Black Love [SUPERWOLF]

Too Fast for the Eye to See

[TEEN WOLF; Beacon Hills Hospital]

"Can you remember anything else?"

The voice was distant, so very distant-it was barely a whisper, in his ear, but he could still hear the woman's voice and Derek's hand was there, curling it's fingers around Stiles' but it too felt distant-as though he were numb to the touch. But Chris' voice was thick and raw, even after he'd left him.

"It happened too fast; say it, say it until you believe it."

"It just happened so fast."

He could see Derek standing from the corner of his eye, but his figure he once found too detailed to forget, was now a blur.

"We're leaving." Derek reached for Stiles, who's eyes once full of life was now dull and distant, ghostly, even. "Stiles." Derek said, but the teen remained unmoving in his seat. Derek, releasing Stiles' hand, slid his fingers over his forearm-raising him off the seat gently, his other hand, cradling him from around the waist. "Mr. Hale, Stiles is under seventeen-years-old, and considering he no longer has any Family, we must take him in to social services."

"Officer"-Melissa spoke-"Stiles' family is here."

"Blood relatives," the woman in uniform said, grimacing at the blood that stained Melissa's uniform, "is what I mean."

"They are blood." Stiles, with eyes layered in tears that would never fall, looked up to Ms. McCall, who stood beside two men. Two men, he had never seen. "Just let me speak with Stiles, please. You can come find him in the morning. I just need to speak with Stiles, alone." Officer Sydney, hesitating for only a minute, nodded her head solemnly. Stiles watched as she stepped away without so much as a farewell.

"Who are these men, Melissa?" Derek spoke, asking the words Stiles couldn't find himself to say.

"Stiles." The nurse looked to Stiles, who showed no sign of listening. "Your Father, he told me many things about his past. Things, things he couldn't... tell you, because he was afraid."

"Afraid?" Stiles said, sounding almost rhetorical. "Afraid of what?"

Melissa grew silent-it was the stranger, who stood to her right, that spoke next. "Afraid of how you would react when you found out that he wasn't your Father."

"John Winchester"-the taller of the two spoke-"is your Father, o-our Father." he adds carefully, gesturing between himself and the shorter, yet broader, male.

"He never got a chance to tell you Stiles," Melissa spoke quickly as Stiles' eyes begun to widen. "Your Father once, he came to my home after a late night shift. He- he asked me to hold onto this," Melissa reached into the pocket of her scrubs, unearthing a folded envelope, "and said that in case something ever happened to him, to give it to you. Ever since that day, I have carried this letter with me; I prayed to never have to give it to you and I'm so sorry that I have to. But, he wanted you to know the truth, Stiles. He needed you to know the truth."

As Melissa spoke, Stiles took on a look of pale, as though he'd been bathing in white paint. Then, with the strangers taking one step forward, and Stiles taking one step backwards, he crumpled into a black void.

. . .

[TEEN WOLF; Scott McCall's bedroom]
"Will he ever wake up? It's been nearly three days."

"Shouldn't we take him to the hospital?"

"Stiles' body needs time to heal. He has experienced a major trauma-the hospital can't help him."

Three days, Stiles thought slowly. He new he had to wake up, but he couldn't move. Dreams clung to him like a child would cling to his Mother. He saw Derek, with scars wrapped around his naked body. Wolves howling, is what he saw. Wolves burning.

"Stiles, please. Wake up."

Stiles blinked for the first time in three days.

Blankets engulfed him; blankets he had spent countless of nights, buried with in, as he and Scott would defy Melissa-talking through the night of nothing yet everything. These were the blankets he had wrapped himself in the night before his Fathers death.

These were the blankets he wrapped himself in when he got the call.

"Stiles," Derek spoke breathlessly, as though he'd raced a marathon, "are you okay? Does anything hurt?" It was as Derek spoke that Stiles had come to acknowledge the hand, wrapped around his own. From beside Derek, Scott asked, "How do you feel?" But Stiles didn't answer, he couldn't because when he'd turned to face Scott and Derek, he'd seen the envelope-laid out beside him.

"Is that...?" Stiles spoke, his throat felt raw and thick as though he'd spent the last twenty-four hours crying Bloody Murder. Derek looked at the envelope Stiles was too fearful to even touch, and nodded. "We don't have to look at that now, Stiles."

Stiles leaned back from the envelope, tense, watching the letter as though it may come to life at any moment and transform into his Father himself. Stiles yearned to look at the letter, he was sick with desire, but he knew once he'd open that letter that he'd never hear anything original from his Father again. It would all just be echoes, and memories.

"Stiles," Scott spoke slowly-as though if he were too speak to loudly, Stiles would shatter like a China Doll; perhaps he would. "What do you want us to do with that letter?"

"Derek." Stiles said-his voice making the name sound as if it were the only thing keeping himself from clipping away into the void of insanity-"Derek, I- I want you to read it to me. I need you to read it to me. I can't do it myself, Derek." he looked to the wolf, his eyes pleading the fifth. "Please."

Solemnly, the werewolf nodded, looking up to Scott for only a moment; Scott didn't meet Derek's eyes, however because he'd been looking to Stiles, who seemed almost guilty. "Scott. . ."

"I'll leave, Stiles." the True Alpha said, smiling warmly at his friend despite the ache in his chest. "Just take care, okay?"

Stiles nodded, only looking away from his best friend once the door closed, turning to face Derek. "I'm ready."