Author's Notes: Sorry it's been so long and sorry it's short; I thought it was better to give a shorter chapter than wait until I finally have enough time to do something longer!

Stiles awakes alone. He fumbles with the items on his bedside table to find his watch, discovering a note scribbled in a familiar handwriting: "pack business came up- have taken S, I and J back to deal with it- will be back in a few days- D". He squinted at the illuminated face of his watch, only to find that it was 4am. Derek must have snuck out within the last couple of hours. With that thought on his mind, he falls back to sleep, and this time he sleeps for hours, a deep sleep that engulfs him in a silence that seems abyssal until-

"STILES"

Of course, it would be Lydia who woke him from the best sleep he'd had in weeks and, as Stiles blinked blearily awake, was threatening him with a pillow to the head.

"What, Lyd, please don't tell me you've broken a nail or-"

"You have an appointment. Now" she hissed.

"Shit I forgot." Stiles fails to disentangle himself from his sheets as he attempts to clamber out of bed and promptly headbutts the floor, earning him a snort of derision from Lydia as she expertly extricates him herself.

"You have two minutes." Then, with a swish of fragrant hair, she was gone.

Stiles feels queasy. For someone who dislikes needles and hospitals, he felt he'd done pretty well not to throw up during either the blood test or the biopsy. Lydia had left him to go to class with a thump on the shoulder and an unsympathetic, "man up." The doctors had told him that it would take a few days for the results to return from the lab, and he would be called in for an appointment whether the results were good or bad, and not to worry and everythingwillbefineand-

Stiles shakes himself. He can't keep panicking every time he thinks about this. It will be okay. He can't help thinking of Derek's strong arms encircling him, making him feel safe. What was that anyway? Stiles reasons with himself: it's a normal pack thing, he gets that close to Scott, Lydia, even Jackson. But then, why did it feel like more than that?

The rest of the pack is still away when Stiles gets the phone call. He's at home alone; Lydia and Allison are out shopping. Stiles grits his teeth and agrees an urgent appointment for the afternoon. He can't sit down for the next few hours as he waits for 2.45 to roll around. He can't concentrate and when he tries, it only lasts a few seconds before his mind is spiralling, falling into an abyss of what ifs. He can't think long enough to decide if he wants to take Lydia with him or whether her blunt approach would be helpful or heartbreaking in such a situation.

He decides to go alone, and regrets it as soon as he is sitting in the waiting room again, wringing his hands, tapping his feet and observing a revolving cast of characters enter, wait and be called. He distractedly people-watches, desperately battling to occupy his mind with something, anything other than the verdict he was about to receive. When his name is finally called, he follows without thinking, numb with terror.

Stiles is sitting in the doctor's office, and for once he doesn't feel the urge to speak, to fill the silence while she finds his profile on his computer. His mouth feels glued shut, his throat constricted and his lungs compressed. He's thinking of millions of other things when she begins speaking and he can tell from her expression that it's bad news and she says a word that he can't process but he knows it's bad because his heart shudders and it's a word that begins with l and ends in emia and he has to stutter, "can you repeat that please?" and the words are staccato and feel solid as they pass his turgid, uncooperative lips.

"Leukemia."

Stiles sits dazed as she explains treatment and side effects and support. Afterwards, he sits outside the clinic for what feels like hours before he feels ready to call Lydia. He can't begin to put into words what is happening, but she seems to understand and picks him up ten minutes later.