& one more time
title: ready or not
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
fandom: teen wolf
rating: pg
characters: Stiles
warnings: canonical character death, allusion to long term illness
word count: 414
notes: this is hardly 'be thankful' fare, but i needed a little fic therapy so. also: STILINSKI FAMILY FEELS, GODDAMNIT.
Stiles can’t curl up next to her anymore. She’s too sick; there are too many tubes and needles and machines. He wants to. Wishes they were back at home so he could crawl under the blanket and keep her warm. She’s so cold now, even with her favorite sweater and the heater under the window turned up enough to make Stiles sweat.
He sits in a chair right beside the bed. Holds her hand like always. A few minutes ago she opened her eyes, smiled at him tiny and sad. Stiles smiled back. He was brave and didn’t cry, even though his throat felt tight and funny. He whispered ‘I love you’ over and over until she went back to sleep.
His dad promised he’d come soon. Maybe he can make her feel better. She always tries to be awake when the three of them are together; she doesn’t seem as tired.
Stiles leans over so his head’s as close to hers as he can get it. Listens to the short huff of her breath and hiss of the oxygen. Sometimes he breathes with her, watches her chest barely move and waits and waits for her to draw in the next one. His dad doesn’t like it; Stiles has made himself sick trying to match the uneven rhythm. He couldn’t get enough air and everything went gray and spotty. Now, he just waits until no one’s around; he needs one thing he can do for her. Just one.
Her hand twitches in his; Stiles raises his head. Feels her squeeze his fingers harder than she has in a long time.
“Mom?”
She sighs; that’s what it sounds like. So quiet it’s not really a noise at all. One by one the machines next to the bed go off like fire alarms. Stiles flinches.
Too many people come running into the room. Scott’s mom and the doctor that said he liked Stiles’ red high tops yesterday, the nurse that sneaks Stiles an extra pudding cup when he changes the iv bags after supper. None of them are right. None of them can make this okay. Someone tries to pull him away from the bed. Stiles fights; he kicks and howls and chokes on tears too strong for him this time. He isn’t brave; he doesn’t care.
His dad still hasn’t shown up. Stiles needs him - he promised - but he’s not here. She wasn’t supposed to leave them yet.
Stiles can’t let go of her hand.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
fandom: teen wolf
rating: pg
characters: Stiles
warnings: canonical character death, allusion to long term illness
word count: 414
notes: this is hardly 'be thankful' fare, but i needed a little fic therapy so. also: STILINSKI FAMILY FEELS, GODDAMNIT.
Stiles can’t curl up next to her anymore. She’s too sick; there are too many tubes and needles and machines. He wants to. Wishes they were back at home so he could crawl under the blanket and keep her warm. She’s so cold now, even with her favorite sweater and the heater under the window turned up enough to make Stiles sweat.
He sits in a chair right beside the bed. Holds her hand like always. A few minutes ago she opened her eyes, smiled at him tiny and sad. Stiles smiled back. He was brave and didn’t cry, even though his throat felt tight and funny. He whispered ‘I love you’ over and over until she went back to sleep.
His dad promised he’d come soon. Maybe he can make her feel better. She always tries to be awake when the three of them are together; she doesn’t seem as tired.
Stiles leans over so his head’s as close to hers as he can get it. Listens to the short huff of her breath and hiss of the oxygen. Sometimes he breathes with her, watches her chest barely move and waits and waits for her to draw in the next one. His dad doesn’t like it; Stiles has made himself sick trying to match the uneven rhythm. He couldn’t get enough air and everything went gray and spotty. Now, he just waits until no one’s around; he needs one thing he can do for her. Just one.
Her hand twitches in his; Stiles raises his head. Feels her squeeze his fingers harder than she has in a long time.
“Mom?”
She sighs; that’s what it sounds like. So quiet it’s not really a noise at all. One by one the machines next to the bed go off like fire alarms. Stiles flinches.
Too many people come running into the room. Scott’s mom and the doctor that said he liked Stiles’ red high tops yesterday, the nurse that sneaks Stiles an extra pudding cup when he changes the iv bags after supper. None of them are right. None of them can make this okay. Someone tries to pull him away from the bed. Stiles fights; he kicks and howls and chokes on tears too strong for him this time. He isn’t brave; he doesn’t care.
His dad still hasn’t shown up. Stiles needs him - he promised - but he’s not here. She wasn’t supposed to leave them yet.
Stiles can’t let go of her hand.
- end