Chapter Text
It’s not the first time that Danny’s woken up in the hospital to find Stiles in the room with him, but this time, he knows it’s not a dream. Stiles is the one asleep – curled up in the armchair in the room, his hoodie spread over him like a blanket, and Danny is pretty sure that it’s the first time he’s ever seen Stiles be still. He watches him for almost a full minute before deciding that he has to do something about this.
“Stiles,” he says, starting off in a whisper, but he raises his voice a bit when Stiles doesn’t so much as flinch. “Stiles!”
“Mmm, five more minutes,” Stiles mutters, shifting, but not opening his eyes.
“No more minutes, wake up!” Danny hisses the words, but knows he shouldn’t get out of bed. What he’d had was a close call, and he doesn’t want any more of those. He’s almost died too many times in the last few years, he’s not eager for another close encounter.
“Okay, fine!” Stiles sits up, forgetting where he is for a minute. “Oh…hey Danny.”
“Why do you look surprised to see me?” Danny asks, confused. “This is my hospital room. I’m the one that gets to be surprised.”
“Oh, yeah…um…about that...” Stiles sighs, sitting up straight and pulling his hoodie back on the way it’s meant to be. “I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“And it couldn’t wait until I was out of the hospital?” Danny asks, eyebrow raised.
“No.” Stiles shakes his head. “It couldn’t.”
“Okay…” Danny props himself up on pillows, looking over at Stiles, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days, which Danny knows isn’t true, because he just saw Stiles sleeping, though he doesn’t know for how long. “What’s up?”
“Idon’twantyoutodie,” Stiles blurts out.
“What?” Danny looks at him, confused.
“I-I don’t want you to die,” Stiles says softly, looking down at the ground.
“I didn’t, I’m not.”
“I know, but this…” he sighs. “You almost died a couple days ago, and last year, in the club when you got, well drugged or whatever…” Stiles trails off, because he can’t say Kanima’d, that wouldn’t mean a damn thing to Danny. “I’m just sick of people in my life dying. I don’t want you to die.”
Danny studies Stiles, the way the other young man is fidgeting in the chair, rubbing the underside of his left wrist with his right thumb, tapping his foot almost incessantly, and Danny can tell that Stiles is really worried about him.
“Stiles, what’s really going on?” Danny asks softly.
“I just…” Stiles looks up at him, still rubbing his wrist, eyes glistening. “I don’t deal with death well, and there’s been so much of it lately, and I don’t…I don’t want you to be next, I don’t want to watch another person that I care about fade away from me in a hospital bed, I…”
As Stiles trails off again, a single tear rolling down his cheek, Danny realizes two things. First, that this isn’t totally about him, but about Stiles’ mother, and Heather, and Erica, and Boyd, and second, that Stiles cares about him. A lot.
“Stiles…” Danny doesn’t know what to say. He suspects that whatever’s going on inside of Stiles has been a long time coming, and he doesn’t want to cheapen what Stiles is feeling by telling him it’s okay, when it very clearly isn’t, but is there any harm in telling him that it will be? “Stiles, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.”
“This time,” Stiles sniffles. “But…but what if there’s a next time? Danny, I can’t…I can’t lose you.”
“I didn’t know you cared this much,” Danny says. Again, he’s not trying to cheapen what Stiles is feeling, he’s just not sure where it’s all coming from.
“I do, I care, okay?” Stiles shifts, then shifts again – hell, about the only thing constant about his position is his hands – he’s still rubbing the underside of his wrist; it’s mesmerizing, really, and Danny can hardly take his eyes off of it, but he forces himself to, forces himself to Stiles in the eye.
“Okay.” Danny nods. “Stiles, it’s okay that you care.”
“No, Danny…” Stiles gulps. “I care.”
“Oh.” Danny is a lot of things, but he’s not thick, and when Stiles changes his inflections, Danny understands instantly what Stiles is saying, though it takes a minute to kick in.
“I care a lot – too much, probably,” he mumbles. “And I was afraid that, you know, that you’d be gone, and I wouldn’t get to tell you, and I know what you’re going to say, because you’re a good guy – you’re going to tell me that I’m sweet, and that in a different place, in a different time, blah, blah, blah, but just don’t, okay?” Stiles looks at him, eyes full of something Danny isn’t quite sure he recognizes – some strange mix of passion and heartbreak, and in turn, Danny feels his own heart breaking, just a little. “Just tell me you’ll be more careful, okay?” Stiles whispers. “Tell me you won’t go looking into things you shouldn’t, and that you’ll just…just be safe, Danny.”
“Okay.” Danny nods, because after that kind of confession, followed by that kind of request, there’s not really another way to go about speaking. “I’ll be careful.” It feels stupid, saying that to someone that he doesn’t know as well as maybe he should, but it’s also painfully obvious to him how much Stiles cares, and he doesn’t want to make things worse.
“Okay.” Stiles shifts again, and stands, turning to leave, still rubbing his wrist.
“Stiles?”
“Yeah?” Stiles turns back around, facing Danny.
“Come here.” Danny pats the hospital bed, right next to where he’s sitting, and Stiles goes over to him, sitting, but not saying anything. Slowly, carefully, Danny puts his arm around Stiles. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m not going to die, so try not to worry about me, okay?”
Stiles just nods, sniffling, trying not to cry anymore, because he already feels stupid enough. He wants to be stronger than this, but it’s hard. He’s lost so many people in so little time, and now Boyd, and almost Danny in the same week, and it’s just…it’s a lot for a boy whose mother is dead, and whose father is in the line of fire every single day.
“You can’t promise that,” Stiles whimpers, still massaging his wrist with the pad of his thumb.
“That’s true,” Danny admits. “But I can promise to try, and I’m gonna do that, okay? For you.”
“I…okay.” Stiles lets out a shaky breath, and his heart is racing, but at least he’s not crying anymore – well, not really. A single tear still makes its way down his cheek, but he figures it’s slowing, and that’s better than nothing. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Danny smiles kindly at him, hoping to calm him down, and Stiles just shifts in Danny’s arms, switching hands so he’s now massaging his right wrist with his left hand.
“Why do you do that?” Danny asks.
“Do what?”
“The wrist thing.”
“Oh.” Stiles stops, clasping his hands together, and folding them in his lap. “I…I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t,” Danny says softly. “I asked why you did.”
“I…it calms me down. I don’t know why, but it helps, you know, when I feel like I’m gonna start panicking. It helps to curb that. Maybe it’s a pulse thing, maybe it’s just soothing, I dunno, it just…it keeps me from losing it. Sometimes. Not always.”
“Oh.” Danny nods, because that makes sense, and he reaches out, taking Stiles’ arm. Slowly, he starts to massage Stiles’ wrist with the pad of his own thumb, and Stiles looks up at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Soothing you,” Danny whispers. “You look worse than I do, and I almost died. You need rest.”
“I have trouble sleeping,” Stiles admits.
“I gathered. Close your eyes, Stiles. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“Okay.” Stiles, too tired to object, does as Danny says.
He curls against him, and with Danny there, holding him, massaging his wrist, he dozes off. Once Danny’s sure that Stiles is asleep, he stops rubbing the boy’s wrist, and leans down, dropping a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead before folding the smaller boy into his arms, closing his own eyes, thinking, as he drifts off, that it might be easier to learn to love this boy, who clearly cares for him so much, than he ever would have imagined.