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“Cora… Cora you’re fine now. Come on, sit up,” Derek murmured gently, fatigue wracking his body and soaking into his muscles. He was gripping his sister’s arm tightly even though he had finished the process. He didn’t want to let her go, as if when he did she would slip away again. She gasped, her eyes wild as they rolled in their sockets, trying to focus on the building she was inside of. Her fingers curled into the sheets, long strands of light brown hair sticking to her face lathered in sweat.
Derek slipped a hand beneath her, pressing into her back until she pulled herself up on her own, legs tangling in the sheets as she tried to catch her breath. Her gaze was distant but she looked past Derek, staring at Peter before letting her eyes flick to Derek. “You… your power…” she responded numbly, the sound of her voice almost foreign to her.
“Don’t worry about that. You’ll probably be weak for a little while. You should just rest for now and get your strength back up,” Derek said flatly, trying to offer a small smile but it was weak and didn’t reach his eyes. He twisted around, looking at Peter as he stood with his lips parted and his face blank. “She’s fine now. I need to go find Isaac,” was all he said as he rose to his feet.
His grip reluctantly left Cora’s limp arm as he stalked around the bed. A wave of dizziness fell over him and he leaned on the bed, trying to blink the feeling away. He couldn’t afford to sit around anymore. He also really didn’t want to get into it with Cora because he was fairly certain she would repeat all the same things Peter had been telling him. Peter was watching him but he continued to stand there dumbly as if he couldn’t find anything to say. He shifted his weight when Derek passed but the silence in the flat was heavy. It followed Derek even as he rushed through the door and down the steps, bursting through the building’s entrance and into the cool night air.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to find Isaac, but he just knew that he needed to. He did what he could for Cora, the words the beta had choked out to him rushing through his mind. He went to find his car, feeling like a stranger in his own body as he hunched his shoulders and pressed onward.
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“Scott. Scott, follow my voice,” Deaton urged to the limp form in the tub. The werewolf’s head was leaning against the rim, mouth open and body unresponsive. Deaton pulled him up further, glancing over to Lydia and Isaac who were doing the same for Stiles and Allison. “Pull them back. Use your voice and your touch to guide them back. Whatever you do, do not let go of them.”
Isaac nodded mutely, already leaning forward and pulling Allison up from the surface of the water. The ice clanged against the side of the tub, the water sloshing around as he hooked his hands under the hunter’s arms and kneeled over the tub. “Allison, listen to my voice Allison,” he whispered soothingly, trying and failing to keep the fear from his voice.
Lydia was speaking too, Stiles’ head rolled back and his face passive and she seriously did not like the absent look that was on his features. She nudged him, shaking him gently and lowering her head until her lips hovered by his ear. A loud gasp startled her, her eyes widening and her muscles tensing. Her head whipped to the side as icy water splashed on the tile when Allison reared up from the tub, legs kicking and pushing her up and fingers curled tight on the edge.
Lydia turned back to Stiles, hands on his shoulders but sliding down his soaked shirt to lie across his chest. “Stiles, Stiles honey it’s time to come back,” she said frantically, fear scraping chills down her spine as she shook him. She was vaguely aware of Deaton speaking, the calmness in his voice unreal in a situation like this. Stiles wasn’t moving, his body still lax and head rolling to the side until his chin rested on his chest. Lydia felt herself beginning to panic and she knew that was the last thing she needed to be doing.
Scott came to, rearing up from the tub as violently as Allison had, ice chiming pleasantly as it clattered to the floor and water sloshed around. Deaton was helping him out, Allison already standing in Isaac’s arms as he tried to warm her up. She was shaking, her hair in tangles and dripping across her body as she clung to the blanket as fiercely as she could. Her brows were pressed together in worry, Scott wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and rushing over to kneel beside Stiles.
“Stiles? Stiles!” Lydia shouted, her eyes burning and her heart thundering in her chest. “He’s not waking up!” She was shaking him uselessly, head whipping around as she looked up at Deaton desperately. He looked worried and confused as well, hovering next to Scott.
“We need to pull him out. He’s not going to make it if he stays in there any longer,” the veterinarian said from somewhere beside Lydia. Despite the smoothness of his voice his face betrayed his emotions. Isaac and Scott both jerked as if they had been hit, perking up instantaneously and pushing themselves to their feet. Allison tore her gaze away, watching the two as they rushed through the door into the other room. She didn’t follow them, turning back to Lydia and Stiles and resting a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
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Derek knew Isaac had left to go help Stiles and hopefully Scott was with him, wherever they might be. He figured Scott wouldn’t have bothered since he left with Deucalion. Despite that he didn’t peg Scott as the type to ignore his friends. He tapped the door anxiously, trying to fish through his thoughts and sort them out so he could think properly. His nostrils flared as a gentle breeze caressed him from where he stood, his head tilting as he looked back up to the building he had just left.
He ignored it all and settled for a blunt approach; his lips peeled back and he let out a long, pleading howl into the starry skies. The sound was thunderous, echoing into the cloudless heavens and hopefully they wouldn’t ignore him. He opened the car door, starting off down the street when he heard the familiar call of Scott some ways away. Derek wasted no time, sliding behind the wheel and starting it up, the door slamming behind him. The vehicle lurched forward, tires squealing and he dared any law enforcement to stop him as he raced for the clinic.
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The pressure was killing her and she felt tears stinging her eyes as she nearly fell into the tub trying to pull Stiles up. She ignored Allison’s hand on her shoulder even though she desperately wanted to cling to it for dear life. Deaton’s hands invaded her line of sight as he leaned down and slipped his hands into the water. Lydia’s chest was heaving as she took a deep breath, fingers curling beneath Stiles’ arms and feet slipping on the wet tile. The water had trailed beneath her, soaking her clothes and she couldn’t really care less. Deaton had been wrong; she wasn’t a strong enough anchor for Stiles.
The crushing reality of that still had yet to sink in. Allison had left her side to go find Isaac and Scott and all Lydia could think about is how she failed Stiles. She may have stopped his panic attack but it still hadn’t been enough. Deaton had his hands underneath Stiles, elbows braced on the tub and Lydia scrambled to her feet, pulling Stiles with her. Voices murmured somewhere behind her, frantically back and forth but her ears were ringing. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, her heartbeat sounding so loud and she briefly considered the possibility that she might succumb to a panic attack.
Water trickled down her legs, splashing across her feet and she nearly slipped, wobbling as she tried to center her weight. Ice fell off of the soaked teenager, shattering as it struck the tile and it sounded so damned loud through the thick silence. Tires squealed outside, the sound muted and dull and a door slammed haphazardly. Boots squeaked on the floor, a shadow falling across Lydia as Derek nearly knocked her over trying to get beside her.
“What happened? Why isn’t he waking up?” he demanded, hazel eyes wide as he looked pointedly at Deaton. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, arms slipping around Stiles’ back and waist and pulling him towards him. Lydia let go as if she had suddenly been burned, arms hugging around her body as she stepped away. Deaton staggered a bit, his grip still on Stiles’ legs but he let him go and stepped away himself, watching curiously. Derek sank to the ground with Stiles in his grip, readjusting when he realized he had all of the deadweight to himself now.
“Come on, Stiles. You’d better not stay dead, or I swear…” Derek hissed through his teeth, not realizing how tight his jaw had clenched. He shook Stiles vigorously, bracing him on his curled knee and raising a free hand to slap it across his face. It was reminiscent of the other times where he had been on the receiving end and Derek might have found it humrous if he wasn’t deathly afraid that Stiles might actually not wake up. He slapped him again, patting his face but his head just lolled to the side, cheek pressing against Derek’s forearm.
“Stiles! Come back to us, Stiles! Don’t you dare do this to us,” he spat angrily, trying to cling to the anger instead of the heavy agony that was threatening to swallow him whole at the moment. Of all the things that had happened recently he didn’t know if he could stand this. Not this.
Derek raised his hand again, pulling Stiles closer to his chest and leaning over him when the boy spluttered. His whole body jerked, eyes snapping open and rolling wildly as he spat out a mouthful of water. His long fingers were gripping Derek’s shoulder tightly without realizing it as he twisted around on his lap and coughed violently. Derek relaxed visibly, muscles aching with how tense they had been. Lydia was trembling but she, too, relaxed, letting out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding.
Scott, Isaac, and Allison were hovering in the doorway, clinging on as if the building was crashing down on them. Derek didn’t care; he wasn’t paying attention to anyone. His eyes were all for Stiles as he twisted around again and pulled himself up, still holding on to Derek tight, his knuckles whitening from the grip. He let out a frustrated noise, a flush of red painting his pale face as he tried to recover from the coughing fit. His brown eyes were narrowed as he stared up at Derek, shivering from the cold. Droplets of water fell onto his cheeks from his drenched hair, sliding down and leaving cold trails.
“You really jumped at the chance for some payback, didn’t you? Nevermind me totally dead and all that, you just really needed to slap me for once,” Stiles croaked, his throat dry and clenched painfully. Derek looked down at him stoically with as much composure as he could muster, though there was a spark of amusement in his gaze. His other hand had gone back to holding Stiles, curling loosely over his soaked bicep. Stiles swallowed hard, though Derek wasn’t sure if that was because of the whole being dead thing or something else.
“Y'know, this wasn’t exactly how I pictured it going but no complaints here,” Stiles murmured, thinking it best to keep his voice down and try not to vomit from having that bitter ice water in his mouth. The warmth radiating from Derek’s body was insanely comfortable and Derek was making no move to push him away. If it was up to Stiles he would sit there like that for the rest of the night. Derek continued to say nothing, but the relief was painfully obvious in his face and Stiles accepted his silence anyway, curling closer to his chest.