I'm fine. |stiles stilinski•

Part 8

At about 3pm we hear a knock at the door. I tell Isaac I'll answer it because it will most likely be Scott, and I want to give him the surprise of Isaac.

"Hey, man." He says, walking in and shutting the door behind him. He examines me.

"You okay?" He checks. I nod lazily.

He wheels me into the front room but I stop moving at one point because he's seen Isaac and has already jumped on top of him, leaving me in the doorway, watching, and wishing that could be me, healthy and happy.

"Dude, what are you doing here?!" Scott asks excitedly.

"I was in France- I couldn't be here after Allison died." He says quietly, but then smiles again when he looks into Scott's eyes.

"I missed my pack." He says, glancing at me and throwing an arm around Scott's shoulder.

They both help me upstairs; I'm tired and in desperate need of a nap because honestly, I've kept going all day and am quite proud. I drop my head into my pillow, and shut my eyes and sigh.

"Stiles, you need anything, text us. Save your voice." says Isaac, placing my phone down on my bedside table. Scott turns off the lights and they both leave, shutting the door behind them.

🍃🍃

I wake up at 6am to my Dad, who's telling me it's time to go to the hospital. I get dressed and walk to the car fine, putting my beanie on as I climb in.

"You got my chair in the trunk?" I check, and my dad nods, turning on the radio to some unknown station with crappy music. We drive in silence.

"How long will I be there?" I ask, looking out the window.

"I think it's a four hour session." Says my dad.

I groan; four hours were the worst.

When we arrive, I get injections and tablets and am wired up to the machines. I'm sat in a ward filled with other teenage cancer kids on a relatively comfortable chair.

"Hey." Says a cheerful girl sat next to me.

"Hi." I reply back, looking at her pretty features.

"How long you been here?" She asks.

"Um, about half an hour, I don't know. You?" I ask.

"No, like, how long have you had cancer for?" She asks, peering at the tube snaking into my body, filling me with poison.

"I was diagnosed about 3 weeks ago." I say, thinking back to the awful news I received that day.

"Not long, then. I've been here a year." She says, fiddling with her hair of which I assume is on a wig.

A year. I guess I've never really thought of this in the long term. What if I don't get better? Or what if I do, but then it comes back? I sigh.

"How're you doing?" She asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Um... You know, I feel like I'm dying. Sorta." I say, rolling my eyes.

She frowns. "I'm Lucy, by the way." She says.

"Stiles." I say back, half smiling at her.

"Stiles?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's not my real name.. It's what I like to be called though." I explain.

She considers for a moment. "Huh. Stiles. I like it, it's weird- but different." She says and the way she says different makes me feel special, rather than an alienated freak.

Soon a doctor approaches and unhooks Lucy from the chemo. She waves me good bye as she's led away by the doctor. I doze off and reawaken when I too am being unhooked.

"Rise 'n' shine, Hun." Says a smiley nurse in front of me. "Your dads just over there." She says, pointing toward behind the clear double doors. Sure enough, there he is, my wheelchair in his hands.

"Now, you had quite a large dose, so take it easy." She says patting my arm and helping me up.

"Thanks." I say, standing up. I shuffle towards my Dad and take a seat in my chair.

"How was that?" My dad asks as we leave.

"It was okay, actually. I met someone nice- kind of." I tell him.

"Oh yeah? Who?" He asks, carefully pushing me off the curb and into the parking lot.

"She was called Lucy." I say.

"Oh, thats great." He says, and I know he actually means it.

"Hey, I think Derek's coming over later." I say. He chuckles.

"Derek's been waiting in our house for you to come back for the last two hours." He tells me, laughing. I smile as I stand up and lift myself into the car.

My Dad folds up my wheelchair and packs it into the trunk.

🍃🍃

We arrive home and I walk into the house. Derek's on his feet and all over me, checking if I'm okay and do I need to sit down, the second I come in.

"I'm fine!" I assure him, smiling at his kindness. He rests a hand on my arm.

"I know. It's just, I'm not." He says. I frown at him.

I end up getting quite out of breath from the amount of standing I'm doing, so Derek leads me upstairs and into my bedroom. I sit down on the bed and catch my breath, and Derek sits next to me, a protective hand on my back.

"You doing okay?" I ask him as he's got a distant look in his eye.

He buries his face in his hands and shakes his head.

"I just don't get that, of all the people, this happened to you. Why you? Everyday I wake up and pray something bad didn't happen to you in the night. Everyday I need to know you're okay, cause if you're not I'll go out of my mind." He said, wiping a small tear from his eye. I stroke his arm.

"Derek, you'd know if something was up." I tell him, looking him in the eyes.

"I know." He whispers, his eyes not meeting mine. "It's just, I can smell it. It's always lingering, it smells like..." He searches for a word but I know exactly what he wants to say.

"Death." I finish for him. He looks at me.

"How do you do it? How to you get up in the morning and go on each day?" He asks. I shrug.

"Sometimes I don't feel like going on. Sometimes, I just wish it would kill me." I say, my voice shaking.