To Build a Home

Chapter 2

At first, Derek thought that the murmur that had pulled him from the depths of sleep was just that of Stiles beside him, some typical mid-night babble that his husband was famous for. He’d rolled over, sighed, and let his eyelids close, drifting quickly back into the dream he’d been having.

But the deep, croupy coughs that followed and echoed down the hallway and from the baby monitor on his nightstand had him fighting the tangle of covers around him. “Isaac,” he announced loudly enough to wake Stiles, who scrambled out of bed and followed him.

Derek didn’t have to flip the light switch to know their three-year-old son was in the throes of an asthma attack, cheeks red and stained with tears from fighting for breath, body hunched in the fetal position as his airways spasmed and caused him to cough between wheezy inhales. The inhaler and spacer were in Derek’s hands before Stiles could even turn Isaac’s blue whale lamp on, the one they’d bought just after they got the phone call that Isaac was going to be theirs. Once the light filled the room, Stiles could see that Isaac was crying and gasping at the same time, panic in his sweet blue eyes enough to make Stiles’ heart ache as he pulled him into his lap.

“Relax, Isaac. It’s okay,” Derek soothed as he shook the inhaler and connected it to the spacer, fitting the mask on the toddler’s tiny face. “Just breathe, baby boy. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed as he gave Isaac two puffs of the medication, finally deciding on a third just in case. Stiles cradled Isaac in his arms, gently pushing his tiny blonde curls out of his face as he inhaled the medicine through shaky breaths.

“He didn’t fight the medicine this time,” Stiles smiled once Isaac’s coughing slowed, breathing still ragged but albuterol obviously taking its desired effect.

“I think he knew it would help. Sounds congested, doesn’t he?” Derek frowned, feeling Isaac’s forehead and cheek.

“He’s warm,” Stiles agreed as he did the same, watching as Derek got up and pulled the baby thermometer from the top drawer of Isaac’s dresser. He gently placed the thermometer in the toddler’s ear, Isaac wincing in pain before he started to cry again, breaths becoming hiccups as Stiles held him still. When the number 102.1 flashed in red, Derek sighed heavily and rubbed his face, knowing they’d be spending at least the next twelve hours in the hospital.           

“Go warm the car up. I’ll pack some things,” Stiles said when he saw how high Isaac’s temperature was, the exhaustion in his voice too obvious to ignore as he stood up and rocked the feverish toddler from side to side to keep him calm. 

 x

If Derek had learned anything in their four months with Isaac, it was that the child hated stimulation. And hospitals, he’d realized early on, were the worst, the fluorescent lighting, noisy waiting rooms, and general amount of people too much for a child that flinched at your every move to handle.

“His oxygen levels are low and his wheezing concerns me. How long has he had the cough?” the short brunette doctor who had introduced herself as Dr. Laska asked as she listened to Isaac’s chest. Derek looked over to Stiles for an answer, unable to remember which phone conversation it had come up in.

“About three days. I figured it was just a cold,” Stiles shrugged, the bags under his eyes too obvious for Derek to ignore. “I…I’ve been on my own for the last week,” he continued, looking over at Derek. “And with the craziness before the holidays I couldn’t get him into the pediatrician’s,” Stiles sighed, feeling like a bad parent for what felt like the millionth time since he’d first held Isaac.

“I’m not here to play bad cop,” the doctor smiled before pulling her stethoscope from her ears and putting it back around her neck. “You’re new parents and you’re new to asthma.”

“Actually, that’s not true. The second part, at least,” Stiles sighed and pulled out his own inhaler. “I should have known better.”

“It sounds like pneumonia. I’m going to start a breathing treatment and give him some Tylenol to whip that fever while we wait for an x-ray,” Dr. Laska explained before grabbing Isaac’s chart and leaving the room. Stiles walked to Isaac’s bedside and parted the toddler’s blonde curls, watching with tears as his son’s whole body worked for each and every breath against the pillows. “This is all my fault,” he sniffled, trying to keep from getting emotional but knowing it was only a matter of time before the tears began to fall.

He expected Derek to come up from behind and embrace him, put his arms around his waist and rest his head on his shoulder, but there was nothing. Not a word, not a sound, not a movement from Derek who stood at the foot of Isaac’s bed and looked at the floor, trying to fight the anger that was building up inside, threatening to show itself in the form of choice words.

“This is not how I wanted to spend our first Christmas with Isaac,” Derek said through gritted teeth, unable to let his eyes meet Stiles’.

“Y-you left me alone for nearly a week,” Stiles whispered in defense, fighting the tears that were welling up in his eyes and the guilt that was balling up in his stomach. “My first graders had their Christmas play and I had progress reports due and Isaac had his Christmas play,” he continued, tone low to keep from startling Isaac. “And then I was decorating and baking and cleaning and making sure Isaac got all of his meds and I had to do it all on my own, Derek. All on my own.”

“Pneumonia,” Derek’s voice boomed as he paced around the room, jaw set as he shook his head. “Jesus, Stiles! Do you know how dangerous that is for a kid, let alone one with asthma?”

“What, you think I don’t know that?” Stiles cried, tears finally sliding down his red cheeks.

“Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?!”

Stiles’ mouth opened at the ridiculousness of the question, a wheeze coming out in the place of words. He quickly tried to brush it off by tending to Isaac, who was whimpering, inhales having become gaspy hiccups that Stiles knew were never a good sign.

“Hey,” Stiles soothed as he forced a smile and pushed Isaac’s hair out of his face. “It’s okay, honey. Papa’s just sad that you’re sick. Dr. Laska’s getting your medicine right now.” Isaac continued to sob, face growing red as he coughed heavily, alarms on the monitor beside the bed going off.

“I think you should leave,” Derek said as he came to the other side of Isaac’s bed and pulled the rail down so that he could hold his son and calm him down. “You’re making him upset and now he can barely breathe.”

“I’m making him upset?”

“I think you need to remove yourself from the situation,” Derek said, their eyes meeting as he held Isaac against his chest, the coldness in his voice reminding Stiles of a Derek he’d known a long, long time ago. Stiles swallowed to keep his wheezing from growing more audible and took a deep breath to keep more tears from falling. Because he knew that everything Derek had said was pure impulse, that he often said things he didn’t mean when he was angry.

Stiles wanted to stay with Isaac and Derek more than anything, to comfort his baby boy until he was breathing easy again, but the way his husband had locked eyes with his made him wonder if somehow things were different this time, made him question whether or not the anger was just temporary. He backed up slowly and exited the room, wheezing picking up as he searched for the nearest stairwell.