To Build a Home

Chapter 23

"Daddy!" Isaac yelled happily as he ran towards the sound of the front door opening, a heavy bag dropping to the floor along with a set of what had to be Stiles' spare keys. Derek's jaw tightened as he put a lid over a pot of brown rice back in the kitchen and thought about how Isaac had begged him on the way home from his game to drive to the grocery story and pick up tortillas, beans, and salsa as a means of apologizing to Stiles for what had happened that morning; Derek hadn't really agreed with Isaac's idea, but he'd had to go food shopping anyway.

"We're making burritos 'cause they're your favorite!" Isaac explained excitedly, his little arms wrapped tightly around Stiles' neck in a hug. "And I gotsta say sowwy and you always say the best way to say sowwy is to show it not just say it."

"That sounds great, baby," Stiles wheezed with a small, forced smile as Isaac grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen at a too-quick pace that left Stiles even more breathless than he'd been when he'd walked through the door.

"Hey, you guys didn't...have to wait to eat. I told you I'd be home...late," he said as he tried to catch his breath, waiting to see if Derek would respond to either his words or his struggle for air.

"Isaac, can you please grab me the lettuce from the bottom drawer of the fridge?" Derek asked, ignoring Stiles completely, their son occupied for a moment as he pulled the big stainless steel door open with two hands. Finally, Derek mumbled, "I don't want to talk about this morning right now," when Isaac was out of earshot.

"That's...fine," Stiles sighed, leaning one hand on the dark emerald granite counter for balance. "I get it." That morning's events rushed back to him, the arguing and Isaac's insistent crying and tone of the text messages from Derek forcing the grip on his lungs to pull tighter. It wasn't long before he was breathing in short pants, the ability to keep his level of stress down wavering now that he didn't have anything to keep him busy and preoccupied.

"You okay?" Derek asked softly as he looked up and stirred the pot of beans, watching as his husband's eyes filled with tears and his lips pursed like he was trying too hard to hold something back.

"No," Stiles finally whispered when he had the air to do it, sniffling as he pulled his inhaler from his pocket and shook it.

"Go take a treatment. I'll finish dinner," Derek offered softly, knowing that was what he really needed; the attitude, the one that had tried to come out as he'd started talking to Stiles had been pushed aside, the wheeze coming from his husband enough to make him worry instead. A part of him was still angry, but he figured he'd deal with that later, when Isaac was asleep and he and Stiles could talk alone.

"Daddy sick?" Isaac asked nervously as he saw Stiles take a quick puff of medicine, the word 'treatment' having piqued his attention.

"I'm okay, baby," Stiles lied before taking a second puff. "Just having a...hard day."

"I can read to you while you do a tweatment!" Isaac said excitedly as Derek took the bag of lettuce from his hands. "It'll make you feew better!" He was practically jumping, hands clasped together and eyes happy as he thought about helping his daddy.

Stiles just shook his head and closed his eyes tightly to focus on getting a decent lungful of air; it was pointless, though, because he was starting to feel dizzy, and that was that signal that he'd hit the point of no return in his attack.

"Der," he wheezed anxiously, both hands, one with the inhaler beneath it, now leaning heavily on the granite. He tried to look up but his lungs were collapsing despite all of the medication he'd taken that day, chest moving rapidly as he tried desperately to get a hold on his breathing.