A Traveling Love

Chapter Five

Derek doesn't wake up for three days. When he finally does make his appearance, he is confused and it doesn't last long before he is out again. Stiles treasures every moment. Although Derek doesn't know why he got shot or how he made his way here, he is glad to see Stiles. He's happy to hold hands with the young man at his side who has been there the whole time.

The next day Derek is awake for about an hour. Stiles tells him about the gun wounds and the discharge. Derek is still confused but tried to understand the best he could.

"Do I get to come home, then?" Derek asked, browns furrowed.

"You are home, Derek," Stiles says for the fifth time tightening his hand around Derek's.

There came a knock on the door and Melissa and Claudia entered the room. "Hello Derek, Stiles," Melissa said with a sweet smile. "I've come to check you over again. How're you feeling today, sweetie?"

The question made Derek frown again. "Ok," he said reservedly, drawing out the word.

"I'm going to take your temperature now."

Derek jumped when Melissa touched his arm and put the thermometer under his tongue. He still rarely let anyone touch him other than Stiles. It was an army thing, that's what Stiles was told anyway. After Melissa finished what she was doing and left, Claudia brought forth lunch. She gently placed the tray in Derek's lap and pated the boy on his shoulder. Derek also allowed Claudia to touch him. She felt very special for this.

Derek was happy not having to eat hospital food. The doctors said that the shots in his chest were dangerously close to Derek's spine and major organs, so Derek was extremely lucky. The single shot to his arm hit a nerve and the arm will always be slower to work than the other. That's why Derek was discharged. The army couldn't afford to have a slow soldier, not unless he wanted to die.

Derek was upset about being released. He felt that he hadn't saved enough people, but at the same time, killed enough for at least twenty men. That would always haunt him. Just thinking about the victims and their families brought tears to Derek's eyes.

-

Stiles could tell Derek wasn't the same. Even though he still confided in Stiles, he wasn't the same. He was more closed off and reserved than before the army. He always scanned the room before putting his attention to someone else. Derek didn't like to many people in the room at once, 'threats' he once mumbled under his breath.

It scared Stiles to think of the changes. And of course, the nightmares. They grew louder and louder each night. The doctors had said that was to be expected. Nightmares were a sign of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) that was common among wounded soldiers. That worried Stiles even more. Derek was possibly looking at this disorder for the rest of his life. And he was so young to start with.

-

"Hey, Der. I've got some water for you," Stiles uncapped the straw and put it against Derek's lips.

"Thanks," replied the raspy voice.

Stiles sat down on the side of the bed and stroked Derek's hair back. It was growing rapidly now without the worry of being shaved. Derek's eyes fluttered shut from the feeling. It was nice to be home.

-

"It's called frontotemporal dementia. It leads to tissue shrinkage and reduced function in the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain. One of the symptoms is behavioral changes. Just small things to begin with, but as it developed they get more server. Another is speech. Most people lose the ability to generate words so it leads to stuttering. The last is muscle functions. Tremors, lack of coordination, and balance problems are frequently found in dealing with frontotemporal dementia." The doctor ended his speech and looked at the troubled couple.

The sheriff, John, could hardly hold back tears while the wife, Claudia, had hardened features. "We're not telling Stiles until it becomes worse. He has enough to deal with with Derek right now."

John shook his head. "There has to be a cure. There has to be something," he looked to the doctor in denial.

"I'm sorry, sheriff. There's nothing we can do. Frontotemporal dementia has no cure." John was racked with sobs as Claudia just kept looking at the brain scans, resigned to her fate.