New Teen Wolf Fic: Except What Has Been Forgotten, Rated R, 1/?
Except What Has Been Forgotten, Part 1
by Suz
Disclaimer - All characters belong to Jeff Davis/MTV. Absolutely no infringement is intended!
New Teen Wolf fic! \o/ \o/ \o/ Future fic, definitely set after season two, so spoilers for the whole series so far. Stiles/Derek. Rated R. Humour, occasional bit of everything ;) I've aged Stiles up a bit, just because :D Aaaaaaand...let's not expect realism with medical and school stuff. Because the plot needs to move forward and stuff. Ahem.
Summary: In which Stiles wakes up with a shiny new case of amnesia and it's immediately obvious that his best friend is lying to him - which might have something to do with the (hot) guy who keeps appearing his room. What the hell has he been doing for the past 18 months?
Many, many thanks to rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)
*
"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."
― Marie Antoinette
*
As it turned out, waking up with a blinding headache and a thumping head - actually thumping, he was pretty sure there were a couple of guys in there with a set of drums having some kind of competitive Bongo-Off - was not the best way to start his morning.
And then new pieces of information started to filter into his - very sore - brain.
Stiles didn't actually remember falling asleep. Even through his eyelids, which he was making a valiant attempt to lift but were plainly going nowhere fast, he could tell a light was on. And the bed he was on really didn't feel like his bed; not as comfortable and familiar-
Oh, hell. He was totally in the hospital, wasn't he?
That was the moment he passed out again.
*
When consciousness returned, Stiles felt a little more human. The bongo players were still there, but instead of a furious set-piece it was a calm, almost leisurely beat. While Stiles appreciated this change in tempo, he really hoped it wasn't permanent. It was already busy enough in Stiles' head without factoring in any kind of musical accompaniment. His head was just his head, thank you very much, and not the property of homeless bongo players.
Yeah, he was pretty sure he had a concussion.
While Stiles did, occasionally, suffer from a lack of co-ordination - it was like his limbs had a life of their own, where they were always at a rave that the rest of his body hadn't been invited to - he wasn't a total klutz. The worst he'd suffered since puberty hit was an endless array of bruises, cuts and grazes with the occasional twisted ankle. Which honestly wasn't much different from his childhood. There had been one broken toe incident last year, but that had totally been Scott's fault for cheating on the X-Box anyway. The coffee table had just happened to get in the way of Stiles' foot while he was actually aiming for Scott.
So, realising he'd hurt himself badly for once was something of a surprise. He still couldn't remember whatever incident had given him the concussion and ended up landing him in the hospital, but Stiles had done enough reading and seen enough soap operas to know that wasn't unusual. His brain had been through a trauma and needed to recover.
Deciding to find out if he could actually open his eyes this time, Stiles fired up the old eyelid muscles and found he could, indeed, take a glimpse into the world.
And immediately wished he hadn't. Slamming them shut, Stiles groaned in pain. That light had been way too bright for his head to deal with.
"Stiles!"
That was Dad's voice. Dad's worried voice, and then Dad's equally worried hands grasping his upper arm.
Stiles hadn't been freaking out, but relief flooded through him just the same. "Dad," he rasped. "Lights? Too bright."
"I'll fix it," Dad assured him urgently, squeezing his arm before the contact stopped. Stiles heard footsteps moving away and then, even through his eyelids, the light dimmed noticeably. "Scott!" Dad yelled, and apparently Scott was there, too. Good to know. "He's awake! Go tell someone!"
As Dad came back towards the bed, Stiles opened his eyes again - much slower this time, letting his eyes adjust. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as before, and it was totally worth the effort when his eyes focused and he could see Dad's face looking down at him.
"Hi." Stiles managed to produce a small smile.
Dad clearly appreciated the hell out of the effort, producing an emotional, fond smile of his own. "Kid, you sure know how to give your old man a heart attack. You gotta stop getting yourself into trouble before you kill me for real."
Stiles frowned at that - and ow, that hurt too - because really, he wasn't that bad.
Dad kept talking. "Although I think I actually prefer the restraining orders and randomly turning up at crime scenes that have nothing to do with you rather than...this." He gestured towards the bed, before turning contemplative. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd say."
He stared. Stiles just stared because nothing Dad said was computing. Not unless...
Unless...
Stiles swallowed. "Dad, what's the date?"
Frowning at him curiously, Dad opened his mouth just as Scott jogged into the room, distracting both of them. He asked how Stiles was doing but a woman had come in with him - a nurse or a doctor or a janitor for all Stiles knew. While she was busy explaining who she was and pulling out a pen light, Stiles was busy staring at Scott. He looked...older. Not disturbingly so, but he looked...streamlined, now. Like his body had grown up. Plus, his hair was longer than Stiles could remember it being.
He hadn't noticed any change in Dad, but now that he was paying attention he could see it. More grey hairs. A few more wrinkles. A little more paunch on his stomach.
Ohh, this was not good. This was so not good and yet so cool at the same time.
The doctor flashed the pen light into his eyes, which ow, but also snapped him back into focus. "Looks good," she said reassuringly. "Any pain?"
"Lots," he confirmed, "but better than before."
Nodding, she flipped open his chart and noted something down. "Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions-"
Stiles was pretty sure he knew how this spiel was going to go. "Yeah, I don't think that's necessary. Pretty sure I have amnesia." They all stared at him in shock. "Not...total or whatever you call it, but..." He sighed. "Look, I know I'm Stiles Stilinski. That's my dad," he nodded towards Dad, before following up with Scott. "And that's Scott McCall, my best friend. We live in Beacon Hills, I go to Beacon Hills High, I'm just barely on the lacrosse team and I've been crazy about Lydia Martin since the fourth grade. The President of America is Barack Obama." He paused, realising something. "I hope? For so many reasons."
"Then why do you think you have amnesia?" Scott asked, confused. That expression, at least, was still familiar.
"Because you look older," Stiles explained. "You're all...tall and beefy - dude, when did you get muscles? Are you doing that protein crap now? And Dad is..." He glanced over at him. "Grey. With more wrinkles. And more stomach."
Dad's expression looked like it couldn't decide what expression it needed to be most right now. "Thanks, Stiles."
"Sorry?" He shrugged an apology.
"Well, what date do you think it is, Mr Stilinski?" The doctor peered down at him expectantly.
Stiles thought it over. That specific area was kind of...foggy, but he did seem to have very vivid memories of Scott planning his costume for Halloween. Scott had wanted to dress up like Zombie Justin Bieber since he'd still been so popular and Stiles had laughed for hours. "October. I think? Maybe September." Scott liked to get his costume-planning in pretty early. For whatever reason, however, he was absolutely sure about the year. "But definitely 2010. Definitely."
A sea of shocked expressions stared back at him, before they all communicated with each other silently, eyes moving all over the place. Finally, Dad nodded at the doctor slowly.
Taking that as permission, she spoke to Stiles carefully. "Today is February the 16th, Stiles. 2012."
So he was right. That meant...that meant...
"Dude! I'm 18! I'm a senior." And based on the date, that probably meant... "Wow. Really glad I can't remember the college application process. I bet that put me through the wringer, huh?"
Dad still looked like he couldn't decide on an emotion, but ultimately decided on slapping a hand over his eyes. Scott looked...well, horrified, frankly. Which was more than a little weird.
Why would Scott be more upset about this than Dad?
There was so much Stiles wanted to do, like figure out the answer to that question, find out what stupid thing he'd done to end up with amnesia in the first place, ask about everything that'd happened since 2010, holy shit, but he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and his eyes tried to close. "Whoa." He blinked heavily. The doctor immediately ordered Dad and Scott out of the room and Stiles opened his mouth to object, but everything was spinning away into nothingness.
*
When he blinked his eyes open again he was lying on his side, head still throbbing mildly. There was an IV in his hand that had probably been there all along, but he hadn't noticed until now - totally understandable really, given the amnesia realisation. Dad was sitting in the uncomfortable-looking chair to the left of the bed. It was much too small for his body but he had his eyes closed and looked like he was doing his best to sleep in it no matter what.
Stiles smiled softly. "Dad?"
Immediately snapping open his eyes and leaning forward, Dad stared at him with concern. "How you doing?"
Stiles thought it over. "Tired. Sore. But not too dizzy right now, which is an improvement."
"Good," Dad said. "Good." He nodded slowly, still looking worried and looking like he didn't know what to say next. Which seemed pretty reasonable, really. What did you say when faced with amnesia?
Stiles saved him the trouble. He was good at doing that, at least when it came to talking. "So...what did I do to my head, anyway? Some death-defying, heroic stunt?"
Dad stared back at him. "You tripped and hit your head on a rock."
Yeah, that sounded much more likely. "Figures."
"Apparently you and Scott were in the forest," Dad explained, "like always, these days." Stiles raised his eyebrows at that muttered comment. He had always found the forest dark and fascinating - Dad had always told him to keep out of there when he was a kid - but Scott had usually been too scared to go in there with him. And Stiles wasn't about to go exploring there alone unless there was a really, really good reason.
Apparently that'd changed, too.
"No doubt running around like a pair of fools," Dad continued. "You fell over. He got you to the hospital. And here we are."
So, he had Scott to thank for getting his ass to safety. He was about to say something along those lines, when he realised how worried Dad was looking again. "Hey, it could be worse. It's not even two whole years, right? That's not so much time. How much could I have missed?" The look Dad gave him was not reassurring, which might have had something to do with that whole restraining order stuff. He definitely needed to ask Scott about that, because it didn't look like Dad was going to enjoy explaining it.
"You're right," Dad said eventually, decisively. "The doctor said this is probably temporary. And that you're out of the woods. And you've had a MRI scan which shows there's no serious damage, so..."
Stiles nodded slightly, but as he thought over what Dad had said...hospital rooms. MRIs. Who knew what kinds of other tests? "How long have I been here?"
"You were out for nearly 24 hours."
Wow. No wonder Dad had been worried. But...all of that time...all of those tests. "But there's nothing else they can do now, right? I mean...it's a head injury. A concussion. There's only so much they can do."
"Stiles."
"Why don't I just recover at home?"
"I know what you're trying to do," Dad told him bluntly. "Don't worry about it."
"Dad..." They couldn't afford this. Any of this. The sooner he got out, the better.
"My insurance will cover most of it."
"Even thought I'm technically an adult?"
"Right," Dad muttered. "Maybe we can start your re-education with Obamacare."
Obama what now? Ohhh, wait. He remembered something about that. That sounded familiar, at least. Stiles was going to ask more - actually, he had about a million and one questions that he'd love to get started on - but then took in Dad's face. Really took it in - the extra wrinkles, the dark smudges underneath his eyes, the hard set of his shoulders. Made a decision. "What time is it?"
Dad eyed him suspiciously. "Past visiting hours," he admitted. "Being sheriff means people tend to make exceptions for you."
Stiles knew that was true; had often come to appreciate it. Not now, though. "Dad," he said seriously. "Go home. Get some rest. Some real rest."
He started shaking his head. "Stiles, I-"
Time to bring out the big guns. "I'm out of the woods, right? You said so yourself, so there's nothing to worry about. And I won't be able to rest now until I know you are."
Dad narrowed his eyes, like Stiles was being particularly troublesome. Eventually his focus loosened and he slowly sat back. "Some things don't change," Dad said with a small grin. "You have amnesia and you're still a pain in my ass."
"That just proves everything's going to be fine," Stiles insisted, because he honestly wasn't offended. "If I'm being annoying, that can only mean that all is well. Go home, go to bed, and bring me some of my favourite donuts tomorrow." Stiles could eat them as his celebratory 'I'm out of hospital!' treat, because he had every intention of getting his ass out of there ASAP. 'Most of it' didn't come anywhere close to 'all of it' when it came to medical expenses.
Dad gave in, creaking himself up out of the chair. "Didn't you hear?" he asked casually. "Harvey's closed."
Stiles actually gasped. Not perfect donut yumminess! "No."
"Just kidding." Dad flicked a quick grin, like he was just realising the fun he could have with this.
Stiles squinted up at him, slowly rolling onto his back. His head still hurt, but it was so much easier to do anything at all now. "Yeah, that's right. Make fun of the amnesiac."
Dad studied him. "You still want those donuts, or not?"
He paused. "Forget I said anything."
"That would take a miracle," Dad said, sounding resigned, and then he was leaning down, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' forehead. Pulling away, he gave Stiles another fond look.
"I'll be fine, Dad," Stiles assured him. "Besides - somewhat amazingly, I'm an adult now." And that was definitely still a weird concept.
Dad nodded like he was starting to believe him. "Figures you'd just take this all in your stride. The world falls apart around you and you just keep going."
Blinking, Stiles had no idea what the hell to say to such a random, unexpected and emotional comment.
Fortunately, Dad continued. "By the way?" he asked rhetorically. "You're not stepping your ass a single foot outside this hospital until the doctor says you're good and ready."
Rather than be offended, Stiles decided to take that as a challenge. "I better get plenty of rest, then. Which means you need to go." He gestured towards the door. "Goooo."
Unfortunately, life - or at least the nurses - had other plans. Every few hours he was woken up to have his pupils, pulse and blood pressure checked. Stiles existed in this weird limbo world where he had no idea how much time had passed and whether he was really awake or asleep and things were just really, really confusing.
Then he blinked, and there was a man standing at the foot of his bed.
There was a man standing at the foot of his bed.
He clearly wasn't staff - the lack of scrubs and the leather jacket were a big giveaway - and he was staring at Stiles ominously.
"Um," Stiles found himself saying, trying not to make any sudden moves so as not to spook the creepy (hot) guy standing at the end of his bed, instead slowly inching the fingers of one hand towards where he knew the call button was. "You're aware that's totally creepy behaviour, right?"
Creepy (Hot) Guy didn't even move, but somehow seemed to loom even more. When he finally spoke, though, his voice didn't sound anywhere near as deep and terrifying as Stiles had expected.
He still sounded about as pleasant as an itchy mole.
"They say you have amnesia."
That was it. No...hi, how are you? Or, by the way, this is how we know each other. Because clearly, the guy was expecting Stiles to know - or not-know - him in some way, given the whole amnesia deal. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry, no clue who you are." And that wasn't entirely true, because the guy looked vaguely familiar, like he was someone Stiles had seen but didn't know personally. Whoever he was, Stiles definitely hadn't known him personally before the amnesia blackout.
Slowly rolling his eyes heavenward, Creepy (Hot) Guy shook his head from side to side. "Unbelievable."
And, well. Stiles should probably know better than to confront mysterious, creepy, hot (hot), leather-wearing men who were lurking in his hospital room - but Stiles loved a mystery. And loved confronting just about everything.
Plus, the guy was making him angry, making it sound like it was bad for him that Stiles couldn't remember the last eighteen months, when honestly, who was the one that really mattered here? "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked. "I'm sorry that my amnesia is a personal inconvenience to you."
Muttering, rolling his eyes again, Creepy (Hot) Guy took a step towards the door before pausing, turning back. "There's no need to press the call button," he said tersely, causing Stiles' fingers to freeze mid-journey in something absurdly like guilt. "I'm not going to hurt you." He held Stiles' gaze then and wow, his eyes were nice and wow, had he really just thought that? "You haven't been afraid of me in a long time," Creepy (Hot) Guy announced, which was probably meant to be reassurring - he'd certainly made it sound like a significant statement - but totally wasn't, given that he openly acknowledged the fact that there had been a time when Stiles had been afraid of him.
Creepy (Hot) Guy did leave then, however, silently turning and walking out of the room.
When the time for his next check-up came around - which, okay, was only about fifteen minutes later - Stiles was definitely still wide-awake.
And it was a good thing that he'd figured out he liked guys as well as girls before September 2010, or he would've been really confused right about now.
TBC
Next Part
by Suz
Disclaimer - All characters belong to Jeff Davis/MTV. Absolutely no infringement is intended!
New Teen Wolf fic! \o/ \o/ \o/ Future fic, definitely set after season two, so spoilers for the whole series so far. Stiles/Derek. Rated R. Humour, occasional bit of everything ;) I've aged Stiles up a bit, just because :D Aaaaaaand...let's not expect realism with medical and school stuff. Because the plot needs to move forward and stuff. Ahem.
Summary: In which Stiles wakes up with a shiny new case of amnesia and it's immediately obvious that his best friend is lying to him - which might have something to do with the (hot) guy who keeps appearing his room. What the hell has he been doing for the past 18 months?
Many, many thanks to rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)
*
"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."
― Marie Antoinette
*
As it turned out, waking up with a blinding headache and a thumping head - actually thumping, he was pretty sure there were a couple of guys in there with a set of drums having some kind of competitive Bongo-Off - was not the best way to start his morning.
And then new pieces of information started to filter into his - very sore - brain.
Stiles didn't actually remember falling asleep. Even through his eyelids, which he was making a valiant attempt to lift but were plainly going nowhere fast, he could tell a light was on. And the bed he was on really didn't feel like his bed; not as comfortable and familiar-
Oh, hell. He was totally in the hospital, wasn't he?
That was the moment he passed out again.
*
When consciousness returned, Stiles felt a little more human. The bongo players were still there, but instead of a furious set-piece it was a calm, almost leisurely beat. While Stiles appreciated this change in tempo, he really hoped it wasn't permanent. It was already busy enough in Stiles' head without factoring in any kind of musical accompaniment. His head was just his head, thank you very much, and not the property of homeless bongo players.
Yeah, he was pretty sure he had a concussion.
While Stiles did, occasionally, suffer from a lack of co-ordination - it was like his limbs had a life of their own, where they were always at a rave that the rest of his body hadn't been invited to - he wasn't a total klutz. The worst he'd suffered since puberty hit was an endless array of bruises, cuts and grazes with the occasional twisted ankle. Which honestly wasn't much different from his childhood. There had been one broken toe incident last year, but that had totally been Scott's fault for cheating on the X-Box anyway. The coffee table had just happened to get in the way of Stiles' foot while he was actually aiming for Scott.
So, realising he'd hurt himself badly for once was something of a surprise. He still couldn't remember whatever incident had given him the concussion and ended up landing him in the hospital, but Stiles had done enough reading and seen enough soap operas to know that wasn't unusual. His brain had been through a trauma and needed to recover.
Deciding to find out if he could actually open his eyes this time, Stiles fired up the old eyelid muscles and found he could, indeed, take a glimpse into the world.
And immediately wished he hadn't. Slamming them shut, Stiles groaned in pain. That light had been way too bright for his head to deal with.
"Stiles!"
That was Dad's voice. Dad's worried voice, and then Dad's equally worried hands grasping his upper arm.
Stiles hadn't been freaking out, but relief flooded through him just the same. "Dad," he rasped. "Lights? Too bright."
"I'll fix it," Dad assured him urgently, squeezing his arm before the contact stopped. Stiles heard footsteps moving away and then, even through his eyelids, the light dimmed noticeably. "Scott!" Dad yelled, and apparently Scott was there, too. Good to know. "He's awake! Go tell someone!"
As Dad came back towards the bed, Stiles opened his eyes again - much slower this time, letting his eyes adjust. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as before, and it was totally worth the effort when his eyes focused and he could see Dad's face looking down at him.
"Hi." Stiles managed to produce a small smile.
Dad clearly appreciated the hell out of the effort, producing an emotional, fond smile of his own. "Kid, you sure know how to give your old man a heart attack. You gotta stop getting yourself into trouble before you kill me for real."
Stiles frowned at that - and ow, that hurt too - because really, he wasn't that bad.
Dad kept talking. "Although I think I actually prefer the restraining orders and randomly turning up at crime scenes that have nothing to do with you rather than...this." He gestured towards the bed, before turning contemplative. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd say."
He stared. Stiles just stared because nothing Dad said was computing. Not unless...
Unless...
Stiles swallowed. "Dad, what's the date?"
Frowning at him curiously, Dad opened his mouth just as Scott jogged into the room, distracting both of them. He asked how Stiles was doing but a woman had come in with him - a nurse or a doctor or a janitor for all Stiles knew. While she was busy explaining who she was and pulling out a pen light, Stiles was busy staring at Scott. He looked...older. Not disturbingly so, but he looked...streamlined, now. Like his body had grown up. Plus, his hair was longer than Stiles could remember it being.
He hadn't noticed any change in Dad, but now that he was paying attention he could see it. More grey hairs. A few more wrinkles. A little more paunch on his stomach.
Ohh, this was not good. This was so not good and yet so cool at the same time.
The doctor flashed the pen light into his eyes, which ow, but also snapped him back into focus. "Looks good," she said reassuringly. "Any pain?"
"Lots," he confirmed, "but better than before."
Nodding, she flipped open his chart and noted something down. "Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions-"
Stiles was pretty sure he knew how this spiel was going to go. "Yeah, I don't think that's necessary. Pretty sure I have amnesia." They all stared at him in shock. "Not...total or whatever you call it, but..." He sighed. "Look, I know I'm Stiles Stilinski. That's my dad," he nodded towards Dad, before following up with Scott. "And that's Scott McCall, my best friend. We live in Beacon Hills, I go to Beacon Hills High, I'm just barely on the lacrosse team and I've been crazy about Lydia Martin since the fourth grade. The President of America is Barack Obama." He paused, realising something. "I hope? For so many reasons."
"Then why do you think you have amnesia?" Scott asked, confused. That expression, at least, was still familiar.
"Because you look older," Stiles explained. "You're all...tall and beefy - dude, when did you get muscles? Are you doing that protein crap now? And Dad is..." He glanced over at him. "Grey. With more wrinkles. And more stomach."
Dad's expression looked like it couldn't decide what expression it needed to be most right now. "Thanks, Stiles."
"Sorry?" He shrugged an apology.
"Well, what date do you think it is, Mr Stilinski?" The doctor peered down at him expectantly.
Stiles thought it over. That specific area was kind of...foggy, but he did seem to have very vivid memories of Scott planning his costume for Halloween. Scott had wanted to dress up like Zombie Justin Bieber since he'd still been so popular and Stiles had laughed for hours. "October. I think? Maybe September." Scott liked to get his costume-planning in pretty early. For whatever reason, however, he was absolutely sure about the year. "But definitely 2010. Definitely."
A sea of shocked expressions stared back at him, before they all communicated with each other silently, eyes moving all over the place. Finally, Dad nodded at the doctor slowly.
Taking that as permission, she spoke to Stiles carefully. "Today is February the 16th, Stiles. 2012."
So he was right. That meant...that meant...
"Dude! I'm 18! I'm a senior." And based on the date, that probably meant... "Wow. Really glad I can't remember the college application process. I bet that put me through the wringer, huh?"
Dad still looked like he couldn't decide on an emotion, but ultimately decided on slapping a hand over his eyes. Scott looked...well, horrified, frankly. Which was more than a little weird.
Why would Scott be more upset about this than Dad?
There was so much Stiles wanted to do, like figure out the answer to that question, find out what stupid thing he'd done to end up with amnesia in the first place, ask about everything that'd happened since 2010, holy shit, but he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and his eyes tried to close. "Whoa." He blinked heavily. The doctor immediately ordered Dad and Scott out of the room and Stiles opened his mouth to object, but everything was spinning away into nothingness.
*
When he blinked his eyes open again he was lying on his side, head still throbbing mildly. There was an IV in his hand that had probably been there all along, but he hadn't noticed until now - totally understandable really, given the amnesia realisation. Dad was sitting in the uncomfortable-looking chair to the left of the bed. It was much too small for his body but he had his eyes closed and looked like he was doing his best to sleep in it no matter what.
Stiles smiled softly. "Dad?"
Immediately snapping open his eyes and leaning forward, Dad stared at him with concern. "How you doing?"
Stiles thought it over. "Tired. Sore. But not too dizzy right now, which is an improvement."
"Good," Dad said. "Good." He nodded slowly, still looking worried and looking like he didn't know what to say next. Which seemed pretty reasonable, really. What did you say when faced with amnesia?
Stiles saved him the trouble. He was good at doing that, at least when it came to talking. "So...what did I do to my head, anyway? Some death-defying, heroic stunt?"
Dad stared back at him. "You tripped and hit your head on a rock."
Yeah, that sounded much more likely. "Figures."
"Apparently you and Scott were in the forest," Dad explained, "like always, these days." Stiles raised his eyebrows at that muttered comment. He had always found the forest dark and fascinating - Dad had always told him to keep out of there when he was a kid - but Scott had usually been too scared to go in there with him. And Stiles wasn't about to go exploring there alone unless there was a really, really good reason.
Apparently that'd changed, too.
"No doubt running around like a pair of fools," Dad continued. "You fell over. He got you to the hospital. And here we are."
So, he had Scott to thank for getting his ass to safety. He was about to say something along those lines, when he realised how worried Dad was looking again. "Hey, it could be worse. It's not even two whole years, right? That's not so much time. How much could I have missed?" The look Dad gave him was not reassurring, which might have had something to do with that whole restraining order stuff. He definitely needed to ask Scott about that, because it didn't look like Dad was going to enjoy explaining it.
"You're right," Dad said eventually, decisively. "The doctor said this is probably temporary. And that you're out of the woods. And you've had a MRI scan which shows there's no serious damage, so..."
Stiles nodded slightly, but as he thought over what Dad had said...hospital rooms. MRIs. Who knew what kinds of other tests? "How long have I been here?"
"You were out for nearly 24 hours."
Wow. No wonder Dad had been worried. But...all of that time...all of those tests. "But there's nothing else they can do now, right? I mean...it's a head injury. A concussion. There's only so much they can do."
"Stiles."
"Why don't I just recover at home?"
"I know what you're trying to do," Dad told him bluntly. "Don't worry about it."
"Dad..." They couldn't afford this. Any of this. The sooner he got out, the better.
"My insurance will cover most of it."
"Even thought I'm technically an adult?"
"Right," Dad muttered. "Maybe we can start your re-education with Obamacare."
Obama what now? Ohhh, wait. He remembered something about that. That sounded familiar, at least. Stiles was going to ask more - actually, he had about a million and one questions that he'd love to get started on - but then took in Dad's face. Really took it in - the extra wrinkles, the dark smudges underneath his eyes, the hard set of his shoulders. Made a decision. "What time is it?"
Dad eyed him suspiciously. "Past visiting hours," he admitted. "Being sheriff means people tend to make exceptions for you."
Stiles knew that was true; had often come to appreciate it. Not now, though. "Dad," he said seriously. "Go home. Get some rest. Some real rest."
He started shaking his head. "Stiles, I-"
Time to bring out the big guns. "I'm out of the woods, right? You said so yourself, so there's nothing to worry about. And I won't be able to rest now until I know you are."
Dad narrowed his eyes, like Stiles was being particularly troublesome. Eventually his focus loosened and he slowly sat back. "Some things don't change," Dad said with a small grin. "You have amnesia and you're still a pain in my ass."
"That just proves everything's going to be fine," Stiles insisted, because he honestly wasn't offended. "If I'm being annoying, that can only mean that all is well. Go home, go to bed, and bring me some of my favourite donuts tomorrow." Stiles could eat them as his celebratory 'I'm out of hospital!' treat, because he had every intention of getting his ass out of there ASAP. 'Most of it' didn't come anywhere close to 'all of it' when it came to medical expenses.
Dad gave in, creaking himself up out of the chair. "Didn't you hear?" he asked casually. "Harvey's closed."
Stiles actually gasped. Not perfect donut yumminess! "No."
"Just kidding." Dad flicked a quick grin, like he was just realising the fun he could have with this.
Stiles squinted up at him, slowly rolling onto his back. His head still hurt, but it was so much easier to do anything at all now. "Yeah, that's right. Make fun of the amnesiac."
Dad studied him. "You still want those donuts, or not?"
He paused. "Forget I said anything."
"That would take a miracle," Dad said, sounding resigned, and then he was leaning down, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' forehead. Pulling away, he gave Stiles another fond look.
"I'll be fine, Dad," Stiles assured him. "Besides - somewhat amazingly, I'm an adult now." And that was definitely still a weird concept.
Dad nodded like he was starting to believe him. "Figures you'd just take this all in your stride. The world falls apart around you and you just keep going."
Blinking, Stiles had no idea what the hell to say to such a random, unexpected and emotional comment.
Fortunately, Dad continued. "By the way?" he asked rhetorically. "You're not stepping your ass a single foot outside this hospital until the doctor says you're good and ready."
Rather than be offended, Stiles decided to take that as a challenge. "I better get plenty of rest, then. Which means you need to go." He gestured towards the door. "Goooo."
Unfortunately, life - or at least the nurses - had other plans. Every few hours he was woken up to have his pupils, pulse and blood pressure checked. Stiles existed in this weird limbo world where he had no idea how much time had passed and whether he was really awake or asleep and things were just really, really confusing.
Then he blinked, and there was a man standing at the foot of his bed.
There was a man standing at the foot of his bed.
He clearly wasn't staff - the lack of scrubs and the leather jacket were a big giveaway - and he was staring at Stiles ominously.
"Um," Stiles found himself saying, trying not to make any sudden moves so as not to spook the creepy (hot) guy standing at the end of his bed, instead slowly inching the fingers of one hand towards where he knew the call button was. "You're aware that's totally creepy behaviour, right?"
Creepy (Hot) Guy didn't even move, but somehow seemed to loom even more. When he finally spoke, though, his voice didn't sound anywhere near as deep and terrifying as Stiles had expected.
He still sounded about as pleasant as an itchy mole.
"They say you have amnesia."
That was it. No...hi, how are you? Or, by the way, this is how we know each other. Because clearly, the guy was expecting Stiles to know - or not-know - him in some way, given the whole amnesia deal. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry, no clue who you are." And that wasn't entirely true, because the guy looked vaguely familiar, like he was someone Stiles had seen but didn't know personally. Whoever he was, Stiles definitely hadn't known him personally before the amnesia blackout.
Slowly rolling his eyes heavenward, Creepy (Hot) Guy shook his head from side to side. "Unbelievable."
And, well. Stiles should probably know better than to confront mysterious, creepy, hot (hot), leather-wearing men who were lurking in his hospital room - but Stiles loved a mystery. And loved confronting just about everything.
Plus, the guy was making him angry, making it sound like it was bad for him that Stiles couldn't remember the last eighteen months, when honestly, who was the one that really mattered here? "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked. "I'm sorry that my amnesia is a personal inconvenience to you."
Muttering, rolling his eyes again, Creepy (Hot) Guy took a step towards the door before pausing, turning back. "There's no need to press the call button," he said tersely, causing Stiles' fingers to freeze mid-journey in something absurdly like guilt. "I'm not going to hurt you." He held Stiles' gaze then and wow, his eyes were nice and wow, had he really just thought that? "You haven't been afraid of me in a long time," Creepy (Hot) Guy announced, which was probably meant to be reassurring - he'd certainly made it sound like a significant statement - but totally wasn't, given that he openly acknowledged the fact that there had been a time when Stiles had been afraid of him.
Creepy (Hot) Guy did leave then, however, silently turning and walking out of the room.
When the time for his next check-up came around - which, okay, was only about fifteen minutes later - Stiles was definitely still wide-awake.
And it was a good thing that he'd figured out he liked guys as well as girls before September 2010, or he would've been really confused right about now.
TBC
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