(please read part i first :)
Stiles is acting strange after waking up from the coma, even when he gets his memories back. Sometimes he's a completely different person: aggressive, distant, and cold. Others, he's back to his old self. Once the pack n...
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Stiles ascended the stairs slowly, his brow creased in concentration. He'd told his dad that he hadn't needed any help, but now he was having second thoughts.
He hated how things that had been so easy were now so hard, just because of one stupid car accident. He'd been in plenty of fender-benders, sure, but he'd always been left sitting in the driver's seat slightly alarmed and confused. No side effects on his body than being a little sore in the morning.
Now he couldn't even climb the stairs. Or, as his dad told him on the way home since he couldn't remember, couldn't even put pants on right.
As he entered his room, he let his bag fall to the floor. He should have felt right at home, since he felt like he'd only been gone for a few days, but those few days felt like a million at the same time. Everything was exactly where it'd been since he left to go on a rescue mission to the cellar: his unmade bed, his homework scattered on his desk, and the detective board in the middle of the room.
He traced his finger along the surface of his nightstand, though, and found dust. Which sent a plummeting sensation through his stomach. Just that simple dust made it feel like someone else's room.
With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of his bed and stared blankly at the wall. How had the entire world turned to shit so quickly, and what did he do to deserve it?
He turned his attention to his phone, which was currently chiming insistently from his pocket.
Scott: hey man just checking in. you get home okay?
Stiles guiltily started typing back as he recalled what Melissa had told him, that he'd yelled at Scott right before the scan.
But he just didn't remember anything after that, at least not until he looked up and saw Melissa injecting a needle into his arm.
Stiles: yeah. sorry about what happened. ur mom told me about it, but i dont remember saying any of that stuff. i didnt mean it. Scott: don't worry about it, seriously. do you need anything?
Scott texted back almost instantly. Biting his fingernail and insisting that he didn't need a thing, Stiles switched off his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. The last thing he needed was for it to trigger something.
Instead, he pulled out the envelope from his bag and started sifting through it. Inside were his scans, a packet on his diagnosis that the doctor scribbled all over, and little packets on epilepsy and TBIs. His dad had, of course, taken the bills out as soon as they'd come home so Stiles wouldn't see the amount on them.
His eyes scanned over the first page of the document with the test results, but he found he couldn't pick up anything. The letters seemed to slide right off the page and churn around together.
Frustrated, he threw the envelope to the floor and stomped back down the stairs. He slipped, nearly falling three times, but he eventually made it to ground zero with minimal injuries.
He opened his mouth to call to his dad, but he realized that someone else was standing in the kitchen, conversing with him in hushed tones. When he limped around the corner, he spotted a leather-clad pain in his butt standing next to the back door, talking with his dad.
"Hey, Stiles," Noah said awkwardly. "Derek came to, uh, pay you a visit."
"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, trying to ignore his annoyance. "What, Scott put you up to this?"
"No." Derek shook his head and flashed him his pointed teeth, eyes flashing. "Though you clearly still can't get it through your thick skull, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"My skull's not that thick, otherwise we wouldn't even be in this situation." Stiles tried to smile, but he was left with a sick feeling in his stomach at the attempt. "And as much as you strike me as a kind, caring person who just checks in on people, I get the feeling that you wanted something from me. Does that ring a bell?"
"Stiles---" the sheriff started, but Derek smiled.
"Lydia said she heard some...things." He looked Stiles up and down cautiously. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't have two heads or were growing fangs."
"What, can't take a little competition, Mr. Former Alpha?"
"Okay." Derek raised his hands and started backing away. "I can see you're fine. Still the same hyperactive spaz with sarcasm and attitude problems. Pardon my thoughtfulness. I'll be on my way."
Stiles smirked and made shooing motions with his hands. "Yeah, get outta here."
A smile tugged at his face as the door slammed closed. Underneath all that gruffness and leather jackets, Derek really did care about him, Scott, and the rest of the pack. In a way.
He turned around to see if they had any milk in the fridge, but as he did, a sort of wind rushed through him. He rubbed at the back of his neck, shivering at the sudden chill.
"Help me, Stiles," a voice whispered in his ear.
The voice he'd heard in his nightmares.
"Go away," Stiles whispered.
- - - - - -
Later that night, while he was climbing underneath his covers, his dad came in to tell him goodnight. Something he hadn't done in a long time, not since his mom had been alive.
"I thought I was too old to get tucked in?" Stiles teased, reaching his arm out to give the sheriff a hug. It had been awhile since he'd seen him in a regular shirt and pants. It seemed like he lived in his uniform these days.
"You're never too old for your dad to care about you." His dad ruffled his hair and pulled the covers up to Stiles' chin. "And, I don't know if you could tell, but I've really missed you."
Stiles blinked up at him, feeling exhaustion start to weigh him down. They both had had a long day, but Stiles was happy to be ending it in his own bed.
"I missed you, too." He smiled, pressing his face deeper into his pillow. His own, soft pillow that smelled like home instead of the stiff hospital ones that had a faint smell of laundry detergent and medicine. "But we're back together now. Everything will go back to normal soon."
His dad's heavy footsteps neared the doorway, where he paused. "I sure hope so, kid," he whispered to himself. He was either going deaf or didn't realize Stiles could still hear him.
Just as he started to drift off to sleep, he was transported back to the hospital. His body became a useless hunk of rock laying in the uncomfortable bed, listening to the loud heart monitor and his friends talking without him.
He was trapped in his body like a spider in a glue trap.
"Something's inside Stiles' head," he heard Lydia saying. "Something that shouldn't be there."
"Are you sure Stiles isn't the one who trespassed somewhere he shouldn't have?" Scott said on his other side. He tried to open his eyes, to open his mouth and speak, but his body remained limp. "After all, he was the one who ran into that tree like an idiot."
"The only way to fix this is to dig it out," Derek's voice hissed. "We'll have to crack open his head like a can of beans." Stiles heard the sound of claws being unsheathed.
He fought and struggled against his helpless body, but he was still paralyzed. A hand clamped down on one of his arms. It felt like it was wrapped in bandages or gauze.
"You let me in," a voice that definitely wasn't either of the three people in the room whispered into his ear, hot breath pooling against his skin. "Now let me through."
It was his own voice.
With a shrill scream, Stiles was kicking himself awake in his bed, scrambling upright in a desperate attempt to escape what he realized was only a nightmare.
