To Build a Home

Chapter 8

The wilting Christmas trees lining the curb on each end of Derek and Stiles’ street were a cruel reminder of the holiday that had come and gone as they’d sat in the dimly lit PICU of the Beacon Hills Hospital waiting, hoping, and wishing for any sign of improvement in Isaac’s condition. His fever had broken on the third day, oxygen levels coming up considerably and staying stable on the fourth. He’d fallen asleep in his car seat moments after all of the buckles had been secured on day five when he was released, blonde curls matted from nearly a week spent against a pillow.

Now Derek adjusted a sleepy Isaac on his hip as Stiles unlocked the front door, exhaustion making everything in front of him blurry; he’d gotten about six hours of sleep total, and most, if not all of them, were with one eye open.

“I’ll head over to CVS for his prescriptions in a little while,” Stiles sighed as he tossed his keys into their dish and pulled his jacket off.

“I’m gonna get this one into bed,” Derek said softly as he nodded towards the stairwell.

“Twee,” Isaac said, more awake than he’d been in a while, voice breathy and light.

“You wanna see the tree, honey?” Stiles asked, perking up slightly as he brushed his fingers through the toddler’s hair.

“Did Santa come?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Let’s go check,” Stiles said as he detoured the three of them into the living room by pulling on the sleeve of Derek’s leather jacket, lips curved into a smile that was so contagious even Derek couldn’t resist. The three of them stood in the middle of the room as they took in the sight of rainbow tree lights casting themselves against the pale sage walls and presents neatly arranged beneath the tree by Stiles’ father.

“He came!” Isaac smiled happily, voice raspy as he laid his head on Derek’s shoulder. Stiles smiled too, joy in his heart at the happiness in Isaac’s eyes enough to make him feel somewhat okay for the first time in a week.

x

"Santa doesn’t know…whewe I am," Isaac had cried, the toddler’s little chest heaving with effort to get the words out as he lay in the hospital bed. Stiles had finally managed to peel himself off of Derek to let him tell the doctors of their decision about the ventilator and the absence of his husband beside him made the room feel cold.

"Yes, he does,” Stiles assured him as he rubbed Isaac’s cheek, tears rolling down his own despite the smile on his face. “Santa knows everything, baby boy.”

“And Gampa’s gonna be…aw awone!” Isaac started to sob, sending him into a miserable coughing fit, his monitor suddenly full of activity. The sadness in his voice made Stiles’ heart want to break; they’d been talking about the holidays for nearly two months, how everyone special to them would be coming together as a family, a concept that Isaac was slowly but surely beginning to understand.

“Shh. Gampa can come to us, honey,” Stiles soothed as he took Isaac’s hand in his and squeezed it gently.

“He’s gonna…be mad!” Isaac continued to cry.

“Gampa would never be mad at you for being sick, Isaac.”

“I wanna…go home,” he wheezed, tears still falling as he gasped.

“I know, honey. I promise we’ll go home once they make your breathing all better, okay?”

“Whewe’s Papa?”

“He’ll be right back. Just get some rest, baby,” Stiles choked out as he tried to soothe the toddler by tucking him in beneath his favorite blue fleece blanket. Once Isaac’s sniffling had died down and his eyes had fluttered closed in exhaustion, Stiles let his right palm push against his forehead as a silent sob came out, own wheezing starting up again as he thought about how watching Isaac struggle to breathe and understand what was going on was worse than any pain he’d felt before.