Leave Me In Ruins

Cold

Derek woke to a cold chill at his back. His skin prickled with goosebumps. The weight of what felt like an icepack was draped over his waist. He twisted to see Stiles was still asleep though Derek's heart nearly stopped when he didn't detect a heartbeat.

"Stiles?" Derek bolted up, forcing Stiles' arm to fall away limply. A small breath reached Derek's ears. His shoulders slumped in relief. He honed in on Stiles' chest again and though it was slow and feint, there was a heartbeat.

"Stiles," Derek said again, less frantic. He reached a hand to cup Stiles' icy cheek. He was cold. Too cold.

"Hmm?" Stiles hummed but his eyes didn't open.

"You're freezing."

Stiles didn't respond.

Derek knew werewolves ran warmer but this was far too cold for any human. Especially Stiles. He'd woken up next to Stiles enough times to know that he ran warm normally. The incoming winter weather wasn't even enough to make Stiles this cold.

Derek kicked away the bedsheets, scrambling for his phone. His fingers carded through his hair as the call rang through, until—

"Deaton," Derek breathed out.

"Derek, what can I do for you?"

"Stiles, he's—" Derek didn't even know what to say. "Cold." The word didn't sound as alarming as it was.

"How cold?" Deaton asked, his warm tone now more assertive. Derek recognized it. That meant Stiles wasn't supposed to be cold.

"Too cold," Derek said. "His breathing is slow and shallow, and his heartbeat is—"

"Bring him in," Deaton interrupted.

Derek didn't waste any time. He wrapped Stiles in his bedding and scooped him up.

Stiles hummed but didn't open his eyes.

"Shhh, I've got you," Derek said as he carried him to the car. His ears remained tuned in to the slow, weak heartbeat. It was a vast difference from the rapid pound he was used to from Stiles. Derek missed it. Even if the fuel to said heartbeat was the anxiety that often made Derek's nose wrinkle in displeasure. It was what made Stiles... well... Stiles.

He turned the heat up in his car as high as it would go as he sped to Deaton's. He was thankful all the cops were on search and rescue duty. Not that he would have stopped anyway. He'd rather spend a few nights behind bars than explain to the sheriff that his son was... The thought halted in its tracks. He couldn't even imagine having to tell the sheriff that something had happened to Stiles.

He glanced at the pile of blankets in his backseat. Stiles was still asleep. Too weak to wake up. An unhelpful voice supplied. He shook it away. He didn't want to imagine life without Stiles. He was sure that there would be no coming back from that. Losing his family had broken him. He had spent years putting the jagged pieces back together. Now, what held him together was his pack and Stiles. Hell, Stiles had cut himself, helping put the pieces back together. If he were gone...

Derek clenched his jaw, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Instead of worrying about how he'd handle Stiles' death, he should be trying to prevent it.

By the time he reached Deaton's, he was pouring with sweat. The inside of his car felt like a sauna. But Stiles was still freezing to the touch.

"Bring him inside." Deaton had met them at the car.

The closed sign hung on the front of his door despite it being almost midday.

Derek laid Stiles on the metal table and stepped back, allowing Deaton to do what he needed to.

"He's nearly hypothermic," Deaton said.