Unavoidable Encounters, Hated OccurancesA Chapter by Tsukin Archangel "Stiles slammed his lunch tray angrily on the table which in turn quaked under the force of the blow. " *Warning Language, Gay kiss, depressing imagery :3* Stiles slammed his lunch tray angrily on the table which in turn quaked under the force of the blow. Scott looked up, startled, and took a bite out of his apple, his eyes doing the questioning for him. Stiles took no notice sighing in exasperation as he crumpled down to sit in front of him. “What?” Stiles demanded after a few moments under Scott’s unrelenting gaze. “What happened?” “Oh you noticed,” Stiles droned out monotonously, voice dripping with sarcasm and venom. “I always notice,” Scott replied, looking hurt and surprised. Stiles sighed and reached for his bag of chips, biting back a stinging comment that he knew he’d regret later if he let it out, and opened them, his rage exacting more force than he meant to use causing its contents to fly out in a myriad of salt covered corn triangles. “S**t,“ He slammed the empty bag on the table and set his mouth, obvious irritation written all over his face. “Does the world hate me?!” Stiles demanded gesturing upwards wildly, “God smite me now if this has to continue.” He dropped his head onto the table with a groan. “So, what happened?” Scott asked again after a minute of Stiles self pity act, “Stop bitching and tell me.” Stiles looked up at him steadily for a moment before responding with his usual high spirited uncontrollable energy, an energy usually fueled with joy now fueled with a need for vengeance. He exploded. “F*****g Fabian!” He began, “F*****g teachers, f*****g students f*****g everything! This kid has made myself more miserable in the three hours I’ve known him, then the time freaking Gerard went ballistic and kidnapped me...ok well maybe not that bad, I just bout wet my pants that time but…“ He took a breath. “And to make it even worse, every single teacher has placed him right next to me, I mean the f**k! It’s like he has some creepy mind control that’s forcing him in my space and I hate it. Not to mention the dude keeps giving me these weird looks, it’s freaking disconcerting.” “That’s it?” “What do you mean ’that’s it’?” Stiles demanded angrily. “He hasn’t done anything to you, I don’t see why your getting so worked up.” Stiles scoffed, “Since when where u the voice of reason?” “What?” Scott said looking confused. Stiles gaped at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, “The voice of reason? You know the character in Romantic literature, the mediator? Ringing a bell?” “Nope.” “Well that’s fantastic.” Scott smiled looking proud and stood up with his tray clapping Stiles on the back as he walked by. “Well I gotta go before Mr. Harris decides to give me after school detention for being late to lunch detention.” Stiles mentally kicked himself for not remembering, “Yeah ok man, see ya at practice.” Scott smiled and nodded. *** BAM! Stiles went flying, the force of the tackle knocking the air out of him, his world spinning wildly. He felt himself falling, and flailed, struggling to regain his balance on the slippery grass of the Lacrosse field. “Stilinski! Get your head in the game!” His coached yelled at him. “It is,” He mumbled picking himself up out of the mud. “Ok,” He said to himself picking up the ball, “I can do this.” Then he charged. He smiled to himself as he slipped through the cracks of his team mates defense, the constant running from werewolves finally paying off…which is something he should have thought of before running into a crowd of them. Scott, Jackson, and Isaac stood in front of him, making themselves an impenetrable wall. They moved in sync, some sort of unspoken language passing between them…probably a pack thing. Stiles skidded to a halt panic rising in his throat. He was so close, couldn’t he just once make a goal? He backed away, glancing over his shoulder, his stomach hitting the floor as he did so, the rest of the team had recovered and was coming to get him. He was stuck between a rock an a hard place. Stiles closed his eyes, giving up with a sigh, there was no where to go, better accept the pain and move on. Except it never came. The coach blew his whistle at the last moment, the team collectively turning their heads as he rushed over looking stricken. “Stiles,” He said after a moment, “Where’s Stiles?” Stiles gulped, dread creeping in his stomach, as the team parted to let him through. “What is it coach?” He squeaked out. The coach cleared his throat looking awkwardly away from him, “Well…I hate to have to tell you this…I really don’t want to, but your stuck with me so-” “Just spit it out please,” Stiles said his anxiety making him snappish. “Ok, ok…your dad…he’s in the hospital…he had a heart attack.” He took off his helmet, the coaches words reverberating in his ears, everything else around him fading into the background. Hospital. Heart attack. His dad. No. It was impossible, he couldn’t be in the Hospital. He was ok, there was nothing wrong with him. Impossible, impossible, impossible. Stiles felt the world around him tilt as if on stilts and he stumbled forward, his body forcing him towards the locker room slowly. Deliberately. “Stiles,” His coach called, “Stiles!” “What,” Stiles responded turning around. He felt numb and cold, a wall coming over him to protect his own feelings from desolation, the familiar mask clouding his face. Stiles was no longer here. No, what was here was his empty shell. His coach didn’t answer him just stuttered and ordered Scott to take him to the hospital. He willingly agreed and broke away from the rest of the group, most of which were still in shock, probably just feeling grateful that it wasn’t their parents in the hospital. Stiles didn’t care, he just kept moving forward, not even registering that Scott was calling out to him to slow down, his mind had already focused on something else. The only thought that was keeping him from having a total breakdown right there in the middle of the field. Derek. He needed Derek, he needed him now. Stiles reached the locker room and opened his locker, working on autopilot as he switched into his street clothes not bothering to shower. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. Derek, where r u? The response came almost instantly. The Hale house, why? My dad, he’s in the hospital…he had a heart attack, freaking out. On my way Stiles sighed and put away his phone breathing slowly and evenly doing his best to keep himself from panicking, he would not have a break down in the locker room, he was stronger than that. Scott arrived and picked up Stiles bag, without a word taking out his Jeep keys, tapping Stiles on the arm as he passed. Come on his touch said. *** The drive to the hospital was silent, Scott knowing that he didn’t want to talk, though Stiles secretly wished he’d try just so he wouldn’t be stuck in his own personal hell, all the what if’s crowding his brain, threatening to explode. What if he doesn’t get better? What if he does? What if he gets worse? What if he dies? What if. What if. What if. It was a constant cycle. Stiles sighed gratefully when they arrived and jumped out the Jeep, running through the Beacon Hills Hospital doors. The receptionist looked up, recognition crossing her face, the face of a much smaller boy looking lost and confused in his father’s arms cropping up in her mind, only the father wasn’t with him. He was already here, in another room, suffering from a clogged artery. The receptionist felt sorry for him, so much despair was in his life. “Melissa will be with you in a moment Stiles,” The receptionist called to him. Stiles nodded numbly and sat down on the bench in the lobby, Ms. McCall running down the hall to him. “Scott’s here,” Stiles told her when she sat next to him. Melissa’s face scrunched in concern and confusion. That wasn’t what she expected him to say first at all. Maybe to cry or to ask how his dad was or to just freak out, that she expected, that she could handle, this indifference wasn’t. “Stiles,” She began, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, “You don’t need to worry, it was just a mild thing, he’s not going to die, he’s not like your-” “Don’t finish that sentence,” Stiles cut her off voice tightening, “Please.,,” He didn’t have to finish, the rest was implied, I don’t want to think of her at a time like this. Ms. McCall stopped and closed her mouth. So he wasn’t indifferent just in shock. “Ok, follow me, I’ll take you to see him.” She got up and led him by the hand to the room where his father lay resting. The medicinal smell seemed to get stronger as they got closer to his dad. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was actually happening or just his mind playing tricks on him, but either way Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be able to open the door when he got there. If he saw his dad there, unconscious, wires sticking out of him, beeping machines taking measurements, he just might be sick. How had his day ended up turning into such a nightmare? They reached the door. His heart pounded in his chest. His breath hitched. The door was opened. The next moments seemed to go in slow motion. Stiles crossed the threshold, subconsciously pushing past Melissa, tears finally falling down his face as he saw his dad, his poor over worked, and tired dad, laying there, a tube in his chest, an IV in his arm. He was here because of him, he hadn’t paid enough attention to his diet, he hadn’t been a good enough son. All the lies where coming back to him. His conversation from the morning came back to him and he fell to his knees. “You’re wrong dad,” He whispered through his tears, “I’m not ready to take care of myself, I’m not strong enough, I need you…” He sobbed and wiped his face, a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Go away Melissa.” He said weakly. “I’m not Melissa,” A deep voice resonated above him. Stiles turned, “Derek.” Melissa must’ve snuck on out while he was breaking down. He felt the rest of his tears work their way to the front and he half ran jumped into his arms, not caring if anyone else was in the hallway. Not that there was anyone there anyway. Derek pulled him into his arms, and rubbed his back, laying his face in Stiles short cropped hair, almost a mirror image of the night before, only Stiles was now straddling Derek. He cried and cried and cried, letting it all out, turning into a red eyed snotty mess. But he felt better after he did. Derek didn’t say anything, just sat there rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head, letting him release all of his pent up emotions into his shoulder. Eventually his sobs stopped traveling through his whole body and returned to normal, Stiles pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Sorry bout the shirt,” He mumbled attempting a smile, it came out as a grimace. “No problem, got plenty of the same ones at home.” Stiles scoffed, actually smiling this time, “That’s for sure.” Then he reached up and kissed him, an arm wrapped gently around Derek’s neck. Derek kissed him back, slow and deliberate, a smooth unforced thing, their lips moving lazily together in a synchronized motion. They broke apart and Stiles grinned, Derek hardly ever let them do PDA, he must be more depressed than he thought. Someone coughed behind Derek, and Stiles smile vanished to be replaced by a look of horror. “What?” Derek asked, all his attention on Stiles. “Scott.” © 2012 Tsukin ArchangelAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
275 Views
2 Reviews Added on November 3, 2012 Last Updated on November 3, 2012 Author
Tsukin ArchangelPalmdale, CAAboutHmm let's see~ I'm 20 (wow I've had this account for a long time) I'm a poet I'm a story writer A singer An amateur Voice actor An anime enthusiast An avid gamer 100% Unadulterrated Me! I wri.. more..Writing
|
prev chapter
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
