Werefox

Chapter Twelve

Stiles woke up with a groan, his head pounding painfully. It took him a few moments to open his eyes as he realized what had happened before, his heart dropping to his stomach when he realized he was in the center of a dark room, his arms and legs strapped down to the arms of the chair he was in.

"It's nice to see you've made some friends, Stiles." Gerard's familiar voice came from behind him, making the boy begin to struggle in his bonds. "It's too bad that you'll be losing them after tonight."
"They're going to find me." Stiles' voice shook as he tried to pull his arms out of the tight restraints around his wrists. Gerard chuckled, stepping into Stiles' peripheral vision.

"I have so many buildings, they have no idea where you are." Gerard scoffed, his boots making a soft clicking on the floor.

Stiles hissed in pain, noticing the small tube inserted into the crook of his arm that looked to be drawing his blood. "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm glad you asked." Gerard began. "We think we've finally solved our little problem, you know, the one the other experiments before?"
Stiles didn't respond, wincing as he looked down at the tube that was slowly draining him of his blood.

"You see, we think it will work if we replace your blood with the blood of a werewolf." Gerard continued as he saw that Stiles wasn't going to respond. "To do that, we have to drain seventy percent of the blood in your body. You'll survive, of course, but it'll be close. It should take about an hour, so I'll see you then."

"You're sick." Stiles whimpered, wishing he sounded more brave than how he did. Gerard only chuckled opening up one of the doors, leaving Stiles alone in the dim room as he was slowly drained of his life.

After twenty minutes Stiles began to feel sick and dizzy, and if he had any food in his stomach he would've surely thrown up. After half an hour, his vision began to blur and any strength he was using to fight against his bonds disappeared.

Come on Derek. He thought. Please hurry. Stiles didn't know if he could survive- his thoughts felt hazy, his vision nothing more than a few splotches of color and dots of static black.

Is someone there? He thought limply. He thought he heard a door open, but he knew it hadn't been an hour yet. It couldn't be, no, he began to panic in this fugue state.

However, when a soft touch on his arm began to pull out the tube in his arm, he felt immense relief, recognizing the soft touches of Derek.

"You're going to be fine, Stiles." Is all he heard as he focused what little strength he had on his hearing. "We need to get him to Deaton's, now."

Stiles felt himself be picked up, his eyes opening although he still couldn't see anything but the light and the dark of his surroundings, feeling himself be gently jostled in the alpha's warm arms.

"Stiles, you need to stay awake." Someone said near his ear. But Derek's arms are just so comfortable, he thought, his breathing shallow as he tried to focus his eyes.

He heard a car door open, something was happening, and he heard several voices and a loud roar, but they were suddenly muffled by the car door closing, and his body was set down in the back of the car, his head in someone's lap.

His eyes drooped as comforting hands ran through his hair, but he remembered what the person from before said. You need to stay awake.

Stiles looked up his head barely turning as he was met with the sight of Derek's underjaw, the alpha sending him a worried look.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles mumbled, his mouth barely opening as the words stumbled out of his mouth.

"Hey, Stiles." Derek chuckled, relief evident in his voice. "We're going to Deaton's, you just need to stay awake."

"Comfortable," Was all Stiles replied, his eyes slipping shut for a moment before he tried to open them once again. Derek withdrew his hand from Stiles' hair, figuring that was something that was making him more tired, as Derek often did it to him when he couldn't sleep after a nightmare.

Stiles whined the slightest bit, only being noticed by the alpha because of his supernatural senses, making the werewolf murmur a low apology as Lydia drove into the animal clinic parking lot quite sporadically, having broken at least fifty driving laws on the way there.

As soon as the car stopped, Derek was out of the car, Stiles in his arms. Scott had already told Deaton of the situation, so the veterinarian was standing by, ready with a lot of blood that could be used to replenish what Stiles lost.

Derek set Stiles down on the metal table, not liking that this was the second time the boy had to be here in a condition such as this. Deaton immediately set to work, using the small incision where the tube drawing the blood was to instead place a needle, allowing blood to slowly start its journey into the fox's body.

"He should be alright after we give him back the blood he lost." Deaton stepped back. "Until that bag is empty, there's nothing else we can do."
"How will he be after this?" Derek asked, staring at the veterinarian as the rest of the pack came into the back room of the animal clinic, staring at the finally passed out boy with blood being transferred.

"He might shift into a fox." Deaton said after a moment of contemplation. "If he does, let him, it might help with the side effects of losing and gaining so much blood in a short amount of time." Derek nodded, looking back down at Stiles.

"How long until the blood transfusion is done?" Lydia asked. Of course she already knew the technical term for what was happening, she always did.

"It should take over an hour." Deaton responded. "We don't want to rush it, as that could cause a myriad of other problems, so we need to give it time." Derek looked around the room, crowded with teenagers that were still in the gear of their lacrosse games, some of their faces looking to be dead tired.

"You guys go home." Derek said, his voice letting them know he was serious. "Get some rest, I'll text you when he's done." The pack looked up at him, seeing his determined and protective look, and they nodded, stepping out of the room as Derek dragged a chair over to the metal table, taking one of Stiles' clammy hands in his own, Deaton leaving the room with a knowing look as Derek rested his chin on his forearm.