Chapter Text
“Stiles Stilinksi, if you don’t stop wiggling, this dye is going to get in your eyes and all over my outfit!” Lydia warned as she applied the bright orange dye to Stiles’s head.
“But it’s so cold!” complained Stiles right back.
The group was at Lydia’s house, some in the living room, and others, like Allison and Erica, in the bathroom watching as Lydia layered the dye through Stiles’s hair. The bathroom was filled with fumes of bleach and artificial hair dye, along with the sounds of Stiles and Lydia going back and forth with each other. Stiles was situated over the bathtub to ensure that the dye could be washed easily if and when it dripped. Eventually, though, Stiles’s knees grew sore, and they had to work with what they had.
“Are you sure your father approved of this?” Lydia asked Stiles with accusing eyes. Stiles scoffed, but it turned into a quick coughing fit, startling Scott who was situated in the living room. Giving Scott a thumbs-up as cleared his throat, he gave Lydia a look. “Of course. I’d think the son of a sheriff would know to be honest and truthful,” he said smugly.
Stiles looked in the mirror and saw pale orange hair, not quite the color they were going for, but the session had to stop early. The orange brought out his bright, amber eyes and made his pale skin stand out even more. People would stare at him, no doubt knowing he was sick with his frail and shaky bones, but they wouldn’t say anything, thinking it was some spontaneous act of someone who’d be gone soon. Stiles got lost in thought, and he jumped slightly when Allison’s hands appeared on his shoulders. “Do you like it?” She asked, looking bright-eyed and hopeful. “I think it looks great!” Stiles smiled and nodded.
Isaac walked in, wide-eyed as he didn’t know what color Stiles was dying his hair, but no doubt supportive. “Looks great, dude,” he said. Alongside was Jackson, who, of course, was covering his nose from all the fumes, looking disgusted. “When do you get to wash that out?” He said, which earned an annoyed groan from the group. Stiles rolled his eyes, yet smiled.
“Whenever my dad and nurses see me and faint from shock, I guess.” And he walked out with a protective towel covered around his neck. No one said anything when they saw Stiles shiver and hug the towel tighter to him.
Stiles didn’t say anything when he heard Erica whisper, “Nice going, Jackass.”
By Sunday night, Stiles was admitted back into his hospital room because his breathing began to get thick and heavy, as if he were inhaling steam. Sheriff Stilinski didn’t want to take any chances with Stiles’s heart palpitations, so he quietly gathered a few of Stiles’s things that’d be sure to entertain him during his indefinite stay. He didn’t say anything about Stiles’s hair the day Scott and Lydia carried his son to the front porch, shivering and pale. He’d just nodded in thanks and politely shut the door in their faces. When he called Melissa to tell her in advanced that they’d be coming in, he could tell that she was trying her best to put on a happy voice and ignore the fact that Stiles wasn’t able to spend at least four days out of Intensive Care.
Stiles woke up on a bleary Monday morning with the attitude of an angry, small child. He hated being in the hospital and he hated cancer. He hated looking down and seeing the IV needle in his hand, and he hated the holter monitors attached to his abdomen. He hated feeling drugged and helpless, and he hated the fact that his dad was dealing with this for a second time. He hated that stupid, impulsive idea of dying his hair a color that was so distracting.
“If you hate it so much, why did you dye it?”
Stiles sucked in a breath and turned to see who the voice belonged to. He saw bright, green eyes that he didn’t recognize immediately. It came to him slowly when he felt the tale-tell signs of nervous attraction.
“W-why are you in my hospital room? You know this is a private room, right? Not that I know of any non-private hospital rooms...” Stiles trailed off.
“I was told by Nurse Melissa McCall to entertain you so you wouldn’t be so uptight.”
Stiles made a face, “You’re here to strip?!” It was then Derek’s turn to look baffled. He shook his head and held out two Gameboys and motioned for Stiles to grab one. Stiles stared ahead and didn’t take the offer. “OK… how about we watch some old shows...I brought a portable DVD player, too...” Derek trailed off and reached into the bag that Stiles noticed was there. “Do you like Riflemen? Maybe Big Bang Theory? If you like cartoons, I have Looney Tunes...”
“Why the hell would Melissa McCall allow this person inside of my room,” Stiles thought to himself as Derek Hale continued to pull out old shows and cartoons in DVD packs.
“Stop,” Stiles held up a hand and tried not to look bashful from the way Derek stared at the needle. “What…what kind of games do you have?” Derek stared at Stiles for a few seconds before he regrouped and reached for a small, bulky bag that was filled with games.
Stiles looked at his options and realized that all of the games were super old and used. “Why do you have all of these for me?”
Derek looked down, blushing a little and Stiles had to clear his throat to cover up the whimper that threatened to escape his mouth.
“They’re actually my sister’s. She’s kind of stuck here, too.”
“For how long?” Stiles rebounded.
“Maybe two more days, or so.”
“Wow, so 'stuck',” Stiles reiterated with a scoff an eye roll.
Derek felt embarrassed from realizing what he said, without thought. Stiles just smiled, though.
“Pokémon...Red. That’s what I want to play.” Derek smiled.
By mid-afternoon, Derek was gone, and Sheriff Stilinski was there, caressing what he could of Stiles’s hair. He didn’t ask where Stiles got the Gameboy, or the portable DVD player, and he didn’t ask why Stiles had been smiling for the rest of the day until he’d fallen asleep.