Chapter Text
Danny and Stiles have been together for five months now, and it’s been the best five months of Stiles’ life. The guppies, which have managed not to reproduce at all, sit atop Stiles’ dresser, a trophy of his first-ever real relationship, and he couldn’t be more proud of the man he’s been lucky enough to spend those five months with…or more grateful for having him.
Danny is a gentleman through and through, well, at least most of the time, and he takes good care of Stiles. Really, really good care of him. Stiles goes to visit his mother’s grave at least twice a week, and since they got together, Danny has gone with him more than half of those times. Sometimes he helps Stiles read to her, sometimes he just sits, holding Stiles’ hand while Stiles talks to her, sometimes they talk together, just sitting in her “presence,” etc, but what really matters to Stiles is that he’s there as much as he can be, and that makes it all so much easier for the young man.
It’s not just the grave visits, either, that Danny makes easier. He helps with the panic, with the loneliness, with the sleepless nights. He knows how to bring Stiles down out of a panic attack, he comes over as much as he can when Stiles is at home and his dad is working, and he stays the night as much as he can, and every time he does, no matter how keyed up Stiles starts out, he always sleeps well in Danny’s arms.
Danny gets on well with the Sheriff, too. When Stiles first told his dad that he and Danny were seeing each other, it was awkward, but as soon as Stiles’ dad realized just how good of an influence Danny is on Stiles’ life – how he takes care of Stiles, and helps combat the demons in his life, he took a liking to Danny, one that hasn’t slowed down. He just pretends that when they’re in Stiles’ room with the door closed, they’re studying, even if he knows that’s almost never the case.
Currently, Stiles and Danny are making out on Stiles’ bed, homework forgotten on the floor. It’s hours, still, before Stiles’ dad will be home from work, so they have time, and they know it. The kisses are slow and lazy, and the touches are just as relaxed. There’s no harried urgency, just two young men attempting to forget the world together – and they’re doing a pretty good job of it, too…until Stiles’ phone rings.
“Don’t answer it,” Danny whines as Stiles reaches out to grab it.
“Wasn’t.” Stiles presses the ‘reject call’ button, and tosses the phone aside, pulling Danny back against him.
It’s only seconds, really, before the phone rings again, and again, Stiles rejects the call, but the third time it rings, he sits up to answer it, and Danny doesn’t stop him. Three calls in that short amount of time? It’s probably important.
“Hello?”
“Stiles? It’s Melissa McCall.” Her tone of voice conveys worry, and Stiles’ whole body tenses up. The volume on the phone is loud enough for Danny to hear, so he, too, sits quietly, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks, his voice shaky, because he knows that it has to be something. “Who is it?”
“It’s your father, Stiles. He’s been shot. He’s in surgery right now, but I-”
Stiles doesn’t hear the rest of the call, and neither does Danny. The phone slips out of his hand, and neither of them move to pick it up, Danny because he’s watching Stiles, and Stiles because this is his worst fucking nightmare, and it’s coming to life.
For a second, it’s silence and stillness, and then both boys make a grab for the keys resting on the bedside table, Stiles so that he can drive to the hospital, and Danny so he can stop him. Danny’s stronger, so he comes up with the keys, but that doesn’t stop Stiles from grabbing deftly at them.
“I’ll drive,” Danny says firmly, reaching out and taking Stiles’ hand.
Stiles is nonresponsive the whole way to the hospital. Danny locks the front door, he helps Stiles into the jeep, and drives the whole way there, saying nothing, just hoping, for Stiles’ sake, that everything’s going to be alright.
When they get to the hospital, Stiles is out of the jeep before Danny can ever park the thing, and he’s off, disappearing into the hospital doors at full speed. Danny finishes parking, and chases after him, finally catching up with him right outside of the operating room.
“Look, you can’t go in there,” a nurse says, hands on his hips, his body the only thing standing between stiles and the doors to the O.R.
“Like hell I can’t!” Stiles shouts, his whole body shaking. “That’s my dad in there! I’m all he’s got!”
Stiles is fucking hysterical, and Danny’s not sure what to do, so he stands there, watching, waiting for a cue to do something, anything, that might help the boy he’s so fucking worried about right now.
“I’m sorry.” The nurse shakes his head. “No one can go in during surgery.”
Stiles doesn’t take “no” for an answer, and he makes a run for it, ducking past the nurse, heading straight for the closed doors. He almost gets there, too – almost. It’s Danny who catches up with him first, and he grabs Stiles’ wrist, holding it tightly. He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, but he can’t let him go into the operating room – he’d get dragged out by security, and that would make everything so much worse than it already is, and that’s the last thing that Stiles needs right now – for this to get any worse.
Danny pulls Stiles away from the door, and Stiles struggles. While he’s surprisingly strong right now (something Danny’s sure is a result of the adrenaline and panic), Danny’s still stronger, and he manages to pull Stiles close, holding him against his chest, strong arms encircling him, half to hug him, half to keep him from getting away.
For a second, Stiles is stunned into silence and stillness by the rapid movements, and for that second, Danny thinks that it might be okay, that Stiles might be realizing that he can’t go in there, but he understands pretty quickly that he’s wrong.
“Let me go!” Stiles screams, beating his fists against Danny’s chest, twisting and contorting his whole body, trying to get out of the grip.
“No.”
Danny holds firm, refusing to let Stiles go, even when one of the boy’s flailing fists connects painfully with his jaw. It hurts, but watching Stiles lose it like this hurts more, and Danny knows what’s important right now, and his jaw, his comfort, is not one of those things. What’s important right now is being what Stiles needs him to be, and if that’s a punching bag, then so be it. He knows that Stiles doesn't mean to hurt him.
“LET ME GO!” Stiles screams, this time louder, and there are people watching them, but none of them move closer.
“No,” Danny says again, his voice soft, even, completely contrasting everything that Stiles is right now.
Stiles struggles and struggles to break free of Danny’s grip, trying to pull away, fists flying. He’s panicking, every part of him is engulfed in the worst panic attack of his life, and it’s making him crazy, but he can’t stay like that forever, and eventually, he wears himself out. He collapses against Danny’s chest, sobbing, and Danny just pulls him closer.
“Don’t let me go,” Stiles whispers, clinging to Danny for all he’s worth.
“I won’t,” Danny promises. He keeps one arm around Stiles’ back, and moves the other to the back of Stiles’ head, gently stroking his hair, holding Stiles against his chest, not caring that his shirt’s being soaked. “I’ll never let you go.” He drops a soft kiss onto the top of Stiles’ head, and they stand there like that, Stiles sobbing into Danny’s chest, Danny holding him, for what seems like hours.