The Lizard's Lair

The Sound of Silence

2013-01-04T04:23:00Z

Author: Lizard971
Title: The Sound of Silence

Fandom: Hawaii 5-0
Prompt: hc_bingo "Sensory Deprivation"
Medium: fanfic

Wordcount: 1445
Rating: G
Warnings: none

Summary: Danny wakes up after a bust gone wrong and things are not as well as they seem.
Characters: Danny Williams

Disclaimer: Playing in a sandbox that is not mine. (If it were, Danny wouldn't be there only to deal with family crisis, he'd actually have a real story arc there somewhere. Not like it's been 3 years...)

AN: Because I've been procrastinating so much, this is unbeta-ed for now. It will be later on and I'll edit it then. So I apologize in advance for all the non sense and the mistakes. Be kind.

– The Sound of Silence -

“Danny! Danny! Look at me, man!”

Steve was right there in his face when Danny opened his eyes. Things were slightly blurry and he wasn't really sure what his partner was trying to tell him. He tried to focus on Steve's lips to make sense of something, but his brain had trouble following through. Keeping his eyes open proved to be enough of a challenge at the moment.

“That's it. You're gonna be okay, you hear me? It's okay. Just stay down. That's it.”

Steve seemed worried and angsty, and Danny wasn't particularly keen on being around an angsty Steve as it usually meant trouble for him.

“I'm okay,” croaked out Danny. “I'm okay.” There was little strength behind those words, and even less he could do to prove it. He was still in a haze, and what shone through wasn't exactly screaming 'okay.' He tried to raise his arm to pat Steve on his arm to reassure him, but all he managed to do is wake up an agonizing pain that promptly sent him into oblivion.

The next time Danny opened his eyes, things were just about as fuzzy, but in a much more relaxing and comfortable way. When his surroundings finally came into focus, he recognized the distinct arrangement of a hospital room and groaned. “Shit.”

He gave himself a moment to emerge further before assessing the situation properly. Taking a deeper breath actually helped him in both fields. The pain it triggered was enough to clear the last of the fog and to tell him some of his ribs were broken or seriously bruised. “Great.”

As he further assessed his damaged body—legs felt okay if not a little sore—Danny tried to think about what had landed him in the hospital this time and how much of it was Steve's fault. He remembered gearing up for a raid—a headache was slowly growing which most likely meant concussion—Steve giving out instructions to make sure all exits were covered. He was sent to the back of the house with two SWATs to check out the garage—right arm checked out, wrist, elbow, shoulder—with orders to wait for the signal. He never got to hear the customary 'Go Go Go' because the world around him erupted—left wrist and elbow numb and unresponsive, shoulder mobility—in a very loud and bright sound and light show. “Oww! Fuck!” There'd been an explosion. The garage had exploded as they were getting close, sending him flying back—shoulder probably busted on impact—debris raining down.

The next thing he remembered was Steve in his face and the failed attempt at reassuring him. Danny had no idea how much time had passed since that moment and there was nothing in the room to help him. No window to see outside, no clock, no nurse, no Steve. The only thing in the room was the traditional array of medical equipment: a half empty IV bag, BP cuff, pulse-ox thingy on his finger, the nasal cannula. Everything was accounted for, down to the patches on his chest linked to the cardiac monitoring and its stubbornly beeping line indicating that he was still alive. Except that... “What the—”

The door opening, caught in his field of vision, interrupted Danny's analysis and revealed a doctor and a nurse. Stunned, Danny couldn't tear his eyes from them, apart from a series of quick glances at the cardiac monitor.

“Detective Williams. It's good to see you—”

Glance.

“Your team will finally get—”

Glance.

“I'm Doctor Bradley. This is Nurse Collins.” The doctor indicated to the nurse who'd moved forward to check his IV.

Danny's gaze followed and stopped on the nurse who was now looking down at him. “Morgan. You can call me Morgan if you want. Do you want me to—”

Danny looked back at the monitor, and how the dot seemed to jump up more often, the numbers on the screen rising as well. He saw the doctor move forward, Danny's chart in hand, a frown on his face. “What's wrong, detective? Are you in pain?” He checked the chart, muttering something before looking back up to Danny. “—ainkillers for another hour at least.” The reply he was expecting didn't come as fast as he wanted it, so he pushed further. “Detective Williams? Did you hear me?”

“No. Doc, no,” said Danny, “Something's not right. It's not... It's... I can't—”

“Danny! You're awake.” Steve showed up behind the doctor, interrupting his partner. He moved past everyone in the room, getting close to the bed, eager to hear directly from Danny that he was fine. “You had us worried there for a while, man. How are you?” He waited for a reply, but all he got were some confused looks wandering all over the room. He took Danny's hand and sat on the bed by his legs. “Danny? Talk to me. Doc, how—” His partner not giving him what he wanted, he turned to the Doctor for some answers.

Danny lost track of the conversation there, but reconnected when Doctor Bradley looked up from his chart again to reply to Steve's questions. Steve's previously relieved feature morphed back into his more usual sullen expression, looking back and forth at the other men in the room.

“Detective Williams was just about to tell us something when you... interrupted us, Commander. Weren't you, Detective?” The doctor eyed Danny, urging him to continue. “You said something wasn't right. What did you mean?”

“I can't... My ears, doc, I can't hear you.” Danny was getting frantic, his gaze going from the Doc to Steve and back before finally resting on his partner. “I can't hear anything.”

Steve jumped up from the bed, taking a couple steps back, but his eyes never leaving Danny's. He raked his hands in his hair, looking for words and failing miserably. Eventually, he just managed a bewildered, “What?”

“I can't hear you. There's nothing,” repeated Danny. “I can't hear. I can't hear.” There was a sense of finality the last time he said it. He was a lot calmer than just a minute ago, accepting his condition as it was. He should freak out more, but whatever painkillers he was on probably kept him losing it completely.

“No, Danny, no. You heard us. You replied. You heard me,” shot back Steve, desperately holding to what he could, because the alternative wasn't something he wanted to face. “You heard me and you heard the doc. Right—” he turned to the doctor for some confirmation.

It was Danny's turn to interrupt. “Slow down and look at me, Steve,” he said, hoping he didn't shout. The few words he dared, he'd tried to force himself to not speak too loud. It was hard to talk and not hear himself. He remembered how it worked from the last time it'd happened to him. “You have to speak slowly. I can lip-read, but not when you mumble or when you don't look at me.”

Time stood still in the room, everyone processing what Danny had told them, but it didn't last long. Soon enough, the nurse had moved by the doctor who was busy talking and noting something on the chart. Danny had no idea what it was and truth be told, he didn't really care. He suddenly felt really tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Steve was arguing with the doctor at first, but was now on the phone, pacing in the room like a tiger in a cage. It was giving him a headache and it was really not something he wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

Danny closed his eyes, cutting himself off from his surroundings. He wasn't ready to face Steve's or his team's worry at the moment. He also didn't want to face more doctors and more tests. He knew what was coming up next. He'd already been through it once, after another explosion back in New Jersey. It had lasted almost 6 weeks back then before his hearing started to come back online. He knew he could deal with the deafness; it would take some time to get his feet back under him and remember the tricks he had picked up last time. What he couldn't predict was how those around him were going to react and act with him. He would have been perfectly happy to never go through that again, but apparently, his life didn't work that way. For now, he'd settle for delaying the inevitable and allowed his mind to drift off until he was finally sleeping again.

**

FIN

Too Little, Too Late 1/1

2013-01-04T04:08:29Z

Author: Lizard971
Title: Too Little, Too Late
Fandom: Teen Wolf

Prompt: hc_bingo prompt "Hidden Injury"
Medium: fanfic

Wordcount: 759
Rating: G
Warnings: Character Death

Summary: Stiles went through the motion after the beating Gerard Argent gave him, until he couldn't anymore.
Post episode “Battlefield” 2x12
Characters: Stiles Stilinski

Disclaimer: Playing in a sandbox that is not mine. (but if you ask me, Stiles is totally mine and I'll fight for him... or what's left of him in this case... oops.)

AN: Because I've been procrastinating so much, this is unbeta-ed for now. It will be later on and I'll edit it then. So I apologize in advance for all the non sense and the mistakes. Be kind.

- Too Little, Too Late -

Stiles watched as Lydia hugged Jackson. The way the two were clinging to each other, there was no denying the love between them. He'd already understood what Lydia felt for Jackson when they were in his room, but Stiles loved her too and that's why he was here now, getting his heart broken into even smaller pieces.

The events from the last day—hell, the last year—finally came crashing down on him; all the emotions he'd tried to keep bottled inside became too much and for the second time in less than 24 hours, Stiles cried.

The first time it had been from relief and it felt good. This time it was from grief and it hurt more than he could tell. The pain only got worse when he looked around the warehouse. How was this his life? How had his life become a mix of giant-killing-lizards, crazy blood-thirsty hunters and most of all werewolves and even a... resurrected werewolf? His gaze next landed on his best friend, the one he'd been expecting to be rescued by; Scott who was holding hands with his ex-girlfriend—the one who had basically tried to kill all of them just a day ago. Stiles should feel happy that somehow, love had found its way in all this chaos, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

He didn't have time to dwell on it though, as the dull pain that he'd been feeling in his gut since Gerard had worked on him, suddenly intensified. Stiles couldn't suppress a moan as he grabbed for his stomach and doubled over, more tears escaping his eyes before he regrouped and stood up tall again. He just had time to wipe away some of the tears before Scott turned to him, a questioning look on his face.

They locked gaze for a moment, but in the end, Stiles just shrugged and started forward, offering a lame, “he scratched my jeep.”

He walked to his jeep, more than ready to leave the place and the drama behind. He looked around again before getting in, wanting to make sure he wasn't needed anymore, despite everything. No one was paying attention to him, all his “friends” too busy dealing with the aftermath of the fight; he took it as his cue to leave. Stiles climbed in the driver's seat, started the jeep and backed out of the warehouse the way he came, right through the wall. He briefly caught sight of Peter looking at him leave before he disappeared into the night. For a moment he thought he saw concern and confusion on the ex-Alpha's face, but he quickly dismissed the idea and focused on driving back home.

Stiles never made it there. The pain in his gut spiked once again, sending him in a coughing fit that didn't want to stop. When it finally did, the sleeve he had used to cover his mouth was freckled with blood. He didn't really have time to worry about it, as he was left feeling dizzy, vision blurry and his reflexes sluggish. Ultimately, he just wasn't able to keep the jeep on the road or prevent her from crashing in a tree. His last thought before passing out was that he would finally stop being a burden to those around him.

Barely an hour later, the SUV driven by Chris Argent, with Scott as a passenger and Allison in the back, arrived at the scene of the crash. Scott recognized the car immediately, and he jumped out of the SUV before it had come to a stop. As soon as he was outside, he picked up his best friend's scent, but it was tainted with that of blood and... death. He tried to find Stiles' heartbeat over his own frantic one, but there was nothing. He was right here, looking at his best friend and he couldn't even pick up his heartbeat. What a friend he was, Scott thought. It wasn't until Chris Argent pulled him away from the jeep and he heard him call in the crash talking about a fatality, that Scott registered what exactly it meant.

It's not because he couldn't pick up his best friend's heartbeat that Scott was a bad friend; it's because he didn't notice that something was wrong with Stiles back at the warehouse. He broke down right there on the pavement and howled in the night over his loss. He hadn't moved a hair and was still crying when the Sheriff came running in after the paramedics, screaming for Stiles.

Both their screams remained unanswered.

**

FIN

Scarred Feelings 1/1

2013-01-04T01:15:33Z

Author: Lizard971
Title: Scarred Feelings
Fandom: Teen Wolf

Prompt: hc_bingo prompt "Body Image Issues"
Medium: fanfic

Wordcount: 2043
Rating: G
Warnings: reference to past canon character death

Summary: No matter how small a scar can be on the outside, there is no telling how big it can be on the inside.
-Post episode 2x09 "Party Guessed"
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall

Disclaimer: Playing in a sandbox that is not mine. (Although I'll keep convincing myself that Stiles totally is mine)

AN: Thanks tons to engel82 and Mish for their beta work on that one. Never would have done this without you and your faith in me. *HUGS*

- Scarred Feelings -

Stiles hates that scar. He hates it every day, but today, he hates it even more.

His father's words keep coming back to him; they haunted him all day long. "It’s you, Stiles. You killed your mother. You hear me? You killed her. And now you’re killing me." He knows his father didn't say that. He knows it was a hallucination. He knows his father doesn't even think that; those were his own thoughts he had put in his father's mouth. Because his father may not think it's the truth, but Stiles sure does. Deep down, a part of him believes that he did kill his mother, that he's the reason she left them. Most of the time, he can keep it buried deep enough to forget, his mind too busy, focused on other things, but sometimes – when he's tired, stressed, sick, when the world crashes around him – the guilt reappears with a vengeance. Like now. And it hurts.

It hurts in his soul. It hurts because no matter how many years pass, Stiles still misses his mother like it was yesterday. He misses her stories, her joy, her lunches. He misses her face, her smile, her smell, her touch. He misses her. She left a void when she died and even if Stiles loves his father to bits, he's really not good at filling it. He doesn't blame him. They both miss her a lot and neither can begin to fill in for her properly. He knows what a handful he is and he knows how important being the Sheriff is – was – to his father. This morning was the first time Stiles can remember him still laying in bed while he was leaving for school. And it's his fault. It always is. He ruins everything. "How the Hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own. This hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life?" Yes. That's him. All him. 100% pure Stiles. And it hurts.

It hurts his flesh too. It hurts because every time the guilt comes back, his body decides to remind him that he bears the physical trace proving that it's all his fault. The scar hurts. The Scar. A symbol of love and hope turned into a symbol of loss, weakness, suffering and guilt; two sides of a coin, the yin and the yang, depending on the day. He can't really see it. He knows it's not as visible as it was ten years ago, but days like today, Stiles feels like it's a beacon pulsing on his back. A neon sign flashing brightly for everyone to see, a vivid reminder of all his flaws, his limits, the disappointments he represents. A constant reminder of everything he will never be. Of everything his mother will never be – because of him. He doesn't want anyone to see it – not even a trace of it, but he also feels like everyone should see it, that everyone should know how he fucked things up. But he keeps it hidden. Always. Because it's easier to hide than to face all this. Even if Stiles knows that this is not a problem that will eventually just go away, he'll keep ignoring it for as long as it works.

Stiles is alone in the locker room now. All his team mates already changed and out on the Lacrosse field. There's no one left around to mock him. No one left to see the scar and ask questions. No one to push him deeper down the Abyss of darkness where his mind is at the moment. No one to pull him out either.
Regardless of the scar, Stiles doesn't like changing with the rest of the team. He's not strong like they are; he's never been able to put much weight or muscle on. Even after the operation, with the various meds and supplements, he still looks sick and fragile. He knows what they think of him. He's just the scrawny kid who's on the team without anyone really knowing how or why. It's not like he plays anyway. He's just number 24, bench-warmer. Most of the players probably don't even know his name – Hell, even the Coach doesn't know his name, if that doesn't speak for itself. At best, he's being tolerated, ignored. At worst, he's being bullied around by Jackson and his thugs.

That's why Stiles usually waits until most of them are gone, or not there yet, to change. It's often just him and Scott. It's different with Scott. Scott knows him, knows the scar and the story behind it. They're friends. They're actually friends because of it. Most days, Stiles knows Scott doesn't judge him, but today isn't one of those days. He's too far gone in his mind and Scott's been an ass lately. He spends more and more time with Allison and less and less with him. Stiles is actually pretty sure Scott spends more time with Jackson and Isaac than with him. Which he's fine with. Usually. Not really. Not today. Tomorrow maybe. Still, it would have been nice to have a friend around today, to ground him and distract him; to prevent him from feeling like a shadow, a ghost, wandering, unnoticed through the halls. But having someone care about him right now would mean talking, sharing and he's not up to it.

That's why, at the moment, Stiles is alone in the changing room, sitting in front of his locker and it's not so bad. His left hand is busy kneading his back, just where the scar is. He'd be better if it didn't hurt so much, but he deserves some of that pain. It feels like a knife is stuck in his kidney – in his mother's kidney – and it hurts as much as it did when she died. It hurts as much as it did just after the transplant. He was young, but he remembers how much it had hurt back then. It had hurt both times. Differently. And it hurts again today. It hurts because of everything his mother sacrificed for him and he grew up to be a waste not worth the trouble.
On top of everything, today's the anniversary of the operation; it's been eleven years since his mother gave him life, for the second time. He knows that's why he's in so much pain. She never should have given him one of her kidneys. The world would be a better place if she hadn't. His father wouldn't have had to take care of him on his own, he would still have a job and Stiles wouldn't be taking up time and space from the people around him. But she had, and now Stiles is here and she isn't and it hurts.

Looking around him, Stiles decides that it's just not worth it. He gets up to pack his things and just go home. It's not like anyone will notice anyway. He'll take some painkillers, occupy his mind by doing his homework and try to sleep the rest of the day off. Hopefully things will be better tomorrow.

"Where are you going?"

Stiles swirls around so fast it makes him dizzy and it pulls on the scar. He keeps himself up by planting his right hand on a locker, his left one reflexively returning to its spot on his back, putting pressure on the aching point. He doesn't even realize it did until Scott speaks again.

"Are you okay, Stiles? Did you hurt your back? Because you don't really look too good."

Stiles looks up at his friend, smiles and shakes his head, because he's really not okay, but it's not like he's going to pour his heart out here and now. He'll keep it all bottled up inside and just pretend a bit longer. He can do that without really thinking about it; it's a second nature. His armour only cracked once, two years after his mother's death and it hadn't been pretty. He's not quite sure how it had happened anymore but it had already been Scott who'd been around. Poor Scott. He'd taken it all in stoically. He had sat patiently while Stiles explained how his mother was dead because of him. Because he'd taken a kidney from her and he couldn't give it back when she needed it after the cancer started damaging her organs. Because maybe she could have survived if she still had two kidneys. He had explained why he hated the scar and everything it represented, everything he wished he could change. Scott had listened to Stiles explain how he was damaged goods, too weak and in pain to do anything properly. About his father not wanting him around, distracting him all the time. Stiles is pretty sure he even cried on Scott's shoulder about Lydia, how she was ignoring him and how that was the final straw. It had been a pretty messy break down, jumbled thoughts not making much sense anymore at some point. But Scott had stayed and in the end, from the top of his ten years, he'd just been Scott. He had hugged Stiles awkwardly – their first hug ever – before dragging him down to the kitchen for some ice cream and Nutella and cookies, and challenging him to a game of Call of Duty on the Playstation – at least that part had been more manly. In his own very special way, Scott had brought Stiles back and they had never talked about it again. Stiles is still very grateful for that, so he refuses to put his best friend in the same situation again. And really, they couldn't be caught hugging and crying in the locker room or they would never live it down.

"Stiles? Talk to me, man," insisted Scott. "I know I haven't been around much and I'm sorry, but I'm here now, and you're freaking me out a little. That whole Silent-Stiles thing is really creepy."

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. Because really, what can he say? Either he'll tell a lie, or the horrible truth, and he wants none of the two options. Instead of talking, he digs his fist deeper in his back, biting his lower lip when the pain flares up a notch and shakes his head again. He appreciates Scott coming back for him, more than he can tell, but really, he just wants to leave and go hide at home. Stiles picks up his bag, shoulders it and after adjusting it, his left hand stays in the small of his back, so that his forearm is now keeping pressure on the scar.

"I'm going home. Tell Coach, I... tell him I... I just... whatever. It's not like it matters. I'll see you around." Stiles finally manages to blurt out. Not his most eloquent speech but it would have to do. He starts forward, coming closer to Scott who's never left the doorway, his gaze now on the floor. He hopes his friend got the hint and will move away to let him through. Scott was never really good at taking hints though, so he's only half surprised when he feels an arm on his chest blocking his escape.

"Wait. It's your scar, isn't it?" Scott asks, and at the same time, he lets the hand that's not blocking him sneak under Stiles' shirt, between his arm and back, and stops exactly above the scar. Stiles shudders at the touch, but the warmth that gently spreads around Scott's hand is a nice relief and he leans into it. He realizes that Scott is actually leaching some of his pain and he suddenly loves his best friend. As much as Scott can be completely oblivious to his surroundings most of the time, sometimes, just when it really matters, he gets his head out of his ass and he steps up. "Let me grab my stuff and we can just go home. There's ice cream and cookies with our names on it and the Xbox's been feeling lonely lately."

And maybe it's just that easy. Maybe Stiles won't have to wait until tomorrow to feel better. Maybe today isn't that bad after all.

**

FIN

Falling, but not to Pieces 1/1

2013-01-04T01:03:12Z

Author: Lizard971
Title: Falling, but not to Pieces
Fandom: NCIS Los Angeles

Prompt: hc_bingo prompt "Falling"
Medium: fanfic

Wordcount: 1697
Rating: G
Warnings: none

Summary: Deeks and Kensi dealing with the aftermath of an accident
Characters: Marty Deeks, Kensi Blye

Disclaimer: Playing in a sandbox that is not mine.

AN: I'm not American, so 1st floor is not the ground floor. It's... the 1st floor. Apparently I managed to confuse my beta. LOL.

Thanks to Laz & Mish for their help with that one! I'm sorry you had to read the 1st draft Laz, it really sucked!! I love you both to bits!! <3

- Falling, but not to Pieces -

People always say it's the not the fall that kills—or hurts—it's the sudden stop. Sometimes, that's just bull and the fall hurts almost as much as the landing. Deeks could vouch for it.

Deeks was bored. He was bored and he hurt. He groaned when he rearranged himself on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position. He knew it was a lost cause, since he'd basically been shifting around for the past three hours and nothing worked. Add to his misery how much the TV programming sucked, and that he didn't have the energy to get up and get a DVD; that's how he ended up watching the Food Network and feeling hungry.

He checked the time and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Kensi would be stopping by soon to bring him food and check up on him. It made him smile. He hated being stuck at home and needing help from others, but he couldn't deny that being mother henned by his partner was kind of nice. Of course he'd never confess any of it in front of her; it was just too much fun to see her defend her actions and then try even harder every time he made a comment about it. What he didn't like, was that she was acting on some kind of ridiculous sense of guilt.

He was undercover. A group of arsonist had started hitting various buildings across town—some of which belonged to the Navy. He'd just managed to get accepted by the group and was undergoing a sort of initiation when things had gone wrong. The building they were targeting was supposed to be empty, except that a bunch of kids didn't get the memo and had made it their playground for the day. The incendiary devices was already set up and activated when Deeks heard the uninvited guests. He tried to warn the kids, tell them to get out, but they started running and hiding from him. Fucking kids. None of his “associates” seemed willing to help and he was left alone to deal with the disaster in the making. Mission be damned, he was not leaving without knowing the building was empty for good. He quickly updated Kensi on the situation and went after the brats. At least, left alone in the building, he was able to reveal himself as a cop and convince most of the kids that they weren't in any trouble, that they just needed to get out and play somewhere else. That left him with, apparently, two kids to find and a little under three minutes to do so. Of course, it wasn't enough; everything went ablaze around him before he could find anyone.

The bright side was that the kids started screaming for help somewhere from the first floor. He rushed there and found the two, huddled together in a corner, flames closing in. With no time to think, Deeks sprung towards them, picked the smaller one up in his arms and grabbed the other by the hand. The little group almost made it back to the stairway when, of fucking course, the floor vanished just in front of them. Alone, he would have just jumped over and hoped for the best, but that was not an option with the two kids clinging to him. By some sort of miracle, Kensi chose that moment to appear on the stairs, screaming something at him. Not trying to understand, he shouted right back.

“Grab the kid! I'm gonna throw him your way!” That was crazy, he knew it, she knew it and apparently the kid knew it too as he'd clung tighter to Deeks, screaming “no no no no” in his shirt. Deeks reassured him that it would be okay, that it wasn't even a big leap and he'd feel like Superman. Without giving anyone time to rethink the plan, Deeks got in position, Kensi doing the same on her side and before they knew it, both kids were safe on the other side of the gaping hole in his Kensi's care. She left to bring them out of the building, assuring Deeks that she was coming back for him.

With Deeks the only one left to make the jump, Lady Luck chose that moment to leave the building too, taking the floor underneath his feet with her. He screamed. He screamed in surprise and in pain; one of the broken floor boards ripped through his jeans, tearing a long gash in his thigh while his left arm and hand were torn to shreds—at least it felt like it—as he tried to grab onto something. The fall definitely hurt. The landing hurt too, but he blacked out almost right away, so it wasn't as noticeable.

Deeks woke up in the hospital the next day, dosed up on pain medication and Kensi sleeping in the plastic chair by his bed. Comforted that she was safe, he promptly fell back asleep and she never even noticed. He got the story of his rescue from Hetty, when he woke up again for a bit longer the day after that; also learning about his partner's guilt over not being there to catch him. She might be strong, but there was no way she could have hauled his ass up without getting hurt as well. Truth be told, Deeks was glad she hadn't been there to see him fall.

He stayed in the hospital a little over a week, to give his various injuries time to mend. The doctors wanted to keep an eye on his concussion and his lungs. He was on oxygen for five days because apparently smoke inhalation was a bitch and even now, ten days later, he was still coughing from time to time. Those coughing fit always sent Kensi into extra mother-hen mode, because he'd broken and bruised four ribs in the fall—or most likely the landing—and he couldn't suppress the pain that coughing brought. At some point he also developed a small fever, the gash on his left forearm—yes, it had only been a gash, a deep one, but just a gash—not healing properly. That too resulted in more mollycoddling from Hetty and the team—well, really, just Kensi again, with Hetty bringing him some of her “special” tea.

When he was finally deemed well enough to be released, he insisted on going back to his place, even though moving around on his own was a lot harder than he wanted to admit. His knee was wrapped in a brace, after being sprained in his little stunt, and handling the crutches—with his other injuries—was pretty rough. That's why he was now spending most of his days vegging out in front of the TV, watching shows that left him hungry.

That's how Kensi found him when she arrived with dinner.

“Oh my God, Deeks! I can't believe you haven't moved your ass since I left. Don't expect me to be your maid forever.” She looked at him and Deeks could see the worry hidden behind her words.

“Oh, Fern,” he replied, “don't be like that. You know I'm nothing without you and you love it.”

Not showing their true feelings was a trait they had in common and a rule they lived by. They always used humour and teasing to deflect their worry about each other; both too proud and emotionally damaged to open up and say things as they were.

“Who would bring me my pain meds and look after me if not you? Because between you and Hetty, Callen or Sam, I'd really rather it be you. Sam would just haul me up and manhandle me around because he can't do things like a normal human being. Callen would just stare at me, eat my chips, drink my beer and tell me to get them myself. I'd rather not think about what Hetty would be like... I think she scares me more every day.” That was the last of the concussion talking. There's no way he would admit something like that in a normal state, would he?

“Ha! I knew it! She scares the crap out of poor little Shaggy,” she teased while still handing him a couple pills with a glass of water, having perfectly understood his 'subtle' request; she could also see the lines of pain on his face. “Why you don't keep your meds nearby, I don't get. Next time, either you suffer through the pain or you just get them yourself. You're supposed to start your physical therapy soon anyway. Here, don't take them on an empty stomach.” She offered Deeks a take-out box from his favourite Chinese restaurant; before settling down on the couch next to him, like every evening since he was released.

“How's the leg? And the arm?” she asked, but left him no time to answer. “Don't tell me you've been watching the Food Network all afternoon, because that just can't be healthy.” She leaned over him to grab the remote, careful of his healing ribs.

“Better than the telenovelas you make me watch the rest of the time. I don't even understand half of their Spanish. Give me that back.”

Like every evening, they pretended to wrestled for the remote, banter going on about who wanted to watch what, when really, neither of them cared.

Like every night, they'd fall asleep on the couch after a short while until a loud commercial on TV woke them up.

Like every night, Kensi would help Deeks get ready for bed, tuck him in, making sure he had everything he needed nearby.

Like every night, Kensi would pretend to be leaving before going back to the couch to spend the night there, leaving early in the morning after checking on Deeks one last time.

Like every night, Deeks would wake up to soft snoring coming from his living room, then smile, knowing his partner was playing softy again and go back to sleep, mind at ease.

Falling usually leads to something being left broken or damaged in its wake; all Deeks could see though, was how this fall has left him and Kensi stronger together.

**

FIN

What's your Emergency 1/1

2013-01-04T00:52:44Z

Title: What's your Emergency
Author: Lizard971
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: hc_bingo "bullet wound"/"caught in a robbery"

Medium: Fanfic
Wordcount: 4345
Rating: G
Warnings: none

Summary: It was the call the Sheriff never wanted to get.
Characters: Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski

Disclaimer: Playing in a sandbox that is not mine. (Although I'll keep convincing myself that Stiles totally is mine)

AN: All thanks go to Mish who took the time to beta this although I sent it to her pretty much at the last moment. All remaining mistakes and non-sense is all mine and I deserve them for procrastinating so much all the time.

- What's your Emergency -

It all started with a call.

A 911 call.

A call Sheriff Stilinski answered personally. A call he would remember for years to come.

It could have been one of those calls, like the hundreds he got every year. It could have been Ms Cunningham calling because Fonzie—her cat—had disappeared. Again. Abducted by some dangerous individual, possibly more than one, who would then decide to return it by leaving it high up in a nearby tree. Or it could have been Mr Carter reporting the neighbours' kids once again playing in his garden, which really, was hardly trespassing considering there was no fence. Since it was Friday, it actually should have been Ms Paddington reporting inappropriate behaviour in the park; teenagers just didn't have the same restrain nowadays.

Because really, up until now, Beacon Hills had been a small town with little to no major trouble. That is, if you left out everything regarding the Hale family; ignore the fire that killed most of them, the body of Laura found cut in half and how the brother, Derek Hale, seemed to be involved every time something suspicious was happening now.

Come to think of it, Beacon Hills hadn't been that trouble free for close to a year. Neither had his son. And now, it seemed like the youngest Stilinski had managed to get himself in trouble way over his head. Stiles would be grounded for the rest of his life. That was if there still was still a Stiles to ground.

There had been so much blood.

The call had come through two hours ago, and the Sheriff was still trying to understand what had happened and how he found himself waiting, powerless, to find out if he still had a family. He couldn't even begin to imagine life without his son. Granted, he hadn't been able to imagine life without his wife back then either, but Stiles had been around to give him reasons to hang on, get up every day and move on. He never would have made it without him. Stiles had been both his anchor and his motivation; he had kept him grounded while making sure he didn't get stuck in his dark place. The family roles had been reversed for a while, with Stiles taking care of his father when really it should have been the other way around. The Sheriff had forced his son to grow up way too fast when he hadn't been able to handle his wife's death properly. If he was being honest, his son was pretty much still the one running the house. Not for long any more though. Things would change from now on. When Stiles came home, he would be taken care of. It was about time the Sheriff acted like a father again, getting more involved in his son's life.

The Sheriff was brought out of his musing by a screaming teenager running loudly towards the surgery waiting room. So much for being quiet in a hospital. It took just that long for him to recognize that disrespectful kid as being Scott and the screaming as being his name and Stiles' and demands to know what was going on, all jumbled into something barely understandable. Their eyes met and suddenly Scott was still and silent. Strangely, the Sheriff liked loud Scott better; maybe because that's how teenagers were supposed to be, loud and moving and obnoxious. Not silent and unmoving. Never silent and unmoving. Not Scott and not Stiles. Especially not Stiles. Not like Stiles had been when they reached him. Especially not like that. Not silent, motionless and bleeding.

Scott's squeezing hand on his shoulder stopped the downward spiralling. It made him wonder if that was how it happened for Stiles. Dark thoughts spiralling down until there was no way to stop them from becoming a full blown panic attack? Another thing he was probably to blame for. He looked up at Scott's worried, expecting eyes, not exactly sure what to say. Again, it was the teen who helped him out. He really had to stop having kids step in for him.

“What happened?” It was a simple question. It was an easy question. Except, for the fact that is was exactly what the Sheriff had been wondering for the past two hours already. He found his head shaking slowly from side to side. Truth was, he had no fucking idea what happened. All he had were facts. Brutal facts that made no sense when put together. So he went with what he had. A fact.

“Stiles' been shot.” That was a fact. The main fact. The only fact that really mattered at the moment. The one that had him twisting his mind—and body—in this hospital chair for over two hours now.

“Stiles' been shot,” he repeated softly, like saying it out loud just made him realize, like it had just become real. “Stiles' been shot. My son's been shot...” Yes, his son had been shot, and the Sheriff had been the one to find him bleeding, barely conscious.

“How? What happened?” Again with that question. Didn't Scott understand that he didn't have the answer to that specific question.

“ I don't know! I just... Don't. Know.” There. It was out. He was the Sheriff. He was there to serve and protect and know things, and he had done none of it when it mattered most to him. He hadn't been able to protect his own son and he couldn't figure out how it had come to that.

“Hey. Hey, it's okay. It's okay. He's gonna be okay. He's Stiles, right?” Ha. The Sheriff let out a small laugh at that. Like Stiles being Stiles was enough to make everything alright. But maybe it was just as simple as that. What or who had ever been able to stop Stiles from doing something? Nothing. And no one, besides his mother. Not even him. No. Like Stiles was that unstoppable force, the energizer bunny that just kept going no matter what. It gave him hope. It gave him a light at the end of the tunnel to focus on. Maybe it really was just as simple as trusting his son again. He regretted telling Stiles he didn't trust him anymore, but it had been legitimate at the time. Stiles had been volatile and always finding himself in the middle of the latest police case. Come to think of it, he should have grounded him a few months ago when things started getting weird; not that it would have worked. It had also been unfair. No matter what, Stiles was his kid and really, he'd never let his father down, had always been there when needed. It was not that he ever stopped trusting him, more like he temporarily forgot who his son was. Now was definitely the right time to remember and have faith in him again.

“Yes. Yes, he will.” The Sheriff's words were spoken with a confidence that surprised him, but seeing some of the worry ease from Scott's face made those little words even more important. He had to be right and Stiles had to be okay. For his own sake and for that of his friends. Stiles' friends. He hadn't even thought about them until now. He hadn't thought about letting any of them know. Not that Stiles had that many friends besides Scott. Scott and maybe the Martin girl. Now he felt a pinch of guilty for not keeping Scott informed about Stiles. And still here he was.

“What are you doing here anyway?” At Scott's surprised and slightly hurt face, he realized. No. That was not the right question. Of course Scott would be here, at Stiles' side, when he was in trouble. “I mean, how did you know?”

“Oh...” Something like relief became visible on Scott's face, like he thought maybe he wasn't expected to be here. “My mum. She... she texted me. Saying that Stiles had been brought in, that he was going into surgery and that she would take care of him. I rushed here as soon as I found her message. I'm sorry it took me so long.” Now there was a hint of guilt showing. “I was with Allison and...” He looked up towards the door and sure enough, there was a girl, standing there, shyly, like she wasn't sure she belonged there. Oh. That made sense. She had to be the girl who'd been keeping Scott away from Stiles lately; he'd heard his son complain about it often enough.

“It's okay.” Apparently Scott needed the reassurance as his features immediately relaxed upon hearing the few words, like an absolution. “You're here now, and that's all that matters. It's not like you could've done more by getting here earlier. They just parked me here when they took him to surgery; I haven't heard anything from anyone and it's driving me crazy.”

“You know Mum will make sure to let you know the second there's news to tell, right? As much as Stiles drives her crazy most of the time, he's like a second son to her. She won't leave you in the dark if she can avoid it.”

“I know. I know, but it doesn't make the waiting and the fact that I can't do a fucking thing to help him any easier. I need to see him. I need to hear that he's okay. I need to see and hear him tell me he's okay. Most of all, I need to wipe the image of my son in pain, bleeding on the floor, from my memory. I need it to not be the last picture of Stiles I have.” As strong as the Sheriff appeared most of the time, the weight of the day's events had him falling apart, leaving only a desperate father in its wake.

“I know it's not... like, you probably don't want to talk about it, but... I mean, my mum really didn't give me any details, besides that Stiles was hurt... What... How was he when you saw him?” It was such a shy voice, filled with uncertainty, that it left the Sheriff unresponsive for a moment. The girl by the door, Allison, moved forward and came to give Scott an awkward hug from behind, resting her head on his arms, offering what comfort she could. The Sheriff really wished his wife could have been there to give him the same kind of support; it was in those emotionally stacked situation that he missed her most. It was also then that he realized that he really wasn't the only one suffering from Stiles ordeal, and that even though he felt like he knew nothing, he still knew more than Scott. He sighed, gathering his thoughts to share what information he had with his son's friends.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I was just so wrapped up in what happened. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just... needed to let some frustration out, I guess.”

“Don't worry about it,” Scott said with a small smile to appease some of the tension. “I'm glad I could help with that.” He didn't seem to want to sit and shifted position to bring Allison closer to him, hugging her in return.

“We got a call earlier this afternoon, about a robbery at the gas station. The person calling had just pulled in and stepped out of her car when she heard a gunshot. She hid and called us. I was just answering when the robber stormed out, jumped in a car and drove off. She gave me what details she could and we went out looking for the car and the guy. One of my deputies spotted him and gave chase. I was on the opposite side of town and by then, the teller at the station had called it in too, requesting an ambulance. I was updated about the situation en route and changed direction to check the scene.”

The Sheriff interrupted his rambling, rubbing his hands through his hair and down his face. If one looked close enough, they would notice the dried blood around his finger nails and on the sleeves of his jacket. He breathed deeply a few times and looked up to check the door, hoping and dreading at the same time that someone would come to talk to him. There was still no one in view. He looked back at Scott, noticing how the young couple were holding each other tighter than before. They also appeared paler. Not as pale as Stiles had been. The Sheriff caught himself, not wanting to dwell back in sorrow at that moment; he closed his eyes, refocused and continued.

“I made it there before the ambulance. No one had said anything else about the victim. Not about who it was or the gravity of the wound. I can't say exactly how things happened there. All I know is that when I got to the station, I saw Stiles' Jeep parked by one of the pump; one second I'm in my cruiser, staring at this damn car, and the next I'm in the store, kneeling next to Stiles who's lying on the floor, surrounded by potato chips, not moving...” The Sheriff had to stop another time, closing his eyes, the memory too vivid. “There was just so much blood. I know I should be used to that sort of sight, but I guess when it's your flesh and... blood, it's just not the same. Someone was pressing a towel on Stiles left shoulder and another on his head. Oh God...”

“Oh my God! He got shot in...” Scott whispered, unable to finish. He finally sat down, panic written all over his face, the thought too horrific to process. Tears gathered in both teenagers' eyes. It was the sob coming from Allison that brought the Sheriff's attention really back to them, and it took just a moment for him to realize what was going on.

“Oh no. No. No. He didn't. He didn't get shot in the head. Oh God, no. I'm sorry. I... I thought so too when I got there, but he was shot in the shoulder and apparently hit his head on the way down. I didn't believe it either at first, so the teller lifted the towel to show me the gash. They're not lying when they say that head wounds bleed a lot.” He scrubbed his hair again, right hand ghosting a little longer over a spot. “Stiles stirred a bit when she pressed the towel back in place. I tried to wake him, but he just wasn't responding. Stupid kid always talking and the one time he should, there's no way to get anything out of him.” A nervous laugh, a shake of the head and the Sheriff decided to just finish sharing what he could. “I took over pressing on the wounds after that. I just had to be doing something, you know? Anything. Hell, I was pressing as hard as I could, hoping that the pain would make him react and wake up. He never did. I'm not sure how long it took for the ambulance to arrive, but then they were there and they did their things. They told me to keep doing what I was doing, while they strapped him firmly on that board and got him ready to move. I think they had to tell me more than once to let go once they were done. I just couldn't. Someone pulled me away, they said I could ride with him—like there was ever another option. It took forever to get here. They didn't even tell me anything. When he started coughing and the mask they had on his face got splattered with blood, they just kept saying it would be okay, that Stiles was young, healthy and strong, and that it was a good thing. Fuck if that's what I wanted to hear. I mean, sure I did, but not with that professional reassuring tone. God,” the Sheriff turned back to look at Scott and Allison, “tell me I don't sound like that when I'm talking to victims.” The two kids just stared at each other and back at him, unsure of what was expected from them. They were saved from having to reply when the Sheriff continued. “So anyway, there, that's what happened, that's what I know. Stiles got shot low in the left shoulder, it probably hit his lung and he took a knock on the head. And believe me when I say that he'll take another one when I get my hands on him for making me worry like this.”

It took a moment for everyone to gather their minds after the Sheriff was done, none of them quite sure what to say next.

“He is, you know,” finally offered Scott, confusing both the Sheriff and Allison. “Strong I mean. We never give him enough credit, but he's always there when it matters and he never gives up. There's just no way he's gonna start now. If only so that he can...” A doctor entering the waiting room followed by Scott's mother cut the speech short, and had the little group stop breathing while they tried to decipher the expressions on the newcomers' faces.

*****

It was Scott who reacted first, ignoring the doctor to focus on his mother. Scanning her heartbeat and trying to use all his senses to get a clue about his best friend's whereabouts. He launched at her, almost knocking Allison to the ground in the process. “He's fine, right? Tell me he's gonna be okay. You feel like he's gonna be okay.”

The Sheriff, still stuck, was riveted on the McCalls. What Scott had just said made no sense to him, and apparently not to the doctor either, but Allison seemed to relax and a small smile appeared on Melissa McCall's face. That allowed the Sheriff to hope. He stood up too, taking tentative steps forwards, waiting for either medical personal to speak up.

Scott's mother's smile grew wider when she raised her arms to hug her son, eyes falling on the Sheriff.

“I'll let Doctor Ferguson share the details, but yes, barring any complications, Stiles should be fine.”

The Sheriff took another step forward, eyes now on the doctor, eagerly awaiting confirmation of what he's just been told.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” the doctor made his way to him, hand extended, “I'm Doctor Ferguson, and I took care of your son.”

“Doctor.” He had so many questions he wanted to ask, answers that he needed, so many things running through his head, but in the end, nothing else came out. His throat was still clenched, maybe more than before, because now that his hopes had been raised higher, the chance of them not being met was just too hard to bear. Reluctantly, he let go of the doctor's hand, a hand that had possibly saved his son, and crossed his arms over his chest. He hated not being fully in control of himself, feeling insecure wasn't like him, but right now, he had to hold on to something, and with Stiles not around, he was all he had. “Stiles?” was all he managed to choke out, but it conveyed everything he needed.

“Yes. As nurse McCall mentioned, all things considered, Stiles is doing well.” The doctor gave the people around him a moment to let it really sink in that their son and friend would be okay before he went on. “As well as can be expected with what he went through. It may not seem like it when you see him, but I assure you that things are looking good. Shall we sit to discuss the details?” He could see how shaken and unstable the Sheriff was. The kid was still safely wrapped in his mother's arms, but he'd been in this position often enough to know that not much was holding the father together at the moment. They said doctors had no heart, this was his way of proving it wrong and offering support. That's apparently not how it was perceived though; not all people reacted the same.

“No. You said he was fine. Just tell me. I need to know. I need to see him. You said I could see him.” The shaking in the Sheriff's voice as he was blurting the words out only served to prove how close he was to reaching his limits.

“No. Of course. Fine. You'll see him. I just want you to know what to expect.” The doctor was prompt to reassure him. “I just thought it would be more comfortable. You seem exhausted and I'd hate to have to admit you as well if you crash. But we'll do it your way.” He paused a second to gather his thoughts and find the best way to explain the situation to his worried audience. “So. First, keep in mind that Stiles is doing fine now and don't let what I tell you get to you.” He saw panic flash over the faces looking at him. “He's fine,” he insisted. The acknowledging nods he was awaiting finally made an appearance and he deemed it safe to proceed. “As I assume you know,” he looked at the Sheriff's blood-stained uniform, “Stiles came in with a gunshot wound to the left shoulder and a head laceration. We've cleaned and stitched that one without any complications, his short hair making it just that easier. The area we had to shave off will barely be visible in a couple weeks,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood before getting to the more serious business.

“I don't know how that head injury occurred, but there appears to have been some associated blunt force trauma. It's nothing we're too worried about, but we can definitely expect at minimum a fierce headache when your son wakes up. It's only once he's awake and responsive, though, that we'll be able to know the real extent of the concussion.” The doctor paused a moment to study the people around him, gauging their reactions. They looked like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop, so he decided to just indulge them. “Now the gunshot wound... It was located pretty low in the shoulder area. I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you, the bullet did a fair amount of damage, but nothing we couldn't fix. It entered about two inches above and to the left of the heart, fractured a rib, pierced the left lung, nicked the pulmonary artery and exited in the back, damaging the scapula. I know it sounds bad, but it could have been a lot worse. Considering, Stiles has been quite lucky. Like I said, all the damages have been repaired, now we just have to monitor him closely, watch for signs of infection and give his body time to heal.”

Time stood still in the waiting room, while Scott and the Sheriff processed the information they'd just received. It was hard – for the both of them – to believe Stiles really was going to be fine after the grim report Doctor Ferguson had given them. The news would definitely sink in better if they could just see Stiles for themselves.

Scott was the first to react, slowly pulling out of his mother's arms – always keeping the contact – and looking back at her, eyes full of hope. “Mum?”

“Yes,” Melissa whispered back. It was a simple answer to a much more complex question. Yes, everything they'd just been told was true. Yes, they had all come that close to losing Stiles. Yes, he would be fine. Yes, it would take time. Yes, they'd be able to see for themselves. Yes, she was there for Scott whenever he needed it and would always be.

“Can I just, please, see my son now?” asked the Sheriff. He had been sitting around moping for too long and he was getting antsy to move. Now that he knew Stiles was alive and on the mend, he needed to get his shit together and be there for him. And he couldn't be there for him sulking in the waiting room. “Where is he?”

“He's still in recovery,” offered the Doctor. “You won't be able to see him until he's settled in a room, which should not happen before another two hours or so, depending on how he shakes the anaesthesia off. I'm sorry, I know you want—need—to see him and be with him, but those are the rules and it's for Stiles own good. We really want to avoid any complications.”

Although disappointed, the Sheriff understood. He understood rules were there for reasons and he wouldn't be one to go against them, especially not when Stiles' life was in the balance.

“Someone will let you know as soon as you can see him. In the meantime, I suggest you go home and change. There's nothing more you can do here, and to be honest, I'm not really comfortable with people running around covered in dry blood in my hospital.”

“He's right, you know,” chipped in Melissa, “you should go shower and change. I'll stay with Stiles, and I'll personally call you when he's up for visits.” She turned to Scott, throwing a side glance at Allison who was sitting silently in the back, “that works for the two of you as well. Go home. It's starting to get late and, Allison, I'm sure your father must be wondering where you are. Scott, I'll keep you updated just as I will the Sheriff.”

There was a round of arguing from all parties involved, but in the end, everyone went their own way, resigned that it was for the best. After all, what really mattered was that Stiles was still alive and that he was going to be fine.

***

FIN (for here)

AN: I'll possibly extend this, if I ever get the courage and will to do so. I already have more written, but nothing complete.