all you have is your fire

ten

Fire.

Searing flames, climbing up the curtains beside Stiles' bed - the one he and Derek had shared less than an hour ago. Trembling in fear, he huddled in the corner on the floor, a blanket pressed to his lips in an attempt to keep the smoke out of his lungs.
With each second the flames grew closer, climbing the walls like ivy, engulfing the door as they inched nearer.

In the distance, a siren sounded, then another and another, the sounds overlapping until Stiles didn't know how many fire engines or ambulances lay beyond those walls.
It had been just one candle - could it have really spread that far?

Stiles glanced at the window, pondering throwing it open and jumping out. At least with it open a crack, there was no risk of backdraft, but the mere thought of leaving this corner left him petrified.

Even rising one inch from the floor would expose him to more smoke. If he remembered correctly, it only took minutes for a person to die from smoke inhalation.

God, he was going to die. And through it all, one thought kept rising to the surface of this mind, no matter how hard he tried to shove it away.

Derek.

Derek, with his once-kind smile and sparkling forest green eyes. Derek, with his contagious, intoxicating laughter that bubbled from his lips like champagne. Derek, with his large yet gentle hands, caressing every inch of him on the bed that now lay engulfed in fire.

Damn it, this was the last thing he needed. Derek hated him - no, despised him. Once he heard about the fire, Derek would probably be glad to see Stiles perish before him.

Tears traced down hot cheeks, eyes stinging as they squeezed shut through the smoke that thickened around him. To be honest, if he didn't make it, if the smoke snaked into his lungs until it choked the life out of him, Stiles probably did deserve it. For lying to Derek, for his hesitation years ago.

Stiles squinted through the smoke as the sirens grew louder. Bright flashes of red and white shone outside, and voices shouted beyond the window.

Stiles coughed, once, twice.

A figure appeared outside, tall yet nondescript. Muffled shouting sounded from beyond the pane, but he couldn't see through the smoke or hear much of anything over the crackling roar of the flames.

"Drk?" He mumbled, extending his fingers towards the window, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't too late.

And then everything went black.

---

"No..." Derek breathed, terror consuming him when he rounded the corner and saw flames and thick smoke pouring from the second story window of the apartment where he'd once lived. The room that had once held so much love and so much heartache. Derek didn't know how the fire had started, if Stiles had done it on purpose, or if it was a careless mistake. Firefighters from other stations poured out of the main entrance, guiding people to safety as Erica fixed one end of the hose to a nearby fire hydrant.

All the while, the fire grew. Melted plastic dripped from the balcony - Stiles' sanctuary. It was all too surreal. It couldn't be happening. It must be a nightmare. An awful hallucination plaguing his mind.

"Derek!" Boyd's voice broke through the thick haze, the ringing in his ears. "Derek!"
He blinked, then turned to look at his colleague.

No. This was real. Very, very real.

Propelled by anxiety, Derek pushed Jackson aside, then darted from person to person as they walked out of the building. "Stiles? Stiles? Have any of you seen Stiles?"

Yet none of them looked even vaguely familiar. Which meant Stiles was still inside. Possibly trapped in that bedroom. Someone needed to go up there and save him.
He needed to save him. Even if it meant confronting one of his worst fears: heights. Trembling with adrenaline, Derek climbed the ladder on the side of the fire engine and walked across the aerial.

"Hey!" A strong hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. "What do you think you're doing?"

Derek turned to see Boyd standing before him, confusion etched onto his face.

"Stiles is up there... I need to save him."

"Not in civvies, you're not."

Derek sighed, glanced up at the ever growing fire, then back at Boyd. "Then can I borrow your gear?"

"What? Derek, you're crazy."

"Someone needs to save Stiles!"

Boyd pushed him aside. "Then I'll go up. You can operate the aerial from down here. Can you do that?"

"Um... y-yeah." Derek nodded, then crawled along the ladder to the back of the fire engine. Once situated, Boyd flicked his helmet closed and signaled to Derek with a thumbs up.

And Derek pulled the lever.

Slowly the aerial climbed skyward, towards the second story window that belched thick smoke. Once there, Derek stopped it, then stood transfixed as Boyd stepped forward, smashed the glass and climbed inside.

Time slowed to a crawl as he waited. Below him, Erica dragged the hose forward, joined by Isaac. A stream of water poured forth as they dug their heels into the ground, focusing the stream on the flames above. A hiss of steam rose into the night air.

And Derek waited.

"He'll be okay." Scott called up to him. "Boyd's the best, he'll get Stiles, they'll be okay."

Then, as if on cue, Boyd climbed through the window, a familiar yet motionless form hanging over his shoulder. Clinging to the aerial, Boyd waved to Derek, then removed his mask, placing it over Stiles' face as Derek worked the controls to bring them down.

Frantically, Scott paced next to the fire engine, face etched with worry for his best friend. Once the ladder was in place, Boyd carried Stiles down the side and Derek scrambled after him.

"Boyd!" He shouted. "Boyd, is he okay? Is he-"

"I tried to check for a pulse up there but couldn't find one." Boyd carefully lay Stiles on the pavement, his face red, blistered and covered with soot, then stepped back as Scott rushed to his side. "He was up there for a long time, Derek. Even if he survived the heat, the smoke inhalation itself could have-"

"No!" Derek knelt at Stiles' side across from Scott. Boyd had to be wrong. Stiles was just sleeping, rendered temporarily unconscious. Derek scanned Stiles' body, desperate to detect just a hint of movement in his chest to prove Boyd wrong. "No, he has to be okay. He's okay, right, Scott? He has a pulse, right?"

The look in Scott's eyes answered for him.