Chapter Text
It was late by the time Sheriff John Stilinski pulled into the driveway of his house. As he parked beside his son’s, Stiles, jeep, a glance at the clock showed that it was a few minutes after midnight. It had been a long day and he was glad to be home. He was also relieved to see Stiles was home. Even on a school night, his son was often late coming home, usually staying out late with Scott and the pack. Though since Donavan and the attack on himself by the other chimera, his son had been spending more and more time by himself. As far as he knew, Stiles and Scott still hadn’t healed the rift between them despite his and Melissa’s efforts.
John entered and hung his keys on the hook besides his son’s keys. A light in the kitchen had been left on but the rest of the house was dark and quiet. He wandered into the kitchen and saw the plate of chicken and vegetables Stiles had left for him. Ever since his attack, the teen had worked almost overtime to ensure his father ate right and got plenty of rest. With a soft smile for his son’s efforts, he heated up the plate, then settled at the table to eat. When he finished, his put his plate in the dishwasher and then turned off the lights in the kitchen. He made sure all the doors were locked and the security system turned on. Then, he walked up the stairs to check on his son.
Stiles’s bedroom door was shut against the hallway light Stiles had more than likely left on for him. He quietly knocked on the door, not wanting to wake his son. When there was no answer, he slowly pushed the door open and peered into the room.
“Stiles?”
The light on his bedside table was on, casting a small amount of light around the room. Stiles was stretched out on his bed, sound asleep. An open textbook lay next to his right side while a notebook and a pen were tucked between his arm and body on his left. He was wearing a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt. His breathing was light and even.
John stepped into the room and gently removed the pen from his hand and the notebook from between his arm and his body. Then he leaned over and picked up the textbook, sliding the notebook to mark the page before putting both on his desk. Then, he crossed back over to his son’s bed and knelt beside it, watching his son sleep. Though Stiles tried to hide it from him, John knew that Stiles wasn’t sleeping well if at all. He had seen the dark circles under his eyes and more often than not heard him rummaging around his room late at night when the teen should be sleeping. He also knew about the nightmares about Donovan that disrupted the little sleep Stiles did get and tried so hard to hide from him.
John reached out and swept back some of the hair that had fallen against Stiles’s forehead, frowning when he felt the warmth there. He gently shook his shoulder. Stiles groaned and pressed his head into his pillow before blinking sleepily at his father.
“Dad?” he asked blearily. “What’s wrong? Who got hurt?”
“Nothing’s wrong, kiddo. Relax, everyone’s fine,” John said softly. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You feel a little warm.”
“Oh,” Stiles rolled over onto his side. “I’m fine, just tired.”
John admittedly didn’t believe him but he let him be as Stiles was already falling back asleep. He gently rubbed his shoulder again. “Why don’t you get under the covers and go back to sleep?”
Stiles hummed and cracked a lazy eye open. “I thought I was?”
John rolled his eyes. “No, kiddo. You fell asleep studying.”
“Oh.” Stiles pushed himself up on his hands and pawed at his blankets. John sighed and helped push them back and Stiles slid under them, collapsing onto his stomach and pressing his face into his pillow. His dad folded the blankets over him and rubbed his back for a second before standing. Stiles had already fallen back asleep. He stood and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. For a second, John stood and watched the silhouette of his son before deciding to check him in the morning to see if he was running a fever. Stiles had a habit of hiding it when he was sick or hurt because he didn’t want anyone to worry about him. Tired and still healing from his own injuries himself, John turned and went to his own bedroom, shutting Stiles’s door, promising himself that he would have a talk with his son. With everything that had happened recently, he was really beginning to worry about him.
* * *
Stiles woke up long before his alarm went off the next morning. He had actually slept fairly well after his dad had woken him up, but around 4 o’clock that morning, he woke up from a pretty graphic nightmare of Donovan and the library that had him sprinting to the bathroom. Luckily, he didn’t wake up his father while he threw up, but after he had finally dragged himself back to his bed, he had been unable to fall back asleep.
Groaning, he glanced at his clock and saw he had five minutes before the alarm went off. He flicked it off and sat up. He might as well get up now. Maybe then he could avoid interrogations from his dad he knew were coming. He loved his dad but the older man had already been through so much with the attack from the chimera and finding out his son had killed someone, the last thing Stiles wanted to add to that burden was the fact that he wasn’t feeling good. John was already worried if last night was any indication.
Stiles stood up and almost immediately fell back on his bed, feeling dizzy. “Come on, Stiles. Get it together.”
He wanted to get up and out before his dad. Before the questions about how he was feeling started. If his dad knew how crappy he felt, he would worry about Stiles more and right now that was the last thing he needed. He closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing. When he opened them, the room was no longer spinning and he was able to make it to his bathroom. After a shower and brushing his teeth, he felt a little better. For breakfast, he toasted some bread and was out the door before he heard his father move about his bedroom.
Stiles managed to make it to school without his breakfast coming back up which he considered a win. He took a minute to gather his strength and push down the nausea that was rising in his throat. Finally, he got out his jeep and headed into school. He needed to make a stop at his locker before heading to his first class. He was halfway there when he spotted Scott coming down the hall, looking at him like he wanted to talk. Stiles ducked into the nearby bathroom quickly which set off his stomach. The next minute he was hunched over vomiting the little breakfast he had eaten into the toilet. He spit into the toilet and set back against the wall, breathing heavily. He hunched forward when the unhealed bite from Donovan sent a hot shot of pain down his back.
“Stiles?”
Stiles sighed deeply and rubbed his hand over his sweaty face. The last thing he wanted was to see Scott. He was still angry, still hurt over Scott trusting Theo over him and nearly getting his dad killed.Plus, Scott would probably be able to tell right off the bat that he wasn’t feeling well and he wanted to keep that to himself thank you very much. He stood and flushed the toilet before stepping out of the cubicle.
He glanced at Scott before going to wash his hands. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Something smells off,” Scott pressed.
Stiles glanced up and looked at the other teen in the mirror. He shook his hands and turned to face him. “I’m fine.”
He brushed past the werewolf and hurried out into the hall. With a sigh, he took his seat in economics and rubbed his face again. Throwing up had made his headache hurt worse and Scoot was in this class as well which made avoiding him hard. Sure enough, Scott slid down into the seat beside him and glanced at him worriedly while Stiles made every effort to avoid looking at him. Thankfully, the bell rang and Stiles could focus on trying to pay attention around his pounding head. He escaped the class as quickly as he could before Scott could catch him again before he would have to head to his separate second period.
Stiles entered his second period and glanced at his phone when he felt it vibrate. It was a text from his dad making sure he was okay. He sent off a quick reply reassuring his dad that he was fine, then ignored a text from Scott begging them to talk. Instead, he pulled out his book and notebook and tried to concentrate.
By the end of his fourth period, Stiles was beginning to wish he had stayed home. His head continued to hurt worse the longer the day went on. He had thrown up two more times, once between his classes and the second he had to be excused from his class. His shoulder was hurting worse and worse to the point he could barely lift his arm without pain shooting through it. He was at his locker before fifth period when Scott finally caught up with him.
“Stiles?” Scott asked timidly.
Stiles only looked at him tiredly in response. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else. He turned back to switching out his books without a response.
“Stiles, come on. Talk to me,” Scott said, softly. “I know you’re not feeling well. What happened? Is your dad doing okay?”
“I’m fine. He’s fine. We’re all fine,” Stiles answered shortly.
Scott frowned. "You're not fine."
Stiles, tired and irritable, slammed his locker shut. "I'm fine. I just want to get through the the day."
He turned to leave, but stopped suddenly. The world had started spinning again and he reached a hand out to balance himself against the lockers. His vision darkened and he felt himself begin to fall stopped only by an arm wrapping around his waist.
"Stiles?!" Scott asked frantically. "Stiles!"
The teen forced his eyes open and tried to push himself off the other teen, but he suddenly had no strength left in him. In fact, the darkness was calling him further and he almost completely succumbed to it. Vaguely, he was aware of Scott pulling him through the hall. He forced his eyes open to see where he was being dragged. He tried to protest when he saw the nurse's office come into view.
"No. Stop, Scott," he said weakly. "I'm fine."
"No you're not. You're sick and hurt. You need to go home."
Stiles somehow managed to dig in his heels and force them to stop. "Fine. I'll go home. Just let me go and I'll sign myself out."
He tried to pull himself out of Scott's arms but ended up sliding down the wall instead. Scott knelt in front of him. "Stiles, you're in no condition to drive. Please let me take you to the nurse. She'll call your dad and he can come get you."
"No! Scott, no," Stiles snapped. "Why can't you let it go?"
"Because despite what you believe, you're still my best friend. I still care about you and I won't let you drive yourself home only to get in a wreck because you faint or something." Scott sighed. "Why don't you want your dad to come get you?"
Stiles looked away and refused to answer. They had been been friends for too long. Of course, Scott would figure out why he didn't want to go to the nurse's office. Scott sighed. He had felt the pain leech out of Stiles the moment he touched him. He knew Stiles was in far more pain than he was letting him know and the heat radiating off of him was alarming. Ideally, he wanted to drag him straight to his mom at the hospital but Stiles was proving to be more stubborn than even he could imagine. He knew that the other teen didn’t trust him anymore. He wouldn’t go with Scott anywhere. The best he could do was get him to the nurse’s office and let the Sheriff deal with him.
“Come on, Stiles,” he said, reaching over and helping the teen stand. He hated using his werewolf strength on his estranged best friend but he had to to get him into the nurse’s office. He deposited him on one of the beds and turned to the nurse who had risen when they came through the door. “Stiles got sick and he’s too dizzy to drive himself home.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just got a little dizzy.” Stiles shot him a dirty look and tried to stand. A fierce wave of dizziness hit him and he fell backwards onto the bed.
The nurse nodded. “Obviously. Thank you, Scott. I’ll call his dad to come and get him.”
She ushered him out while Stiles continued to give him a dirty look. Scott for his part shot him an apologetic look before the door closed behind him. The nurse turned back to the teen who was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
“Why don’t you lay down for awhile, Stiles? I’ll call your dad to come get you,” she said gently.
Stiles looked up and sighed defeatedly. He nodded slowly, then stopped when it only made the pounding in his head hurt more. He sank onto the bed and rolled onto his side away from the nurse’s desk so the pressure was off his shoulder. He felt embarrassed and angry. Angry at Scott for interfering, angry at the nurse for calling his dad. Most of all, he was angry at himself for letting it go this far. He was just so angry. He wiped at a tear that fell down his cheek and closed his eyes tightly. He tried to even out his breathing while he listened to the nurse call his father.
Stiles dozed off because the next thing he knew, there was a soft hand on his wounded shoulder. He opened his eyes and rolled over to look at his father.
“Hey kiddo,” John said gently. “Not feeling so good?”
Stiles sighed and sat up. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Hey, for what? For getting sick?” John was concerned. “It happens, kid. Come on. Let’s get you home and get you taken care of.”
Stiles nodded reluctantly and pushed himself up. He swayed dangerously when he stood but John wrapped an arm around his waist to balance him. The Sheriff nodded his thanks at the nurse and helped his son out of the room. The hallway was deserted which meant class was in session. It also meant that Stiles was spared the embarrassment of being seen being helped out the school. They were halfway down the hall when he suddenly stopped.
“Wait, my bag.” He looked around. “I dropped my bag when Scott made me go to the Nurse’s office.”
John held up his other hand. “I have it, Stiles. Scott grabbed it when he said you fainted.”
Stiles sighed. “I didn’t faint. I just got a little dizzy. What about the jeep?”
“It’s okay. Scott said he would drive it back to the house after school.” John reached for his son again and Stiles leaned against him. “It’s alright, kiddo. Everything’s taken care of.”
Stiles let him lead him out the school and to his car. He slid into the seat and buckled while John walked to the driver’s side. As the car pulled out the parking lot, Stiles leaned over and rested his head against the cool glass.
John pulled into the road and glanced over at his son. “Stiles? Talk to me. How are you feeling?”
Stiles lifted his heavy head and looked over at his dad. He thought about downplaying his illness and his pain but he was tired. Tired of being strong, having to pretend that he didn’t need anyone to take care of him. Donovan, Theo, the Dread Doctors, the dead pool, the Nogitsune. It was never ending. He was just so tired.
“Like crap. My head hurts,” he said softly. He laid his head back against the window. “My shoulder hurts. Like really hurts.”
“Your shoulder? What happened to your shoulder?”
“Hm?” Stiles had his eyes closed and desperately just wanted to go to sleep. “Donovan. He was a chimera. Had a mouth on his hand.”
The Sheriff pulled to a stop at a red light and looked over at his son. “He bit you? You didn’t tell me he hurt you!”
“Didn’t seem important.”
“Stiles, that was three weeks ago. It should have started healing by then.” He paused as the light turned green he started moving again. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
Stiles lifted his head and squinted. After a moment, he shrugged. The pain had been getting progressively worse but he had pushed it aside as his dad healed. “I don’t know. A few days, maybe longer?”
They pulled to another stop and John looked closely at his son. Stiles was pale, had dark circles under his eyes, and two pink spots on his cheeks. His eyes were glazed and it looked like sweat dotted his forehead. When the light turned green, he made a decision. At the next light, he turned left instead of going straight. Stiles looked at him confused.
“Dad, where are we going? Home is the other way.”
“We’re going to hospital,” John said. “I want to get the shoulder looked at and you felt awfully warm in the nurse’s office.”
“Dad, I’m fine.” Stiles seriously hated the hospital. He had spent too much time in it in his life and he had little desire to go back. “I just want to go home and sleep for like a week.”
“And you can. As soon as I’m convinced that your shoulder is fine.” He glanced over at his son who had slumped over and was looking at his hands. “Kid, it may be infected and that’s why you’re feeling so lousy. I want to be sure you’re okay before I take you home to sleep, okay?”
Stiles pouted and laid back against the window. He knew from that tone there would be no arguing with his father at this point. He let his eyes drift close and relaxed into the seat. The next thing he knew was the car was rolling to a stop and the car turned off. He opened his eyes and looked John who was unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Come on, Stiles,” he said gently. “The faster we get you looked at, the faster you can go home and sleep for a week.”
Stiles sighed and moved to get out of the car. As he shut the door behind him, the world tilted and spun again. He reached out and leaned heavily against the side of the car before he felt his dad wrap an arm around his waist. With his help, Stiles managed to make it into the entrance where Melissa spotted them from the nurse’s station.
“John? Stiles? What is it?” she asked. The nurse got a good look at the teen who was like a second son. “What’s wrong, Stiles?”
“Donovan bit him, Melissa,” he whispered, then in a louder voice. “I think it’s infected.”
Stiles’s knees gave out just then and he would have fallen to the ground had John’s arms not been around his waist.
“Whoa, kid,” he said softly, tightening his grip.
Melissa motioned for the pair to follow her and she led them to an examination room. John helped his son up onto the bed then stepped back to let the nurse close. She quickly examined the teen, checking his pulse and fever and making a note of them. Finally, she moved in front of him so he could focus his aching eyes on her.
“Okay, kiddo, where does it hurt?”
Stiles swallowed down the wave of nausea that had hit him and whispered “My head, my stomach. My shoulder hurts the worst.”
“Okay. Which shoulder?”
His hand came up to his right one and his fingers massaged it, then he hissed as pain rocketed through him. The nausea returned in full force and he pitched forward. Melissa saw his face and grabbed the nearby trashcan just in time. Stiles vomited into it, throwing up only bile before dry heaving. When he stopped, he had tears rolling down his cheeks from the pain the retching had caused him. Melissa set the trashcan aside and moved back to Stiles’s side. When he saw Stiles sway, John who had standing next to the bed pulled Stiles to his shoulder so his son could lean against him. The nurse gently helped his out of his plaid shirt and pulled down the collar of his t-shirt.
“Oh, Stiles,” she gasped.
The bite mark itself had taken a large chuck of skin out surrounded by two circles of smaller marks. The wound was red and inflamed, filled with yellow pus and blood. The skin around it was puffy and it looked like it hadn’t healed at all. Melissa gently probed it and the teen hissed while trying to move away from her. John easily prevented him from moving too far.
“We need to get this cleaned out and get you on some antibiotics. Now,” the nurse said.
Stiles shook his head against his dad’s shoulder. “Just wanna go home.”
Melissa gently rubbed his back. “I know, sweetie. But this is pretty bad. Let me get Dr. Geyer in here to look at it and we’ll see what he says, okay?”
She motioned for John to follow her to the hallway. “He’s probably going to need to stay here at least the night.”
The Sheriff sighed. “I figured that. He’s so hot and he looks like he’s in so much pain.”
“John, what happened? You said Donovan bit him? That’s no normal bite mark.”
He rubbed a tired hand over his face and nodded. “Yeah, the night he attacked Stiles. Apparently, he was turned into a chimera. He had a mouth on his hand. God, that sounds ridiculous, even now.”
“A lot in our lives sounds ridiculous. It’s badly infected. Go try to keep him calm and awake and I’ll go grab the doctor. We need to get it cleaned out now before he gets blood poisoning.”
John nodded as the nurse hurried off. When he re-entered the room, Stiles was hunched over with his head in his hands. He looked up as his dad entered.
“I’m sorry, dad,” he whispered hoarsely.
John approached his son, stopping front of him. “For what, kiddo?”
“For making you worry. For making everything worse.”
“Stiles,” he started, confused and really worried now. “What are you talking about? You have never made anything worse. Never. And this injury is not your fault.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Stiles whispered, looking back at the ground and not replying to his dad’s response. He rubbed the back of his hand at his eyes.
John pulled his son to his shoulder and wrapped on arm gently around his shoulders. “I know. I know. We’re going to get you taken care of, I promise.”
They remained like that until the door opened a few minutes later and Melissa returned with Dr. Geyer behind her.
“Hello, Stiles, Sheriff,” the doctor greeted them. “Melissa tells me that you have an injury that’s making you feel sick?”
Stiles only blinked at him from his dad’s shoulder. It was John who answered. “It looks like he was bitten by some kind of animal. I don’t know how long he’s been feeling sick from it though.”
The doctor nodded. “Alright, well, let’s have a look then and see if we can help with that.”
John stepped to the side so Melissa and Geyer could get closer to Stiles, much to his displeasure as Stiles was forced to sit up. Melissa helped him remove his t-shirt and he sat shivering on the table as the doctor put on gloves, then turned toward his patient.
“This does look pretty bad,” he said after a moment of probing gently at it. He pushed a particular tender spot and Stiles cried out. “Okay, we need to open this and drain it and clean it properly.”
Geyer turned toward John. “We’ll give him some painkillers before we clean it because it will be painful. He’s running a pretty high fever of 103.6 and Melissa told me he’s been sick.”
“Yes, a few minutes ago, when Melissa was examining the wound.”
“Was that the first time?”
John went silent and looked at his son. It took a couple of minutes for Stiles to realize they were looking at him and he slowly lifted his head. “What?”
“Stiles, was earlier the first time you’ve thrown up?” Melissa asked softly.
Stiles blinked slowly and shook his head. “No. I did today at school.” He closed his eyes trying to remember. “I threw up before class started, then two more times before Scott found me.”
“Okay,” the doctor said thoughtfully. “Stiles, I know the one thing you really want to do is go home and sleep, but I want to keep you here overnight. I want to monitor your illness and the wound. Make sure the antibiotics are doing their job.”
Stiles looked like he wanted to protest but John cut him off. “Okay. That’s fine by me.”
Stiles sighed and resigned himself to staying at the hospital, instead of getting to collapse in his warm, familiar bed. John rubbed the back of his head reassuringly.
“It’ll be okay, kid. It’s for the best.”
The doctor walked his father out of the room to fill out paperwork and allow Melissa to help the ill teen into a gown. She was gentle as she tied the gown in the back, leaving the top part undone so they could work on his bite wound. Then, the nurse helped him off the bed and turned her back respectfully so he could remove his shoes and jeans. When he was done, she helped him back up on the bed this time letting him lay down on his side. Stiles sank his aching, heavy head gratefully onto the pillow and sighed as Geyer walked back in. He said something low to Melissa before moving to Stiles’s line of view.
“Alright, Stiles. What we are going to do is start you on an I.V. with a pretty heavy painkiller. Opening your wound and draining it is going to be painful but with this medication, hopefully you won’t feel anything,” he said, gently. “It will more than likely make you sleepy. It's okay to go to sleep. You need the rest. After we clean it out and get it stitched up, we’ll get you settled into a room and your dad can stay with you, alright?”
Stiles nodded tiredly. Geyer stood to make room for Melissa. She untangled some tubing and smiled gently as he watched her.
“I know you hate needles, sweetie,” she said. “But it will be quick, I promise.”
True to her word, she pulled one his hands from where he had tucked them under the pillow and quickly inserted the needle into the top of his hand. Then, she attached the I.V. to the needle and a cool rush of liquid flowed into his veins. Almost immediately, the pain began to subside and he sighed in relief. Melissa smiled softly.
“Get some sleep, kiddo,” she whispered. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Stiles only looked at her sleepily. Now that the pain was no longer as prevalent, the exhaustion made itself more known. He could no longer keep his eyes open and let them close. As sleep carried him away, he was distantly aware of a towel being pressed against his back and a paper being spread around him. He was asleep before he felt the first press of pressure on his shoulder.