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Derek paced in the too-white hallway, listening to the echo of his own footsteps over that of the heart beating too slowly for his liking in the room he was outside of. He heard the doctors muttering to each other and the Sheriff asking all the right questions but not getting any straight answers. Derek was convinced these doctors had learned their bedside manner from Deaton.
He whirled around when the door opened and the doctors stepped outside. Derek rushed towards them, skidding to a stop when the Sheriff stepped out as well, looking tired but smelling slightly of relief.
“He will probably be able to have visitors outside of family tomorrow,” one of the doctors was explaining. “We’d like him to get some more rest.”
Derek let out a frustrated growl and the doctor’s heads all whipped around to look at him. “That young man is allowed in now,” the Sheriff said. “He’s family.” The doctors nodded as Derek choked on his own breath at the sincerity of the sentence.
Once they were alone, the Sheriff laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Listen to my heart,” he said. “Stiles is going to be fine.” Derek nodded. “He was injured pretty badly, but he’s going to be fine.” Derek swallowed hard. “Son,” he said, shaking Derek slightly. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said, his fingers itching with the need to touch Stiles, to find out for himself how much pain he was holding in his fragile body.
“I’ve told you to call me ‘John,’” he said, his voice soft as he pulled Derek into a hug. “I meant what I told those doctors; you’re family.”
Derek buried his face in John’s neck, taking comfort from the similarity in his scent to that of Stiles’ but it wasn’t quite enough. He pulled away before he started to cry and looked towards the door to the room. John chuckled softly and pushed him towards the door. “I’m going to get some coffee and maybe some curly fries for when he wakes up. Go keep him company in case he does before I get back.”
He was barely done speaking before Derek was pushing through the door. He froze when his eyes fell on Stiles, more still than he’d ever seen him, a bandage wrapped around his head and a couple of stitches in his left eyebrow. He moved closer, the strong medicinal smell in the room causing him to sneeze multiple times in a row.
“Gesundheit,” Stiles said, voice weak and Derek rushed to his side, hands hovering over him and breaths coming quickly until Stiles opened his eyes and his lips twitched upwards slightly. “Hey, big guy.” He lifted his hand and Derek caught it before it could fall back to the bed; it took very little effort to pull his pain because there was a lot. “Stop. Let the meds do their job.” He tugged his hand away and Derek frowned.
He hovered, wanting to touch but not wanting to upset Stiles more and having him hurt himself more. “Sit down,” he snapped and winced, a hand going to his side where Derek had detected a lot of the pain. “Bruised, not broken,” Stiles said, swatting away Derek’s hand.
Derek finally sat on the edge of the bed and Stiles laid a hand on his thigh. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled out after a few more minutes of silence.
“You can’t kill him,” Stiles said, smiling slightly and opening his eyes to study Derek. “Lacrosse is a dangerous game; it’s not that asshole’s fault I can’t take a hit.” Derek growled. “Down, boy.”
“Dog jokes, really? You must be feeling better,” Derek joked half-heartedly.
“I’ll probably be out the rest of the season, but my butt rarely left the bench anyway,” he said to Derek, a sad scent rolling off of him along with the hurt. “Would’ve thought making the team in college would’ve meant more time on the field.”
Derek gestured to his ribs and head. “This is what happens when you’re on the field and you’re sad you won’t be there?” He scoffed, his concern rising and turning into anger that he was struggling to hold back, reminding himself that it wasn’t Stiles he was angry with.
“Dude, it was a fluke. It could’ve happened to anyone,” Stiles said, yawning and wincing again.
“But it happened to you,” Derek said, leaning forward to press his forehead carefully to Stiles’, avoiding the stitches before pulling back to press a kiss just above them. “I don’t like when you get injured.”
“Not on my top five either,” Stiles said, patting his hand absently, his eyes beginning to fog over and drift shut; the pain meds were doing their job and although Derek wanted to keep talking to him, he knew that sleep was needed although, with his concussion, he wasn’t sure.
Melissa walked in at that moment, carrying a coffee and a blanket for Derek. She smiled at Stiles before handing the items over. “I’m glad he’s sleeping. He was pretty alert and had no signs of dizziness so the rest will actually help him heal quicker. We’ll wake him up every couple of hours or so to check on him, plus I have a feeling you’ll be able to tell us if something goes wrong before then.”
Derek nodded and allowed Melissa to guide him into a chair close to the bed; she even took the blanket and laid it out over him. “Thanks,” he said as she left.
He sat in the chair, watching the bed and sipping his coffee. His ears were tuned to Stiles’ heartbeat and he knew he wouldn’t actually rest until his boy was back to his normal self and fighting to get back out there to risk injury again.