It started out with a scratchy throat one morning when Stiles was getting ready for school. John noticed Stiles occasionally rubbing his throat or grimacing each time he swallowed some of his breakfast
"You okay, kiddo?" John asked watching as Stiles stroked his throat once more.
"Yeah, dad. No big deal. Just a sore throat." Stiles assured getting up from the table and putting his plate in the sink. John followed after him, coffee cup in hand.
"Do you have a fever?" John asked not waiting for his son to answer, before touching the back of his hand to Stiles's forehead.
Stiles whined but didn't make any move to remove his father's hand from his forehead.
"You do feel a little bit warm." John stated moving his hand to softly cup Stiles's cheek. Stiles smiled softly at his father then shook his head.
"Don't worry, dad. It's probably nothing." Stiles declared noticing the worry in his dad's tone. "I'm going to be late for school." Stiles expressed before moving away from his father and grabbing his backpack that was on the kitchen counter behind him and putting it on and snapping his car keys from a little key hook mounted on the wall.
Stiles was half way out the kitchen when his dad called out.
"Stiles! Don't hesitate to go to the nurse's office or call if it gets worse." John said as he approached his son who was putting his shoes on.
"Don't worry, Dad. It will probably go away by tomorrow. I promise I'll rest when I get home, if that makes you feel better." Stiles stated as he finished putting his shoes on and opened the front door.
"Just be careful, kid." John said.
"You got it dad." Stiles flashed a small smile to his dad before walking out and closing the door behind him.
Stiles praised himself in being right most of the time, but today certainly did not count. By the time fourth period was over he was literally holding onto to Scott and letting his best friend drag him over to his locker. The weakness and aches the racked his body was caused none other than the fever ravaging throughout his body. On top of that it felt like someone had poured acid directly into his throat and each time Stiles swallowed, tears would prick at the corner of his eyes.
"I don't care how okay you think you are, you are going to the nurse's office." Scott declared. His best friend, bless his heart, had since second period when his symptoms became aggressive begged Stiles to go to the 'God damn nurses's office'. In between periods Scott had helped him to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out and during class Scott focused more on Stiles than the lesson their teacher was going over.
Stiles gave a less then intelligible sound and let his friend drag his miserable ass to the nurse's office.
After taking his temperature (101.3) and pressing a tongue depressor then flashing a light into his throat the nurse helped him lay down, covering him with a blanket, before calling his father.
Scott, who refused to leave his friend's side, kept Stiles company until his father barged into the nurses's office. His father took one look at Stiles and sprinted over to his son, ignoring the nurse who had risen up from her seat hoping to talk to his father.
Scott moved from where he was seated to allow the Sheriff more room.
"Oh, kiddo." The Sheriff whispered, running a hand through Stiles's hair, as he leaned over the cot.
"Hey, dad." Stiles managed to croak out, relieved his dad was finally there.
"We're going to get you all better kiddo, don't worry. I made an appointment with Dr. Adams on my way here. It's in half an hour" John promised, leaning down to place a kiss on his son's forehead before turning around to talk with the nurse.
Stiles, although embarrassed at his father's signs of affection especially in front of the nurse (sadly, Scott had seen John being affectionate with Stiles, more so than the amount of affection he received from his own father), couldn't have been more happy. If medicine couldn't treat him, his father would find a way with love and care to do so.
After his father talked with the nurse, Scott was sent on his way back to class with a pass, leaving with a promise to see Stiles after he was done, and Stiles was helped out of the building and to his father's patrol car, where he was seated in the passenger seat and another blanket was thrown on top of him.
Soon enough his dad and him arrived at their doctor's office, with the Sheriff once again supporting his son out of the car and into the waiting room. He guided Stiles into a chair before going over to the receptionist's desk to get signed in. His dad came back and sat to his right, where Stiles laid his head upon his dad's shoulder and closed his eyes. He felt his dad's fingers through his hair.
"Rest, buddy. I'll wake you when your name is called." John softly spoke.
Stiles had to be softly shaken awake, momentarily disoriented before looking at his father who was telling him it was time to go in.
John and Stiles followed the young, petite, nurse who made Stiles step onto a scale and measured his height before ushering them into an exam room, where sat on the padded table as she took his temperature (101.8), blood pressure and pulse. She left the room after a few minutes, promising that Dr. Adams would be right in.
"I've got to say, Stiles, it's been a while since having you as a patient. Not feeling to good today, kiddo?" Dr. Adams exclaimed as he walked into the room. He was tall and lean fellow, in his mid-fifties, with dark brown hair with hints of grey, and an ever present smile on his face. He had been the Stilinski's family doctor since before Stiles was even born, and although Stiles deemed him a "big, ugly, meanie" when he was young and needed shots, Stiles was fond of the doctor and could always count on him to have his back when it came to his father's diet.
"He had a sore throat this morning before school and felt slightly warm. By the time he was halfway through school it got ten times worse. His temperature was about 101.3 degrees Fahrenheit and the school nurse said that she noticed his tonsils were swollen and red. He's weak, also. Fell asleep in the car ride and in the waiting room also, and by the looks of it, he's about to right now." John informed the doctor, who wrote it down on Stiles's chart.
"Goodness. It does look like his fever is rising, and I'm assuming it hurts to talk, Stiles?" Dr. Adams stated, looking at Stiles who nodded his head. The doctor made a few additional notes before turning on the faucet and washing his hands.
"Alright, Stiles. Let's see what's going on with you." The doctor spoke and began examining Stiles.
"Yep, your tonsils are definitely swollen, buddy. I'm also seeing some small patches. I'm going to take a swab of your throat for testing, once I'm all done here, kay." Dr. Adams declared as he peered into Stiles's throat with a small scope with a light on the end.
"Deep breaths for me, kiddo." Dr. Adams said as he pressed the end of his stethoscope to Stiles's bare back. Stiles obeyed and took deep breaths until his doctor was satisfied and moved the stethoscope to his chest and listened to his heart for a few moments.
"Good thing is your lungs sound clear and heartbeat is perfect." The doctor stated and moved to write down something in the chart before turning back towards Stiles.
"If you could lie back for me, buddy." Dr. Adams said as he moved the footrest out and helped Stiles lay back down, placing his head on the pillow.
"I'm just going to lift your shirt. Is that alright, Stiles?" The doctor asked and Stiles gave permission with a nod of his head. Dr. Adams gave his young patient a small smile and lifted Stiles's shirt.
"Tell me if you feel any pain. Here?" The doctor began palpating Stiles's abdomen.
"A little bit, yeah." Stiles answered, unsure if his doctor heard since his voice was so hoarse.
"I see. Okay, you can get up now." The doctor finished, pulling his shirt back down and helped Stiles maneuver himself back to his original position.
"Alright, from what I see your tonsils are enlarged, red, and with white patches. The fever, tender lymph nodes, fatigue, and aches lead to an acute tonsillitis. I'm going to go ahead and get a throat culture, and you're going to hate me because of this Stiles but since I'm a so-called 'big, ugly, meanie' I want to draw some blood also for testing."
"You big, ugly, meanie." Stiles managed to speak out and gave a sheepish grin at his father's and doctor's laughs.
The doctor ruffled his hair before once more telling Stiles to open his mouth and Stiles gripped the table as sparks of pain ran through his body when Dr. Adams swabbed his throat.
"I'll go ahead and get this sent over to the lab as quick as possible and a nurse will be in soon to draw some blood. I'll be back in a few guys." Dr. Adams placed the swab in a small tube, grabbed his chart and disappeared out the door.
Right as the door clicked shut, John got up from his chair and walked over to his son, pulling Stiles into a hug. Stiles rested his head on his dad's shoulder, pressing his face into the side of his father's neck.
"I hate being sick." Stiles mumbled and he felt his dad's lips on the side of his head.
"I know kiddo, I know." John murmured softly rubbing his son's back.
John held his son in his arms, waiting for the nurse to arrive, the sound of only their breathing and the clock on the wall filling the otherwise silent room.
"It's acute bacterial tonsillitis. We'll start you on an series of antibiotics and hopefully within the next two or three days you'll start to improve. No school for the rest of the week. He'll be needing plenty of bed rest, fluids, smooth foods, and I'd recommend some ibuprofen for pain. I'll send the prescriptions over to your regular pharmacy. Any questions?" Dr. Adams spoke to them about twenty minutes later.
"And what if the treatments don't work?" John asked, who was currently standing next to Stiles, who was still seated on the table picking at the bandaid placed in the crook of his elbow.
"Hopefully that won't happen, but if it does I'm afraid to say the only thing is to remove his tonsils, but let's not think about. Antibiotics usually get the job done, John. If you have any concerns, John, don't hesitate to call my personal phone number." Dr. Adams assured the Sheriff. John pursed his lips, then sighed and moved to shake the doctor's hand.
"Thank you so much, David." John exclaimed as he shook David's hand.
"Not a problem, John. I've been taking care of your kid since he was born. My only priority is to get him better. I mean it John, even if it's in the middle of the night, you call me and I'll be at your house in no time." David declared once more.
"Will do." John answered and moved to help Stiles off the table.
"You guys stay safe, and Stiles let's pray you get better, kiddo." David said as he walked with John and Stiles out of the room.
"Bye, Dr. Adams." Stiles softly called out.
"Get well, kiddo." Dr. Adams answered back.
After the visit John drove them back home, helping Stiles into the house and up the stairs into his bedroom. John helped change Stiles out of his clothes and into a pare of flannel pants and white t-shirt. He tucked him, kissed his forehead, and stayed with him until Stiles fell asleep which took about less than ten minutes. God, his kid was worn out. He went to the pharmacy while Stiles was asleep and on his way grabbed a few things from the store to help care for Stiles.
It was currently about 4 p.m. when he heard the front door open and close. He was currently chopping some vegetables for Stiles's chicken soup when Scott appeared in his line of sight.
"Hey, Scott. Stiles is asleep right now." John spoke while continuing to chop the celery sticks, pausing to look up at Scott.
"That's alright, Sheriff. I figured he'd be asleep. Do you need any help, sir?" Scott said as he sat his backpack down near the wall.
"God, Scott, stop calling me that. I've put band-aids on your cuts when you were young, taught you how to ride a bike, and helped you through numerous asthma attacks. You're practically my son, so stop calling me 'sir'. You make me feel old." John warmly chided the teen.
"But, Sheriff, you are old." Scott retorted back, trying to not laugh when John paused and slowly raised his head, staring at Scott, a look of disbelief on his face. Next thing he knew Scott had a face full of towel, thanks to John.
"Impudent brat." John stated, before breaking out in a laugh, Scott following suit.
"Jeez, dad, you already replaced me with Scott. I'm sick not dying." John and Scott both looked toward the doorway to see Stiles leaning against it, a small smile on his face.
"Stiles, what are you doing up? How the hell did you get downstairs? You could have fell!" John exclaimed moving around the table to get to his son.
"But, alas, I did not." Stiles wheezed at his father.
"Oh shut up." John hastily said as he couldn't help but smile at his son as he grabbed Stiles's shoulders and turned the boy away.
"Scott?" John called back at the other teen.
"Got it." Scott answered and moved to replace John's hands with his and started helping Stiles move away from the kitchen and up the stairs.
"Scottieeeee, long time no see." John heard Stiles say to Scott, and Scott's laugh back.
John moved back to the cutting board and resumed making dinner.
Scott managed to keep Stiles entertained until John finished and he walked into his son's room with a bowl of chicken soup, a cup of applesauce, some orange juice and Stiles's medicine.
Stiles was laying flat on his bed, underneath the covers on his phone, and Scott at Stiles's desk, surfing Netflix on Stiles's laptop probably deciding on which movie the boys would watch.
"Time to get some food in you, bud." John exclaimed.
"Dad, leave Scott alone. He's a big boy, he can feed himself." Stiles called out and John couldn't contain the laugh that came out of him and walked toward his son, setting the tray he had carried up on the side table.
"Well you on the other hand, I'm not sure about. Come on, kiddo. Let's get you up." John said as he helped Stiles get into a sitting position, resting him against the headboard. John grabbed an extra pillow and positioned it behind Stiles's back.
For the next half hour Stiles managed to get half of the chicken soup down and almost all of the orange juice. He could only manage two spoonfuls of the applesauce before threatening to throw it at Scott's head if his dad made him eat anymore.
Not as satisfied as he should be, John still claimed it a success and picked up the dirty dishes back onto the tray. He was thankful Stiles took his medicine without complaint and hurried out of the room, after making sure Stiles did not need anything else, and left the boys to themselves.
John woke up from his nap on the couch at around 9 p.m. with the glow of the TV illuminating the otherwise dark living room. Rubbing his eyes, he got up and turned the TV off and made his way up the stairs. He walked towards Stiles's bedroom, and noticed that no sound emitted from inside. He opened the door and peered inside. Both boys were fast asleep, Stiles on his bed and Scott in the desk chair. Keeping his movements as quiet as possible, John managed to wake Scott up without alerting Stiles.
"Hey, kiddo. It's pretty late. I wouldn't mind you staying overnight, but it's a school night and I'm sure you wouldn't want to go to school tomorrow in the same clothes as today." John whispered as he helped Scott awake from his sleep.
"No, that's fine. Thanks for waking me up." Scott whispered back and got up from the chair.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Sheriff." Scott said as he walked out of the room.
"Good night, kiddo." John answered back before moving over to Stiles. He placed his hand softly against Stiles's forehead and his lips drew in a small frown at the feeling of his fever as still the same as before. He sighed, kissed his son on the forehead, tucking the blankets securely around him, before closing the lights and heading out of the room. He didn't close the door, wanting to make sure he could hear Stiles if he called out for him.
He heard the front door close, signally that Scott left the house. He went down stairs to lock the door, before making his way up the stairs again. He got himself ready for bed, brushing his teeth and changing into his sleepwear.
He sighed as he let his head hit the pillow, feeling his body's stress. He turned around and closed his eyes, hoping tomorrow would be better than today.