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There’s only one person in line in front of him when Derek’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s probably Stiles, calling him on the way to TJ and Carter’s school. The person in front of him steps through, to the airplane. Derek grabs his phone from his pocket, and looks apologetically at the flight attendant checking everyone’s tickets. He looks at his phone. A sense of foreboding creeps up his spine. A picture of Stiles and their kids in front of their house is on his screen. Someone’s calling him from their home number. Why would he be getting a call from home? There shouldn’t be anyone there.
Oh God. Something ’s happened.
Trying not to let his panic show on his face, he steps out of the line.
‘Hello?’
‘Daddy’s dying,’ TJ whispers.
TJ’s just being dramatic, Derek tells himself. Stiles probably just bumped into something, or cut his finger, maybe he overslept, lost track of TJ in the rush to get their kids to school, and now she’s messing with the phone.
‘Why would you say that, little whelp?’ he asks, swallowing down his heart that somehow lodged itself in his throat.
‘He looks gross,’ is TJ’s unhelpful answer.
Derek can’t really blame her, she’s only four.
‘Give me the phone! You’re explaining it all wrong!’
‘Give it back! ’
‘No! ’
Derek gnashes his teeth as he listens to his children struggle for the phone, feeling helpless, until finally Carter comes on.
‘Daddy’s sick. He’s coughing and breathing funny. And there’s a giant pile of snotty tissues by the bed,’ Carter explains. The six year-old is trying to sound firm and grown-up, but Derek knows his child, and can hear the tremble underneath the bravado. ‘And he’s moving around all slow, and keeps bumping into things like he’s drunk or blind or something.’
That doesn’t sound like Stiles is dying, more like he’s got a really bad cold or, god forbid, the flu. Derek thought Stiles’ voice sounded funny on the phone last night, but assumed it was a bad connection. Not that Stiles would’ve admitted anything was wrong if he had asked.
‘Alright, little cub. Can you give me daddy?’
‘Sure.’ Carter sounds a little sullen that they don’t get to report further on one of their fathers’ imminent demise.
‘Wha’ are dyou guys ‘ooin’? Gib me da’. ‘Ello?’
‘Hey honey,’ Derek says. ‘The kids are afraid you’re dying.’
Stiles coughing loudly, and then wheezing while he struggles to get his breath back, is all the answer Derek needs.
‘I’m coming home.’
‘Dooo! I ’m bine. ’
‘Yes. I can hear how bine you are,’ Derek snorts. ‘Put TJ and Carter in front of the TV, drink some water, then get back into bed.’
‘Bu’ day ‘ave sgool.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll figure something out.’
‘Ogay,’ Stiles sighs. ‘Lob you.’
‘Love you, too.’
Derek drags a hand over his face. Please don’t let it be the flu.
‘Sir?’
Derek jumps and turns to the flight attendant, she’s worked her way through the rest of the line while he was on the phone.
‘Will you be boarding?’
‘Not today,’ Derek says with a shake of his head.
‘Sick kids?’ the woman asks.
‘Sick husband.’
‘Where’s home? I can check if there’s any seats available on any other flights.’
‘It’s just a couple hours north. I’ll rent a car.’
The woman nods. ‘Well, I can’t get you a refund on your ticket, but I can get you some extra miles, if you’d like?’
‘That’s okay’—Derek checks the woman’s nametag—‘Braeden. I just want to get home as quick as I can.’
‘Any luggage?’
‘Just this carry-on.’ Derek taps his bag.
‘Do you know the way to car rental?’
‘I do. Thanks.’
‘Good luck, sir.’
Derek waves goodbye, and starts walking. On his way to the car rental he calls Noah for help to get the kids to school. There are definite perks to having your father-in-law be the Sheriff in your town. Noah assures him that he’ll put Jordan on the case. A quick call to school to explain why TJ and Carter will be later, and that’s one problem solved.
Hesitantly, Derek’s next call is to Melissa. He hates to call her on her day off, but if Stiles has the flu, he needs to find somewhere for TJ and Carter to stay the next couple days, or they’ll all be quarantined in their home for the next week, at least. Melissa doesn’t seem to mind. She’s the only person who finds a sick Stiles entertaining. That’s the second problem solved. Sort of.
His luck holds when he gets to the car rental place: there’s two open desks, and only one other customer. Fifteen minutes later, Derek is urning onto the highway, and finally calls Erica.
‘You should be on a plane,’ she says by way of greeting.
‘Stiles is sick.’
‘How bad? ’
‘TJ thought he was dying,’ Derek chuckles. ‘Melissa’s checking on him. I’m hoping it’s just a cold and not the flu.’
‘Me, too. You’re both big babies when you’re sick,’ Erica teases.
‘I’m not a baby,’ Derek grumbles. ‘Anyway, I won’t be able to make New York, and we might have to cancel Boston as well.’
‘Damnit,’ Erica mutters. ‘We could move New York and Boston to the end of tour.’
‘We can?’
‘I can,’ Erica amends. ‘You need to take of that husband of yours so I don’t have to move even more stuff around.’
‘You’re the best agent ever.’
‘I know. You can send me a muffin basket to show your appreciation,’ Erica says, a smirk in her voice, and hangs up.
The rest of the drive is uneventful. Only a call from Melissa to assure him it’s just a cold, and a call from Jordan when he’s almost home.
‘Thanks for taking TJ and Carter.’
‘No problem. How far are you? ’
‘Ten minutes out?’
‘Floor it once you pass the city limit. I’ll give you an escort.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t get to use my sirens enough.’
Derek laughs. They talk until Jordan turns his sirens on.
The second Derek steps through the door the worry he’s felt since he pulled his phone out of his pocket finally starts leaving his shoulders. There’s a plastic bag on the bottom step of the stairs, with a note with instructions from Melissa. Barely stopping to kick his shoes off, Derek grabs the bag and hurries to the master bedroom.
Their kids weren’t exaggerating. Stiles does look like he’s dying. His face is pale, excepting his nose, which is read, and the skin around his eyes, which looks dark. There’s a pile of tissues on the floor on Stiles’ side, and the room smells musty.
‘Hey, honey,’ Derek says, sitting next to Stiles. ‘How are you?’
Stiles blinks up at him, brow contracted, then groans, ‘I’m dying. Don’t tell the kids yet. I don’t want our last days together to be tainted.’
Derek smiles and brushes the hair from Stiles’ forehead. ‘Melissa made you a care package that might bring you back from the brink of death.’
‘I thought I hallucinated her.’
Derek snorts. ‘You have a cold. No flu, no fever, and no hallucinations.’
Stiles pushes himself up, leaning against the headboard with a sigh. Derek screws the cap off a bottle of Nyquil and hands it to him.
‘My hero,’ Stiles winks, and takes swig. ‘Wait… TJ and Carter?’
‘Jordan took them to school.’
‘They won’t shut up about driving in a cop car for a month,’ Stiles groans, but a smile is tugging on his lips.
‘Probably not,’ Derek chuckles.
After blowing his nose and wiping the tears from his eyes, Stiles says, ‘You didn’t have to come home. You’re disappointing your fans!’
‘My readers would be more disappointed if I left my sick husband to fend for himself. At least according to Erica. She sent out a tweet and has been keeping me updated on the responses.’
‘Your fans are nice.’ Stiles pats Derek’s cheek. ‘You’re nice.’
‘Get some more sleep, okay? Then I’ll help you take a shower–‘
‘Yeah, baby,’ Stiles mumbles, wiggling back down under the covers.
‘–and make you something to eat. Maybe you’ll look presentable enough that our kids will stop writing your eulogy.’
There’s no answer from Stiles, his raspy breaths already evening out. Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, smiling when he’s rewarded with a pleased, sleepy little hum. Standing up, he throws a look at the mountain of tissues on the floor. Stiles needs to get better soon, not just for him and their kids, but for the forests, too.