stiles legs buckled underneath what seemed like so much weight suddenly.
Sheriff Stilinski was pale, especially compared to the red that stained his neck and face. Realization hit Derek like a brick, because he had no idea how the man had died. There was so much blood though. What kind of accident was this?
The two pack members stood there, silence enveloping both of them, except for the occasional muttering through the door. A small, black clock on the wall showed that at least thirty minutes had passed. Had they really been standing there staring at a body for that long? Stiles' crying had ceased at some point, but he was still leaning against Derek for support.
"Derek." The Alpha's hazel eyes snapped to the human he was holding up when his hoarse voice broke the thick silence. "I need you to get me out of here."
"Are you sure?"
"I ca-can't do this." His voice cracked halfway through and Derek took that as a sign of confirmation that Stiles did need out of this room. That seeing his dad after all was too much and Derek was pissed at himself for not stopping Stiles earlier just because of a stupid look. He dragged him out of the room, having the most trouble at the door when Stiles looked back over his shoulder, another violent sob coming out of him.
"Come on." Derek gently nudged. The entire hospital watched on as the sheriff's son was practically carried out of hospital by the ex-fugitive Derek Hale. If that wasn't going to be gossip in Beacon Hills nothing could be.
By the time Derek pulled up to Stiles house the boy was basically catatonic, staring ahead into the dark. "Come on Stiles." Derek spoke softly, afraid if he did raise his voice too much the boy would end up breaking down, which he was trying to avoid. Stiles didn't respond though, just stayed put, staring ahead, his honey brown eyes drooped. Derek sighed, turned off the jeep and climbed out, making his way around it to pull Stiles from it. Surprisingly the boy stayed upright, his legs moving one after the other, though his feet never really left the ground. A shuffle was better than not moving at all though.
"You want something to eat?" There was no answer. "You want me to make something?" Still no answer. "You just want to go to bed?" Stiles slid his eyes to meet Derek's. A cold, hollow feeling snaked it's way through Derek's body and the sorrow filling those usually bright and brilliant eyes left the werewolf with a longing to fix everything, though he knew he couldn't do a damn thing.
"If it means I never have to wake up again, then yeah. I want to go to bed." Stiles pushed away from Derek and started shuffling towards the staircase. The movements were painfully slow and Derek just stared after the sophomore, unsure if he should stay and watch over Stiles or have someone else do it.
The thought clicked in his brain. Scott should have called by now. Surely, word would have gotten around that Sheriff Stilinski had been at the hospital and died. Especially if his mom was one of the nurses there. Derek took out his phone and thumbed through the contacts until he came across 'Scott' before pressing the call button. Several rings later and it went to voicemail. A low growl rumbled from the base of Derek's throat. When was Scott going to stop turning off his phone? He always managed to never be obtainable when something monumental occurred. He tried three more times and got the same response. On the last try he left a voicemail, though it would be a miracle if Scott could understand him through his gravelly-wolfed-out voice.
Derek slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans before eyeing the ceiling and following Stiles up, taking two stairs at a time. When he entered Stiles' room it was dark, though that didn't really hinder a werewolf. Stiles himself was face down on the bed, clothes still on. His heartbeat and breathing were even so he must have fallen prey to exhaustion. Another sigh escaped Derek's lips as he sat on the floor next to Stiles' bed, back against the wall. It was going to be a long night.
The sky was just turning a pinkish hue when Stiles woke up. He groggily raised his head, almost flailing off the bed at the sight of Derek's head right there next to his pillow. He was in a sitting position, though his spine curved at what looked to Stiles like a painful angle so he could rest his head on the mattress. At first Stiles didn't understand why Derek was even here in his room, asleep indian-style on his floor. Then the previous night came rushing back to him, hitting him like a freight train. Tears began to pool in Stiles golden-brown eyes and his breathing became a little erratic.
Using all his will power he forced himself to take slow, deep, even breaths. There would be no use in having a panic attack. Those only enhanced the terrible feeling Stiles had learned. Deciding not to get up to go to the bathroom like his body had originally woken him up for, Stiles laid back down slowly, still taking deep breaths. He forced himself to go back to sleep.
On the very edge of slumber Stiles looked over at the sleeping werewolf and muttered, "Thanks Derek," and let sleep take him.
It was probably around two hours after that that Stiles woke up again. This time it was a voice nudging him into the world of the living. "Come on Stiles. School starts in another hour."
"Dad just five more minutes okay?" The voice didn't respond and Stiles shot up, hot tears already prickling his eyes. It was Derek who was waking him up for school.
"Stiles it's okay," Derek reasoned, keeping his tone soft and light. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the human making sure he wasn't suddenly going to go into some kind of manic state.
"It's not. It's really not okay," Stiles gulped and then locked eyes with Derek. "My dad's dead and I'm all alone. Nothing can be okay." He leaned against his headboard, eyes fluttering closed as tears started to flow. Derek didn't know what else he should do, but he did know that at least when wolves were upset they liked to be surrounded by pack members. So Derek moved closer to Stiles, reaching out to pull him closer, but Stiles knocked his hand away. "Get out! Just leave me alone!" Stiles' voice was rising and Derek backed up a little, his eyes widening some. This entire side of Stiles was new to him. "Get. Out." Stiles repeated, his voice dropping an octave, anger seeping through the tears. The Alpha didn't know what else to do but comply, so he rose from the bed and walked out, giving Stiles on last mournful look before exiting.
The funeral was two days later. It was one of the those events that everyone in Beacon Hills attended, being the small town it was. It was also the first time anyone had seen Stiles in two days. He looked ragged and sickly. When Scott got close enough to get a wiff of him his nostrils flared in slight disgust, but he covered it up. This wasn't exactly the most appropriate time to ask Stiles when he showered last. In fact, it didn't even look like Stiles had bothered to dress for the funeral. He was wearing a pair of jeans and his red hoodie over a white t-shirt; all articles wrinkled as if he had slept in them. Which he probably had.
When Scott hugged him Stiles didn't respond. He couldn't respond, otherwise he would have broken down into a sobbing mess with a ninety-five percent chance of a panic attack in front of the entire population of Beacon Hills. He just had to keep it in for now. "Man, I'm here for you." Scott sounded sincere, and Stiles supposed it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't help and be bitter for Scott not calling him or coming over or hell even texting him the night of the accident. It was a man he didn't know very well that stayed and made sure Stiles was okay, not his best friend.
Stiles turned away from Scott and took a seat in one of the front rows, directly in front of the coffin. It was closed casket and Stiles was extremely grateful to whoever made that decision because he'd probably break down if he saw his dad's face.
"You doing alright?" Stiles turned to look at the last face he expected to see sitting by him, though by now it shouldn't have surprised him at all. A shrug of his lanky shoulders was the only response Derek managed to get out of Stiles, so for once it was Derek who kept talking while the hyperactive teenager stayed silent. "Never mind. I suppose that's a dumb question for me to ask. And I'm sure you've been getting it a lot today, so you're probably already frustrated with it." Derek didn't understand why he kept talking, but he felt like Stiles needed something besides brooding silence. Before Derek could continue trying to coax any kind of speech from Stiles the preacher walked to the front of the coffin and started speaking. About fifteen minutes into the entire thing Stiles got up and left, hoodie pulled over his head so no one could see the tears that streaked his face.
Stiles didn't show up to school for another week after the funeral had passed. Calls lit up the house phone and his cell phone almost constantly and knocking at the door came and went. Stiles didn't answer anything. He didn't even bother to look at the caller ID nor did he check the peephole to see who came to visit him.
It was a Tuesday when Derek and Scott showed up, both pausing on the front steps to sniff the air.
"It reeks of death and rot." Scott noted, suddenly worried for his best friend. He hadn't-no he wouldn't dare.
"No, listen closely. You hear that?" Scott listened but couldn't pick out what Derek had pinpointed with his hearing, so he just shook his head. "I can hear his heart beat, though it's slightly more elevated than what it should be normally." Scott proceeded forward, taking out a key Stiles' dad had given him over three years ago.
When he unlocked and opened the door the stench the werewolves could smell from the porch hit them ten times stronger. Suddenly a very drunk and nearly naked Stiles came into view. He was climbing the stairs it looked like, in his boxers with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand. Though, the bottle was nearly empty Scott had noticed.
"Stiles, jesus christ! Are you okay?"
"Mmeah I'm fines." Obviously he wasn't. He was extremely drunk.
"Stiles you're slurring your words." Maybe he could reason with him.
"Vhat? Nooo, I've not." Scott shot Derek a look who didn't looked pleased with this situation at all. The Alpha decided to take control of the situation and he started to stalk forward.
"Stiles, give me the bottle." The first command was just there. No open threat, but not soft either.
"Suck off," Stiles snarled, but paused when he combed over the words he just said, giggling as he realized that wasn't the vulgarity he had intended.
"Give. Me. The. Bottle." This command came packaged in a deep growl, one that rumbled through Derek's entire body and he watched as Stiles shivered and looked around, eyes finally landing on Derek.
"Take it." He thrusted the bottle at the older male, making an over exaggerated gasp when the bottle didn't quite make it and shattered on the floor. "Nooo! Not Mr. Ream!"
"Stiles!" Scott yelled, moving forward, but Derek held out an arm to hold him back. He grabbed Stiles by the upper arm and yanked him up and over the mess he made at the base of the stairs, dragging him into the kitchen, the sixteen year old kicking and screaming all the way. With his free hand Derek pulled out one of the chairs and slammed Stiles into it, the wood groaning loudly under the abuse.
"Oooow!" Stiles whined, head lolling back. Derek moved with an intense purpose to the cabinets, opening and slamming each one closed until he found a glass to put some water in. He then grabbed the loaf of bread sitting on the counter, putting both in front of Stiles.
"Eat and drink." Another stern command, though no growl present in this one.
"Bossy." Stiles frowned, sticking his tongue out. This made Derek emit a growl, so Stiles grabbed a piece of bread from the bag and began nibbling. Scott joined the two and sat in one of the other chairs, elbows resting on the table, hands combing stressfully through his dark hair.
After a couple minutes of silence Stiles spoke. "So what'cha joing here Spott?" Derek pinched the bridge of his nose in complete frustation at the drunken, bumbling state Stiles was in, but Scott seemed to understand every word Stiles had just said to him.
"Came to see how you were holding up. You haven't been at school, you haven't answered any of my phone calls or texts and you haven't answered the door." Stiles entire demeanor changed as Scott spoke. Derek could feel him tensing up beside him and he looked at the younger boy cautiously.
"Well, ya vucking wanna know why Slott? 'Cause I dunno mavbe I'n fuckin' mornin'! Ever think avout that?" Stiles was glaring heatedly and it seemed the angrier he got the worse he speech got. He stood suddenly, slamming his hands down on the table and swaying in the process. "Mavbe my life isn't so good as your's. So excuse 'da fuck outta ne." Stiles passed out, crumpling to the floor. Derek brought his hand back down from where it had been positioned behind Stiles' neck so he could trigger some pressure points to knock his unruly, drunk ass out.
"What's going to happen?" Scott asked, running his hands over his face, dragging the skin down some hoping the slight pain would produce any kind of solution.
"I dunno. He'll be more rational when he wakes up and he's not drunk though." The two werewolves stood over the newly-come-to-be orphan as he laid on the kitchen floor of a house with no parents.
Tell me what you think. Short, I know. Sorry. The chapters will get longer.