Chapter Text
Searing pain rushes through Stiles’ veins the further they get from Beacon Hills. His phone buzzes constantly in his pocket, notifying him of calls and texts, but he clenches his hands tighter around the steering wheel and does his best to maintain his focus on the road in front of him. They’ve been on the road just over three hours when Stiles pulls into a gas station to fill up his tank. His dad heads inside for a bathroom break and returns just as the pump shuts off.
Replacing the gas gap, Stiles takes his receipt and shoves it in his pocket as he makes his way inside the little store. He hurries into the bathroom and walks to the nearest urinal to relieve himself. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his hands shake violently as he washes them before pulling out his phone. 28 missed calls and 369 texts. Swiping his finger over the screen, he pulls up Derek’s contact and pushes the button to connect the call.
“Where are you?” Derek growls in greeting.
“About three hours outside of Beacon Hills. My grandmother…” Stiles chokes off with a quiet sob.
“Send me the location. I’m coming.”
And Stiles wants that. He wants Derek with him. He wants to let him take care of everything, to protect him from what he knows is coming, to hold him and shield him from the pain, but he doesn’t see a way to make it work. His dad would never allow it.
“Stiles!” he hears his dad calling his name as the bathroom door opens.
“I have to go,” Stiles murmurs before disconnecting the call. Pain explodes in his chest, but he takes a deep breath and does his best to ignore it. “Right here, Dad. I think lunch disagreed with me.” The lie slips easily from his mouth as he grabs a paper towel and wets it to wipe off the tears and sweat from his face.
“Do you want me to drive for a bit?” his dad offers.
Shaking his head, Stiles takes his keys from his pocket and spins them over his finger. “No. I should be good now. I just really needed to get it out of my system.”
It’s three hours later when Stiles pulls into the hospital parking lot. The drive had been brutal for him. The further he had driven the more the pain had increased, and in turn, nausea. He barely has time to park and exit the jeep before his body convulses and empties the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Wave after wave washes over him until he’s positive there couldn’t possibly be anything left inside him.
When he finally stops heaving, his dad approaches him warily. “Are you okay, son?”
Stiles drags the back of his shaky hand over his mouth before spitting the leftover remnants of vomit onto the ground. “I’m fine.”
Stiles is decidedly not fine. Crossing the threshold into the hospital, the sounds and smells bombard his senses. He swallows down the bile rising in his throat and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other as they make their way to the front desk to ask for information on his grandmother. The man hands them a slip of paper with the room number written on it and points down the hallway.
“Go to the end of the hall and turn left. Take the elevators up to the fifth floor. The nurse’s station will be in front of you,” he tells them kindly.
“Thank you,” his dad says.
The fifth floor is a flurry of movement when they arrive. It takes several minutes for a nurse to return to the desk and provide an update. She cautions them that it doesn’t look good but assures them that they are giving her something for the pain before telling them that only one visitor is allowed at a time. Stiles leads the way down the hall to her room and knocks once before pushing open the door and walking inside.
His grandmother is hooked up to various equipment, and steady beeping sounds fills the room. Reaching out, he takes her hand in his and lets the tears fall down his face while his dad stands outside the door.
Her eyes flutter open slowly. “Mischief.”
“Hey, Gramma,” Stiles says softly.
“Why are you here?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stiles smiles gently. “Because you’re here.”
She squints as she studies him with knowing eyes that miss nothing. “You’re in pain.”
“I just ate something bad for lunch.”
“No, Mischief,” she replies with a shake of her head. “It’s more than that. You’re hurting immensely deep down inside.”
“I’m okay,” he tries to assure her with a soft brush of his thumb over her fingers.
“Is your father with you?”
Stiles nods. “He’s outside the room. They will only let us come in one at a time.”
A wracking cough takes over her body, and the beeping from the machines in the room increases in frequency. A nurse rushes in and checks the IV, adding in what Stiles can only guess is a sedative or a painkiller. Once she settles again, they talk for a bit longer until her responses become slower and slurred. As she drifts off to sleep, Stiles lets tears fall down his face as the pain he’s been doing his best to hold at bay floods through him.
The door to the room opens slowly, and Stiles looks up to see his dad hovering in the doorway. “Do you want to go down to the cafeteria?”
“No. I’m not leaving her,” Stiles firmly answers. “Go ahead.”
“Son,” his dad sighs.
“I’m. Not. Leaving. Her.”
With a nod, his dad snaps his mouth shut and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him and submerging Stiles in the sounds of the loud, monotonous machines and his grandmother’s rasping breaths. The pain continues to intensify as time passes until Stiles slumps forward, gasping, as he tries to repress it. He isn’t sure how much time passes when the pain mercifully begins to lessen. As his breathing begins to calm to a more natural pattern, his grandmother’s voice reaches him.
“He’s leveling your pain,” she tells him. “It’s being siphoned from you in droves. Who is he?”
Stiles jerks up from where he had been resting his head on the bed. “Derek,” he answers on an exhale, the name falling from his lips without hesitation.
“Yes,” she whispers and lifts her hand up to touch his face. “You’re connected to him. It’s strong.”
A tear falls down Stiles’ cheek, and he nods. “He’s my…boyfriend.”
“Oh, no, my little Mischief,” his grandmother disagrees as she wipes away the tear. “He’s much more than that. He’s part of you. You’re tied to him.”
Searching his grandmother’s eyes for what, he isn’t sure, but something inside him aligns at what he finds. “No one else knows about us. Not even Dad.”
“You need to go back to him,” she tells him quietly. “The amount of pain he is pulling from you isn’t small.”
Shaking his head, Stiles tightens his grip on her hand. “No. I’m not leaving until you’re okay.”
“Oh, Mischief,” his grandmother exhales softly. “I’m not long for this world, but you…you’re destined for greatness. You have so many things left to accomplish, but you also need him.”
“I need you,” Stiles responds with a strangled sob. “I’m not ready to lose you.”
“You have to get back to him.” There’s an urgency in her voice that gives Stiles pause.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.
Squeezing his hand lightly, she closes her eyes. “He needs you.”
The machines continue to beep as her breathing becomes deep again, sleep clawing at her more and more. Stiles is terrified at the thought that she will eventually not wake up. The next time his dad opens the door a couple of hours later to check on him, he’s dozing fitfully in the most uncomfortable chair to have ever been made. As he remembers where he is, his eyes flick immediately to his grandmother. Her breaths seem much shallower than before, and Stiles squeezes her hand.
“Please,” he begs. “Please be okay.”
His dad clears his throat, reminding him of his presence. “The nurse said your grandmother’s numbers show she is deteriorating quickly. You should probably say your goodbyes and leave soon.”
“No!”
“Stiles,” his dad censures softly. “Watching your mother die nearly destroyed you. I don’t want you to go through that again.”
“Fuck you!” Stiles spits as anger burns through him. “I’m not letting her die alone. You left Mom. You couldn’t get your ass out of a bottle long enough to be there. You don’t know what it was like, so you sure as hell don’t get to tell me how hard it was. I know how hard it was! I was there!”
“Son…”
“Just stop,” he snaps angrily. “I’ve seen more death and destruction in my life than people twice my age. My mom, my friends, good people, bad people, monsters. I’ve watched them die in every way you can imagine and more.”
His dad rubs his hand over his face with a sigh. “You don’t have to put yourself through this.”
“I didn’t leave Mom. I wouldn’t leave you. I am not leaving her,” Stiles growls.
“Okay,” he finally concedes. “I’m here if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
The evening wears on, another hour passing into the wee hours of the morning, but Stiles doesn’t leave. He stays with his grandmother, whispering soft words and holding her hand comfortingly. His pain rolls over him in waves, receding for a while before rushing back over him and expanding larger than before. More than once, he finds himself on his knees in front of the toilet from the intensity.
His dad checks on him once more, but Stiles waves him away without a word. He’s said everything he needs to say at this point. Each passing second, his pain increases. He isn’t sure how much more he can take. Nausea has become his natural state. His shaking hands have bled into full body shakes. Sounds ring like sirens. Lights blind him. Everything takes over to the point he wants to scream until he hears her calling him through the din.
“Mischief.”
Pushing through every pain and struggle, Stiles moves closer to his grandmother’s bed. “I’m here.”
“Come up here next to me,” she whispers brokenly.
Stiles immediately crawls into the bed and wraps his arms around her. Leaning forward, he kisses her cheek tenderly before snuggling down against her. She lifts a weak hand and strokes his shoulder up to his neck to rest against Derek’s mark on his neck. A shudder ripples through him at the contact. Reaching up, he takes her hand in his and squeezes gently but doesn’t remove it.
“He loves you,” she whispers on a ragged breath.
Stiles looks up at her curiously. “Derek?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not like that, at least not for him,” Stiles admits. “It’s…he doesn’t…”
“It is exactly like that for him. The wolf wants what the wolf wants,” she mumbles.
The air whooshes from his lungs, and he leans back slightly to meet her steady gaze. “You know?”
“Of course, I do,” she tells him. “Just as the wolf knows what he wants, so does the man. He’s in so much pain. He’s calling for you.”
“It’s the claim,” he explains sadly. “Nothing more.”
“It’s so much more,” his grandmother assures him as sleep claims her again.
Sometime before dawn while retching over the toilet from the lighting hot pain scorching through him, Stiles feels it. Derek pulls hard on the bond. The thump, thump, thump sensation has him holding onto the edge of the toilet rim to keep from falling over, but as fast as it arrived, it disappears. Closing his eyes, Stiles takes a deep breath and pulls at the link. There’s no response for what feels like hours. He’s cuddled close to his grandmother, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, when he feels Derek again.
His grandmother’s eyes open slowly, and she sends him a small smile. “Answer him, Mischief.”
Stiles watches her as he reaches down inside and pushes against the bond. The returning thrum is instant, a steady ping against the connection.
“Let him through.”
Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“We can barely be away from each other as it is. Opening the bond will only exacerbate that.”
“Just let go,” she encourages softly.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and fully opens the link between him and Derek. His grandmother’s hand tightens around his, grounding him as Derek’s emotions flood into him.
“Promise me,” his grandmother says quietly.
“Anything. I’ll do anything,” he gasps through the force of feelings surging into him. Pain, fear, need, panic, desire.
“Promise me you won’t let anyone or anything between you and your boy. Promise me. Alright? Protect him, fight for him, and let him do the same for you.”
“I promise,” Stiles replies, knowing he will do anything to keep his promise to her. “I love you, Gramma.”
“My sweet boy. My Mischief,” she says, closing her eyes. The beeps from the machine begin to slow as she murmurs sluggishly. “I love you so much. You were the best gift your mother ever gave me.”
The machines behind him become static, and tears fall over his face as sobs wrack his grief and pain ridden body.