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Sometime around midnight Stiles sneaks past the nurses at the hospital desk and into Cora’s room.
She’s sound asleep and Derek is gone – Scott called him about Blake hours ago, and Stiles just bets Derek had run out of here like Blake was chasing him herself. Just another thing for Derek to feel guilt about, Stiles thinks, but can’t find it in himself to feel bad for Derek, because Boyd is dead and Blake isn’t, and now his father is missing and Cora is lying in a hospital bed, so human looking. Stiles takes a seat in the chair that’s pushed up tight against the hospital bed and hangs his head in his hands and lets out a ragged sob.
Cora wakes up.
“Stiles,” she rasps, and Stiles looks up. Cora looks exhausted and weak and Stiles lets out a small sob upon seeing her, reaching out and grasping her hand, kissing it. “Hey, Stiles,” she smiles, lifting a trembling finger and brushing it along his lips. “What’sa matter?”
“Dad’s gone,” he says, and her finger freezes.
“He –”
“Jennifer Blake took him,” Stiles interrupts, and laughs, shaking his head and looking away. “My English teacher took my father as a sacrifice. Jesus Christ.”
Cora frowns. “Derek has never had much luck, has he?” she asks him, and Stiles lets out another hysterical laugh. Cora offers him a weak smile. “Derek is –”
“I don’t know,” Stiles says helplessly, shaking his head. His eyes fill with tears and he leans in, rests his head on Cora’s arm, and Cora winds her fingers through Stiles’ hair and starts stroking in.
“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay, Stiles,” Cora whispers.
“It’s not,” Stiles sobs, “It’s not, Cor – I can’t, the last thing I said, and he didn’t believe me, he thought I was crazy and I just – I told him mom woulda believed me and I don’t want that to be the last thing I said. God, Cora.”
“Hey, hey,” Cora murmurs, tugging at Stiles’ hand and pulling him up out of the chair. She gestures for him to lie down next to him on the narrow bed, and Stiles is helpless, can’t make himself argue, so he crawls into the bed and curls up next to her feeling weak and tired. Cora wraps one arm around him and kisses his forehead. “I remember the last thing I said to my mom,” Cora finally says, when Stiles has calmed down enough that she can talk over his sniffles. Stiles snuffles his nose into her hospital gown and curls in closer, and Cora once again tangles her fingers through his hair. The scratch of her nails against his scalp feels good.
“Wha’s it?” Stiles asks, face buried into her shoulder.
Cora sighs. “I wanted to wear this skirt to school that day. It was too short. My mom flipped her lid, said there was no way I was wearing it to school, I was too young to wear something like that. I was young, stupid,” Cora breaks off, laughing a little. “I told her she was being stupid and I never wanted to talk to her again. My mom told me she loved me and she hoped I had a good day at school in my jeans and I rolled my eyes and stomped out of the house. I never made it to school because the house burst into flames when I was halfway down the walkway, and I ran.” Cora shrugs.
Stiles kisses her shoulder. “’m glad you ran though. Bet your mom woulda forgiven you.”
Cora’s fingers tighten in his hair for a moment. “And I bet your dad will forgive you when he sees you again,” she says, voice steady, and Stiles closes his eyes tight.
“I can’t lose him,” he whispers.
“I know, baby,” Cora says. Stiles takes a deep breath, and then looks up at her.
“You’re bleeding again,” he frowns, noticing the blood seeping through the bandage on her head. Cora shrugs.
“Can’t even feel it.” She offers a weak smile.
“I should let you rest.” He starts to sit up, but Cora tugs him back in and down and forces him to stay.
“Stay,” she says, and to anyone listening, it would sound like a demand, but Stiles hears it for what it is – it’s a plead, a desperate attempt at seeking comfort, and Stiles can’t say no, hasn’t been able to say no to Cora since the moment he meant her. Something in the water the Hales drank, he thinks, makes it impossible to say no to them.
“Mrs. McCall will blow a gasket in the morning,” he says, but it isn’t a protest, just a fact. Cora rolls her eyes and then tries to hide the wince. Stiles frowns. “What’s happening, Cora?”
Cora shrugs, eyes tight at the corners with worry. Her mouth is a grim line of worry and she reaches out and brushes a finger along Stiles’ cheek, leaning in close. “I don’t know,” she says. “But I’m gonna make sure I’m right by your side to find your dad, okay?”
She sounds determined, focused, and she’s weak and tired and broken, but then, so is Stiles.
And Stiles is so tired and scared and Cora is right here, comforting. He should be out there, searching for his father, trying to find him, trying to find Blake so he can kill her for taking his dad in the first place, but he can’t find it in him to sum up the energy to move. He should be arguing with Cora and telling her she’s going to stay here and heal, but she’s always just as determined and headstrong as he is. So he gives in, sinks back into the bed.
“I’m scared,” Stiles confesses.
Cora leans in, kisses him once, twice.
“Sleep,” she says.
So Stiles does.