Werefox

Chapter Three

Stiles looked back at the clothes, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to focus, focus on his human form. He pressed his lips tightly together, feeling his bones crack and shift as he began to become more human, the pain in his wounds only amplifying as he finished shifting back after a few moments.

Not wanting the werewolves to walk in on him bare, he quickly grabbed the sweatpants that were sitting next to him, ignoring the soreness in his muscles and the blood beginning to drip out of the slash across his chest, shuffling into them before collapsing back onto the table with a loud groan, his eyes squeezing shut as the soreness and stinging of the many injuries finally came at him full force, making him feel light headed and dizzy. His vision cut in and out as as he squirmed.

He heard several people rush back into the room, then the same voice of the doctor before beginning to talk to one of them, Scott, Stiles thought blurrily, He is talking to someone called Scott.

"I think he's been poisoned." Dr. Deaton's voice sounded far off, from a different room to Stiles, though he could feel him touching the wound across his stomach. He knew the doctor was looking up at his face, contorted in pain. "Do you have any idea of what you've been poisoned with?"
Stiles took a deep breath, prying his eyes open to look at the doctor before gasping out the answer, "Foxglove." This set the doctor into action, and he told the uneven jawed boy- who Stiles assumed was Scott, as he seemed to be the only one helping, to grab something out of the cabinets.

Stiles looked around, taking a good look at the pack surrounding him. There stood the alpha who carried him in, his expression stoic though in his eyes Stiles could see worry and concern, which confused him as he barely knew the boy who had just been a fox. Next to him stood Isaac, whose wrist was wrapped in a white gauze, though Stiles hadn't noticed he was injured before then.

He winced as he looked back down at his chest, the doctor glancing at him apologetically, before Stiles decided that looking at the people around him was a good distractor of the immense pain he was in at the moment.

Next to Isaac, closer to the corner, stood two boys. One of them, presumably the younger one, stood pressed closely to the larger boy's chest, his expression worried and sympathetic to the injured fox on the table. The older boy had his arm wrapped around the smaller boy's chest, his expression one of worry as well, although it was to a lesser degree.

Stiles glanced in front of him, by his feet, where the strawberry blonde girl was standing next to two other girls, both brunette, though one had her hair cut considerably shorter.

Stiles wondered briefly why they all seemed so worried for him at the moment. As far as he could tell, all of those standing in the room with him were werewolves, and foxes and wolves never got along amazingly, but right now he felt nothing but sympathy and worry clouding the room besides his own pain.

He barely heard the doctor's warning of "this is going to hurt" before his felt a stabbing pain in his chest, the sensation shooting all the way to his neck, making him sit upwards frantically, yelling in pain and shock as he grabbed the edge of the table, his eyes flashing to a bright purple back to their normal brown, reeling over the side as his body quickly relax and his vision go blurry as he let go of the table, barely conscious as the Scott boy readjusted him so he wasn't about to fall of the table.

"What did you do to him?" He heard the alpha's voice again, slightly demanding and sharp compared to the blurry sounds he heard around him.

"It's just a small sedative to help him with the pain." Dr. Deaton said, still moving around the fox boy on the table and attempting to improve the condition of the large slash across the boy's thin torso. "He should be conscious still, for a little bit."

"Do you know his name Isaac?" This voice was different, one Stiles hadn't heard so far. It was one of the girls, sharp and confident while still sounding caring.

"No, he was a fox the whole time he was with me." The boy's familiar voice came from to the right of him.

"Stiles," He said, surprising all of the werewolves. "My name is Stiles." His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, almost as if he hadn't used it for ages, and his eyes opened briefly, meeting the alpha's eyes and flashing a brilliant violet, a sign of trust between two supernatural creatures, before promptly closing, and this time, Stiles was unconscious.

"He should be unconscious now." Deaton said, stepping back from where he finished dressing the cut on the boy's chest. "The foxglove poison he was given was preventing the healing process, but now that it can leave his system he should heal within the next few days."
"What was wrong with him?" Derek, the alpha asked, his eyes not leaving the boy on the table, a deep frown remaining on his face.

"As far as I can tell, he's been exposed to foxglove multiple times for long periods of a time, and I'm surprised he's even survived this long." Deaton began, scanning over the boy a few more times. "The gash on his chest was caused by some sort of blade and I think he has at least three broken ribs, and a multitude of bruises and scrapes on him."

He looked up at the alpha, his eyes shining with something that the others didn't quite know. "I assume you'll be taking him back to your loft." Derek nodded, knowing that the teenager's parents wouldn't exactly allow a severely injured supernatural boy into their homes (although he wouldn't admit that even if they did, he would insist on having the boy stay with him). "What he needs is lots of rest, time, and I would advise preventing him from moving around a lot and from shifting back to his fox form. Bring him back after a few days and I'll check up on his injuries."
"Thank you, Deaton." Scott said earnestly, finishing putting away the supplies they used. Derek nodded in agreement, lifting the boy up softly as he followed the pack out.

They agreed that the pack might as well meet up at Derek's loft, because most of them wanted to see how the boy was doing and also it was a Sunday (pack bonding day!), and now that Isaac was back from where he was captured by the hunters, they could begin the day despite it already being evening. So Derek drove back to his loft with Isaac in the passenger seat and the boy, Stiles, laid across the back seat.

"How long do you think he was there?" Derek asked softly, glancing at the small fox in the rearview mirror, referencing to the small room where they had found their packmate.

"I don't know." Isaac said honestly. "I think awhile. When I got there, he was in so much pain, he didn't even have enough energy to move." Derek nodded, his eyes going back to the road as they finished up the quick drive back to the loft. Once they arrived, he picked up the surprising light boy once again, bringing him up to his own bedroom and setting him down on his bed as he figured that they would be watching a movie downstairs and wouldn't want to wake him.