To Build a Home

Chapter 3

Stiles sat in the stairwell between the seventh and eighth floors with his head in his hands, cool air helping to calm the wheezing that had started during his argument with Derek. He moved only to dial his father, resting the side of his head against the cold wall as he listened to the endless ringing, praying his father would pick up because he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he didn’t.

“I’m a horrible father,” he mumbled when he heard the Sheriff’s groggy voice on the other end, tears cascading again through silent sobs.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sighed, half-asleep and rubbing his eyes to wake up. “You’re not a bad-”

“Isaac has pneumonia and he’s in the hospital on Christmas and it’s my fault that it got to this point because I was too busy with work and shopping and-”

“Stiles,” his father warned, but he continued anyway.

“-and cleaning and baking and decorating and wrapping-”

“Stiles!” he yelled just as he always had when his son’s anxiety would take over and cause him to ramble. “Just take a deep breath, okay? You’re going to send yourself into an attack and you won’t be able to be there for Isaac if you’re in a hospital bed yourself. I can already hear you wheezing through the damn phone!”

Stiles nodded even though no one could see him and took a shaky breath, adjusting the phone against his ear as the tears continued to fall, the sobbing subsiding. “I made sure that he had his preventer medications every day,” he explained, voice barely a whisper. “I set my phone every four hours to make sure he did his breathing treatments. I checked on him in the middle of the night. How did I miss something this big?”

“Isaac is prone to things like pneumonia, Stiles. It’s not your fault that he’s sick. Don’t you remember what it was like when you were little?”

“But this is different, Dad. You never let your guard down with me.”

“It’s not about whether you have your guard up or not,” he explained. “You can’t control everything that happens to him. Just because you planned ahead doesn’t mean things will go the way you want them.” For a moment he wondered if his father was talking about Isaac or his mother, but he didn’t want to go there. Not at that moment, at least. “Something tells me there’s more to this than just Isaac being sick.”

“You mean like Derek hating me right now?” he asked with a sniffle.

“Derek doesn’t hate you,” his father said.

“Oh, so he told me to leave the room because he loves me?” Stiles had to hold his breath after that one to keep from letting a sob out.

“He what?!”

Stiles took a shallow breath and said, “Isaac was getting upset that we were fighting so he told me to leave and now I’m sitting in the stairwell trying to calm down.” He could hear his wheeze returning, his lungs tightening as he tried to stop the image of Isaac crying and gasping from reappearing. “I feel like I’m completely on my own here,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears back.

"You aren’t on your own, though,” his father said, voice much softer than before. “Derek is upset, but he doesn’t hate you. You’ve both been working non-stop, all while learning how to be parents and do the best by Isaac.” With his free hand, Stiles pulled his inhaler from his pocket and shook it before giving himself a puff. “What you and Derek are doing is a very different kind of parenting because you’re trying to undo all of the hurt and pain that he gained from his last home and fill those holes with unconditional love. And you’re not a horrible father for wishing your son wasn’t sick and in pain right now. If anything, that shows how much you care and how seriously you take your role in Isaac’s life.”

Stiles just sniffled and wondered how many times his father had felt like this. How many times he’d sat in the stairwell of this very hospital thinking that everything was spiraling out of his control and that there was no way to fix it. He took another puff of medicine and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Here’s what you’re going to do: After I hang up, you’re going to find a moment, one from the past four months that made you stop and think that creating a family with Derek by adopting Isaac was the best thing that could have ever happened to you. And then you’re going to go to Isaac’s room and be with your family.”

“But-”

“I love you,” his father said before disconnecting the call, leaving Stiles panicked for a few seconds before he put his phone and inhaler down and took the deepest breath he could manage. Following his father’s advice, he recalled the night in the bathtub about a month earlier when Isaac had had another one of his episodes. They’d been occurring less frequently as the toddler adjusted, but that didn’t make Stiles hate them any less.

"Daddy?" Isaac had asked as he held his plastic toy boat in his lap, splashing and giggling having stopped just a few seconds earlier.

“Hmm?”

"Is that lady gonna come back and take me fwom you and Papa?"

"Never, why would you ask that?" Stiles asked as he gently wiped Isaac’s back with a soft washcloth.

"She took me fwom my last Daddy," he sniffled. "'Cause I was bad."

"Honey,” Stiles sighed as he lifted Isaac’s chin. “You weren't bad. Not at all. Your father was hurting you and that's not what parents are supposed to do.”

"I-I don't want her to take me away again," Isaac cried as he pulled his head away from Stiles’ grip, dropping the toy boat and curling into himself as his sobbing took over. "S-she's gonna take me away again! I don’t want to go away!" he screeched over and over as Stiles tried to comfort him unsuccessfully, Derek appearing in the doorway after hearing the commotion.

"She's not going take you away from us, Isaac. No one is going to take you,” he cooed, afraid to wrap the toddler in a towel and remove him from the tub because the last time he’d done that Isaac had kicked him in the stomach. “We love you and you're staying right here with us.”

"Isaac," Derek said as he kneeled beside the tub, Stiles’ heart breaking at the thought that the toddler had no idea what was going on or why and that he thought that everything that had happened was because he was the one that had done something wrong. "We love you more than anything else and we are yours to keep forever, okay?" He gently stroked Isaac’s hair, even after the toddler tried pulling away in fear, and repeated the action for nearly ten minutes until the toddler released his balled fists and calmed down, his little sniffles turning into hiccups before he finally whispered, "Otay."

Later that night, as Stiles and Derek were tucking him into bed, Isaac had looked at them with his bright blue eyes and said, “Love you, Daddy. Love you, Papa.” Stiles paused with the comforter in his hands, tears forming in his eyes as his heart melted. "You are the sweetest little boy any parent could ask for," he finally whispered as he kissed his cheek. “We love you, too, baby boy,” Derek smiled before giving Isaac a kiss on his forehead. The two watched from the partially cracked doorway with their fingers entwined, both refusing to move until they were sure Isaac was sound asleep.