New Teen Wolf Fic: Except What Has Been Forgotten, Rated R, 2/?
Except What Has Been Forgotten, Part 2
by Suz
Huge thanks to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)
Part 1.
*
Dad was there first thing in the morning, of course, and Scott arrived not long after that. Stiles very specifically didn't mention the guy who'd been in his hospital room last night, because Dad was bound to get hysterical - in a totally manly way, of course - and be all over-protective, ordering increased security and who knew what else. And if Stiles was hanging around with Creepy (Hot) older guys - which apparently he was because the guy had expected Stiles to know him and wasn't that interesting? - it seemed incredibly likely that Dad knew nothing about it. But he sure as hell knew the person to ask for details.
He had to wait until Dad left the room - which wasn't that hard, as something was apparently going on that almost constantly required his attention. He apologised awkwardly to Stiles every time he left the room, but Stiles told him not to worry and pointed out that Scott was keeping him company.
After one such instance, Stiles turned to face Scott again, who was perched on the chair next to his bed.
"Okay, so I have like a billion questions," Stiles began. He was still tired and sore, but mostly he was curious.
Scott nodded, then frowned. "Is it okay for me to...tell you stuff? I mean it's not gonna be bad for your recovery or anything, right?"
Opening up the paper bag Dad had brought for him, Stiles gratefully inhaled the smell of the contents. His mouth watered. "Nah. Dr Doyle told Dad that the best thing to do is just to tell me stuff when I ask about it. I mean, we don't wanna suddenly throw all this new information at my brain, but being told about stuff I've done could help jog memories." Really, this whole thing was really, really weird. There were 18 months of memories in his head that he couldn't access. He was now officially a cast member of one of the soaps he and Mom used to cuddle on the sofa and watch together.
He was really glad he hadn't forgotten that - or anything about his mom, apparently.
So it was weird. And strange.
But still really cool.
Pulling one sugar-covered donut out, he held the open bag out to Scott.
Taking one gratefully, Scott settled back in the chair. "Okay. What do you want to know?"
There were so many places Stiles wanted to start. But one was at the very top of the list. He eyed Scott carefully as they munched on their donuts. He swallowed and started with an awkward, "Sooo...there was a guy in my room last night."
Scott froze mid-chew, mouth covered in sugar. "A guy?"
"Yeah." Stiles thought back to what he'd looked like. "Tall-ish. Creepy." Hot. "Leather-"
"Oh," Scott interrupted, relaxing, swallowing his mouthful of food, "that's just Derek." And then suddenly he wasn't relaxing, sitting up straight as if something had occured to him and what the hell? "Uh. Yeah. Derek. He's...a friend. Of ours." He stared down at the remainder of his donut.
Stiles was finding this whole thing entirely suspicious. "Seriously, dude?" Scott looked back up at him. "I say tall and creepy and you instantly know the guy I'm talking about?"
"Describes him though, right?" Scott shrugged and - well, yeah, okay. That was a fair statement.
So, Creepy (Hot) Guy, Derek, was a friend. At least according to Scott. Even though Scott had acted totally weird about the whole thing.
It was giving Stiles some extremely interesting ideas about exactly how they knew him.
And then something connected in his brain. The vaguely familiar face. His name being Derek. Ohhhhhhh. "Wait," Stiles blurted out quickly, "is Creepy Hot Guy Derek Hale?"
Scott stared at him wide-eyed. Shifted in the chair. "You remember him?" he asked hopefully. "Also...you think he's hot? Really?" He looked surprised at the very idea.
Right. Yeah. Stiles had no idea how much he'd told Scott about the whole liking guys as well as girls thing. "Oh, just try telling me he's not," he said, trying to blow it off.
Nodding agreeably, Scott shrugged. "Well, sure." He quickly turned contemplative. "And I guess you guys have been getting pretty close, lately."
He totally needed more information about the fact that he'd apparently been getting 'pretty close' with someone who looked the way Derek did but for now, moved on. "I don't really remember him personally, but that fire...everyone knew who the Hales were afterward, right?" Now that'd been a real tragedy.
Shoulders slumping, Scott nodded kind of sadly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."
Hmm. This needed more investigation. "So, obviously he came back to town. What's a guy like that doing hanging around with teenagers like us?" Because honestly, the guy was sex-on-legs and could surely hang around with anyone he wanted. Why the hell was he 'friends' with him and Scott?
One thing hadn't changed - Scott was still a terrible, terrible liar. He constantly shifted around on the chair, opening his mouth to say something before stopping himself multiple times, as if he couldn't decide exactly what to say. It all pointed to the fact that Scott was about to lie his ass off. "Well. You see." Scott paused, licking his lips before starting again - and apparently deciding to get it all out in one go. "We kind of got him accused of murder - a couple of times, actually - even though he was totally innocent and then he had to go on the run and then you hid him in your room for a couple of days and we've kind of been friends ever since and don't mention this to your dad because he knows nothing about it." He paused, then, taking a few deep breaths - and then he whipped around in the chair, checking the door to make sure Dad wasn't there. Clearly relieved to see no one watching, he then turned back to face Stiles.
Who was still staring at him in stunned disbelief. That story was so utterly ridiculous it just had to be true - but there were just as obviously some large chunks of it missing. What the hell had Stiles been doing for the past 18 months? Harbouring fugitives and getting restraining orders? Taking a moment, Stiles tried to look at the situation rationally. "Let me get this straight - we accuse this innocent guy of murder, he has to go on the run from the cops - from my dad, I might add. And we became friends? He didn't try to kill us? Thus living up to the reputation we accused him of in the first place?" Honestly, this whole thing sounded like a farce.
"Well," Scott shrugged awkwardly, "he was kind of moody for a while."
"No shit!"
"Stiles-"
"No, really," Stiles interrupted, "I can't imagine why he'd be a little moody over the whole accusing him of murder thing."
"Look, it all worked out in the end," Scott insisted, obviously frustrated like Stiles wasn't listening to reason or something, when it was clear there was absolutely no reason to listen to. "He was exonerated and everything. And the fact that he came to see if you were all right last night just shows that-"
"That was the reason he came?" Stiles asked. "Really?" It hadn't felt anything like a visit to see how someone was doing.
"Probably," Scott answered. "Why? What did he say?"
"Not much," Stiles admitted. "But he definitely didn't ask how I was doing or feeling or anything. Mostly he just made it seem like my amnesia was a huge pain in his ass."
Scott nodded slowly. "Definitely Derek. He's kind of...different." Which was really funny, because that was totally what people used to say about Scott. Of course, Stiles promptly thumped anyone who ever said it in front of him. "Because of the way he was raised, I guess. His familly were...strange." Scott was twitching again, looking furtive. Totally lying. About something.
Watching carefully, Stiles put the paper bag to one side. "There's stuff you're not telling me."
Clasping his hands together, Scott actually started wringing his fingers in distress. "Yeah," he finally admitted, like he was forcing it out. "Just, it's...it's a lot to deal with?" Stiles had already been dealing with accused murderers. What could possibly be even more disturbing than that? "I think you're better off remembering it on your own. Deal with all the...normal problems first and then that one afterwards, if we really have to, you know?"
Which meant...what, exactly? Stiles now had abnormal problems to face?
So, basically, Scott didn't want to tell him whatever the hell was really going on, and was just praying he remembered on his own. What a guy. It was only due to their years of BFFness that he was willing to let it go - for now. "Later on, when I do remember? I'm probably gonna kick your ass for not telling me."
"Probably," Scott agreed. That was when Dad came back into the room and Scott immediately - and obviously - changed the subject. "So, when are you getting out of here?" he asked, too loudly. "There are so many people who want to see you!"
Stiles rolled his eyes as Dad came to a stop at the end of the bed. "Well, they're talking about sometime later today." More accurately, Stiles had spoken to Dr Doyle earlier that morning when Dad had left the room and done his absolute best to convince her he was fit to leave. She'd smiled at him knowingly and said she wouldn't rush anything, but she'd see what she could do. Stiles had made what he thought was a very persuasive argument involving an extra hospital bed being available and one less soul being forced to drink the cheap cartoned apple juice that looked, smelled and - he was pretty sure, although there no direct experience - actually tasted like pee. Seriously, what was in that crap?
"We'll see about that, Stiles," Dad murmured suspiciously.
Doing his best to smile innocently, Stiles then actually thought over what Scott had said. "Wait. So many people? Is that actually true or were you just bullshitting-?"
"Stiles."
Apparently, cursing was still a no-go activity. "-er, bullcrapping?"
"Stiles!"
"Lying to make me feel better?"
"Better." Dad nodded with satisfaction.
"Actually, it's kind of the truth," Scott told him. "You're...kind of popular, now." How in the hell did that happen? They were always Stiles and Scott, the two nerdy weirdos who didn't care they were the two nerdy weirdos. Now Scott was, like, some chisled-out-of-perfection Love God or something, and Stiles was... "You're Co-Captain of the lacrosse team."
Stiles must've definitely had a concussion, because there was no way he'd heard that correctly. "What." It wasn't a question. He couldn't even make it a question. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating this entire conversation.
"With Jackson."
He stared. "Jackson Whittemore? He hates my guts!" It wasn't personal - Jackson pretty much hated everyone's guts. It was kind of his thing.
"Still does, pretty much," Scott agreed helpfully.
And it was pretty ironic, really, that out of everything Scott had told him that this was the thing he was having the hardest time wrapping his mind around. He moved his head to look at Dad. "This is all true?" Dad nodded. "And you didn't tell me?"
"Thought the shock might kill you," Dad pointed out really quite reasonably, if not a little proudly. He was being sarcastic of course, but there was some truth to it. Stiles was...popular. This would take some getting used to. "Me running in and out of the room all morning?" Dad asked rhetorically. "Dealing with people who want to come in and see you. Told them all to get lost so you could get some rest. Except Scott." He nodded towards the boy in question who smiled, pleased at being singled out.
So, if he was popular... "Am I seeing anyone?" Please let it being Lydia. Lydia. Or Danny. He'd totally cope with Danny.
Shaking his head, Scott explained. "No girlfriend. Or boyfriend."
And apparently that wasn't a secret anymore because Scott had just said that plain as day, right in front of Dad and there were no awkward moments from anyone. Except Stiles, who was now feeling incredibly awkward to be the only who he knew he'd come out and yet didn't know anything about it. "Well. Okay then." This was good news. He should be happy.
Maybe he wasn't as okay with this whole amnesia thing as he'd originally thought.
And now that he was actively thinking about school and his mind was a little clearer... "What about school?" he asked suddenly. "What am I missing? It's...February. 2012." Wow, that was still really weird. "So that means coursework and exams coming up soon, right?" It wasn't that many months away until Graduation. What if his brain didn't get its shit together before then?
"No need to panic about anything," Dad said assuringly. "The school's already aware of your situation - but like Dr Doyle said, this is probably temporary, and you likely won't have anything to worry about." Stiles opened his mouth to make an argument, but Dad beat him to it. "However...should the worst come to worst...sometimes, in special circumstances, arrangements can be made. But you need to bear in mind that all of those options are extremely unlikely, okay?"
Stiles couldn't imagine not graduating when the rest of his class did. He'd always worked hard but school had always been easy for him, too, and graduation had always seemed like something he could do well, something he could achieve easily. Something to make his dad proud, when he never got off the bench during lacrosse.
But that was the way things used to be.
"Trust us, Stiles," Scott jumped on the 'Hey, there's really nothing to freak out about!' bandwagon. "It'll all work out for the best. You'll see."
Right.
*
Stiles was indeed released from the hospital later that day, and when he was he and his damaged brain were the owners of some shiny new information. Lydia and Jackson were depressingly still together, their relationship even stronger than ever (apparently they'd broken up, realised what they'd lost and were now openly in love. That news had added such a spark to Stiles' already perfect day). Scott had a girlfriend called Allison who from all accounts (Scott's), literally had the sun shining out of her perfect ass (Stiles was not in any way jealous). However, it wasn't all good news about teenagers in love - Scott's asshole dad had, annoyingly, suddenly become 'interested' in his son about four months ago, causing Scott and his mom no end of trouble. As for Stiles himself, he was not only actual friends with Lydia and Jackson - in as much as Jackson could be anyone's 'friend', besides Danny, and Lydia actually knew who he was? - but he was also friends with Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes and Boyd Lawrence. He remembered them being at school but they'd certainly never been friends and he couldn't help but wonder what'd brought them all together. When he thought about it, though, he could see how it'd happened. According to Scott, although Stiles was popular, he still really only had a close circle of friends. And it made a certain amount of sense that said friends would end up being the kids who, like him, had always been seen as weirdos due to one reason or another.
Harris still loathed him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. This wasn't a surprise.
By the time they pulled into the drive, Stiles' brain - and body - had had more than enough. He gladly dragged himself upstairs, collapsing into bed. "I'm gonna sleep for a million years," he slurred into his pillow. And wow, his bed had never felt this comfortable before.
Dad chuckled from somewhere behind him. "Well, before you get started on that, Sleeping Beauty, you might want to take your sneakers off." Stiles tried, but really not that hard, and in the end Dad took pity on him, bending down to tug off his sneakers for him. "I seem to remember a young man telling me he wasn't a child anymore, that he didn't need me to baby him."
"Ha," he muttered into the bed as his second leg fell back down. "You have never babied me in your life. And no fair, bringing up conversations only you can remember."
"Come on, arms up," Dad encouraged.
Stiles whined and complained but did give Dad some assistance in getting his shirt and jeans off, finally and gratefully burying himself underneath the covers afterwards. "Sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes. Everything else could wait. "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep."
He might have felt pressure on the side of his head and then he definitely heard Dad say, "Love ya, kid."
"Mmm," Stiles responded, which was totally good enough for a 'me too' at the moment. And then he fell asleep.
*
Stiles woke because he needed to pee. And yes, he still thought pee because even piss was cursing to Dad. Which was ironic considering Dad could swear like a sailor.
Stumbling only a little as he got out of bed, he followed the familiar route to the bathroom using only moonlight to guide him. He found himself feeling grateful that all of this was familiar - the route there, the bathroom itself, the instinct-ingrained habit of knowing exactly where to go for middle-of-the-night peeing. Once he was finished though and had washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He'd seen flashes of himself in reflections of windows, and the few times he'd carefully used the toilet at the hospital - although then, he'd been concentrating more on not falling over and hitting his head again instead of worrying what he looked like.
He'd definitely grown up. He still looked like him, just...different. A little taller. Hair a little longer, not the close buzzcut he remembered having. His face was a little thinner, too, but in direct contrast, the rest of his body had filled out. He wasn't huge; he wasn't even at Scott standards, but compared to the way he remembered his body, it was definitely strange staring at himself now. He was still lean, but he had actual muscles - actual muscles he could see - which made sense given he played so much lacrosse now, but was still hugely surprising given that he couldn't remember playing any of said lacrosse.
Deciding to make a more thorough examination of his body at a later date - he didn't even feel like jerking off right now, which really said a lot - he shuffled back to his room.
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
Derek Hale was standing on the far side of the room, next to his bed.
"Oh my God," Stiles hissed, because Scott had said Derek was different, but he'd said nothing about Derek turning up in Stiles' bedroom like he belonged there. "What're you-?" He stopped, realised he wasn't alone in the house and that Dad apparently knew nothing about him even knowing Derek, and quietly closed the door. "Is this something you do?" he demanded quietly, well aware that he was only in his underwear, quickly reaching for the pair of jeans hanging over the back of his computer chair. "Randomly turn up in my room whenever you feel like it?"
"Yes," Derek said simply.
Oh. Stiles finished pulling his jeans on, zipping them up, thinking about behaviours and what they implied. And that Derek looked really, really good. "Scott said we're friends."
Derek plainly hesitated, and for a moment it looked like his eyes were lingering on Stiles' chest. But it was kind of dark in his bedroom and he did think that Derek looked really, really good. It was probably wishful thinking.
"Yes."
Okay, this was taking his brain some very interesting places. Stiles was about to clarify - again - that they were such good friends that Derek would suddenly turn up in his room in the middle the night whenever he felt like it, when Derek spoke again.
"Did Scott say...anything else?" He looked almost hopeful.
"About you?" Stiles asked, watching Derek nod. He decided not to mention the comments about Derek's 'differentness'. "Uh, not a lot. Just that we got you in trouble, helped you out of it, and now we're all friends. Which - thanks for that, I guess. Big of you. Although when my life became a Hardy Boys mystery, I have no idea. Oh, and apparently you know your way around my bedroom." And wow, he had not meant that to sound the way it had.
Derek's expression didn't change much, but Stiles thought he saw a flicker of frustration. So far, Derek looked frustrated a lot of time, so it was kind of hard to tell if there was even more gracing his face. Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his ridiculous leather jacket. "When I need...help, sometimes." It was like it was physically difficult for him to say, but he was saying it just the same. "I come to you."
Stiles just barely stopped himself from asking if it was sex-type help, because he seriously couldn't fathom any other reason for a guy who looked like that to turn up in Stiles' bedroom at all hours. And keep any relationship between them quiet from his dad.
Thankfully, he managed it. "Okay."
"You can be...useful," Derek said, and the guy was plainly not used to giving compliments because he looked like he was having a root canal.
"Um. Well, thanks? I mean, I always knew I was awesome, but it is nice to hear it from someone besides Scott. He's kind of like a loyal dog, you know?"
"Believe me, I know," Derek replied, looking amused and he needed to look like that all the time because it was an even better look on him than the grumpiness or frustration.
"So...is that why you're here now?" Stiles asked. "Do you need something?" Honestly, he should've been a lot more worried about a guy lurking in his room in the middle of the night, but Scott had already vouched for him. Plus, this whole damn thing was interesting. Whatever Scott was hiding, Stiles would bet his entire Tomb Raider collection that Derek was involved somehow. He wanted to know more.
Derek's smile faded and he went back to looking constipated. "It's been brought to my attention, that I wasn't...considerate. The other night. At the hospital." Huh. Was that Scott's doing? "I came to rectify that situation. Because we do worry about you, despite...or maybe because of..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You're one of us," he said finally, and that had all kinds of connotations that Stiles knew he totally wasn't getting.
Then, before Stiles could do anything more than blink at him, Derek turned and started climbing out the window. Which...was ridiculous and absurd, but if Dad knew nothing about Derek he had to get in the house somehow, right?
Stiles couldn't believe he was even trying to rationalise this.
Crouched down in the open window, pausing, Derek turned to face him. "I can't believe I'm about to say this," Derek said quietly if firmly, "but we're all hoping you're back to your normal self soon - annoying habits and all. But even if you're not, even if you never are..." he paused meaningfully, "you'll always have a place with us."
And then he turned and...leapt. Out the window.
Leapt.
Stiles just stared at the open window, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
He didn't care what time it was. Finding his phone - which was new to him, and thus fiddly to work - he finally managed to send a text message.
To: Scott
Ok give it 2 me str8. did we join a cult???
TBC
Next Part.
by Suz
Huge thanks to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)
Part 1.
*
Dad was there first thing in the morning, of course, and Scott arrived not long after that. Stiles very specifically didn't mention the guy who'd been in his hospital room last night, because Dad was bound to get hysterical - in a totally manly way, of course - and be all over-protective, ordering increased security and who knew what else. And if Stiles was hanging around with Creepy (Hot) older guys - which apparently he was because the guy had expected Stiles to know him and wasn't that interesting? - it seemed incredibly likely that Dad knew nothing about it. But he sure as hell knew the person to ask for details.
He had to wait until Dad left the room - which wasn't that hard, as something was apparently going on that almost constantly required his attention. He apologised awkwardly to Stiles every time he left the room, but Stiles told him not to worry and pointed out that Scott was keeping him company.
After one such instance, Stiles turned to face Scott again, who was perched on the chair next to his bed.
"Okay, so I have like a billion questions," Stiles began. He was still tired and sore, but mostly he was curious.
Scott nodded, then frowned. "Is it okay for me to...tell you stuff? I mean it's not gonna be bad for your recovery or anything, right?"
Opening up the paper bag Dad had brought for him, Stiles gratefully inhaled the smell of the contents. His mouth watered. "Nah. Dr Doyle told Dad that the best thing to do is just to tell me stuff when I ask about it. I mean, we don't wanna suddenly throw all this new information at my brain, but being told about stuff I've done could help jog memories." Really, this whole thing was really, really weird. There were 18 months of memories in his head that he couldn't access. He was now officially a cast member of one of the soaps he and Mom used to cuddle on the sofa and watch together.
He was really glad he hadn't forgotten that - or anything about his mom, apparently.
So it was weird. And strange.
But still really cool.
Pulling one sugar-covered donut out, he held the open bag out to Scott.
Taking one gratefully, Scott settled back in the chair. "Okay. What do you want to know?"
There were so many places Stiles wanted to start. But one was at the very top of the list. He eyed Scott carefully as they munched on their donuts. He swallowed and started with an awkward, "Sooo...there was a guy in my room last night."
Scott froze mid-chew, mouth covered in sugar. "A guy?"
"Yeah." Stiles thought back to what he'd looked like. "Tall-ish. Creepy." Hot. "Leather-"
"Oh," Scott interrupted, relaxing, swallowing his mouthful of food, "that's just Derek." And then suddenly he wasn't relaxing, sitting up straight as if something had occured to him and what the hell? "Uh. Yeah. Derek. He's...a friend. Of ours." He stared down at the remainder of his donut.
Stiles was finding this whole thing entirely suspicious. "Seriously, dude?" Scott looked back up at him. "I say tall and creepy and you instantly know the guy I'm talking about?"
"Describes him though, right?" Scott shrugged and - well, yeah, okay. That was a fair statement.
So, Creepy (Hot) Guy, Derek, was a friend. At least according to Scott. Even though Scott had acted totally weird about the whole thing.
It was giving Stiles some extremely interesting ideas about exactly how they knew him.
And then something connected in his brain. The vaguely familiar face. His name being Derek. Ohhhhhhh. "Wait," Stiles blurted out quickly, "is Creepy Hot Guy Derek Hale?"
Scott stared at him wide-eyed. Shifted in the chair. "You remember him?" he asked hopefully. "Also...you think he's hot? Really?" He looked surprised at the very idea.
Right. Yeah. Stiles had no idea how much he'd told Scott about the whole liking guys as well as girls thing. "Oh, just try telling me he's not," he said, trying to blow it off.
Nodding agreeably, Scott shrugged. "Well, sure." He quickly turned contemplative. "And I guess you guys have been getting pretty close, lately."
He totally needed more information about the fact that he'd apparently been getting 'pretty close' with someone who looked the way Derek did but for now, moved on. "I don't really remember him personally, but that fire...everyone knew who the Hales were afterward, right?" Now that'd been a real tragedy.
Shoulders slumping, Scott nodded kind of sadly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."
Hmm. This needed more investigation. "So, obviously he came back to town. What's a guy like that doing hanging around with teenagers like us?" Because honestly, the guy was sex-on-legs and could surely hang around with anyone he wanted. Why the hell was he 'friends' with him and Scott?
One thing hadn't changed - Scott was still a terrible, terrible liar. He constantly shifted around on the chair, opening his mouth to say something before stopping himself multiple times, as if he couldn't decide exactly what to say. It all pointed to the fact that Scott was about to lie his ass off. "Well. You see." Scott paused, licking his lips before starting again - and apparently deciding to get it all out in one go. "We kind of got him accused of murder - a couple of times, actually - even though he was totally innocent and then he had to go on the run and then you hid him in your room for a couple of days and we've kind of been friends ever since and don't mention this to your dad because he knows nothing about it." He paused, then, taking a few deep breaths - and then he whipped around in the chair, checking the door to make sure Dad wasn't there. Clearly relieved to see no one watching, he then turned back to face Stiles.
Who was still staring at him in stunned disbelief. That story was so utterly ridiculous it just had to be true - but there were just as obviously some large chunks of it missing. What the hell had Stiles been doing for the past 18 months? Harbouring fugitives and getting restraining orders? Taking a moment, Stiles tried to look at the situation rationally. "Let me get this straight - we accuse this innocent guy of murder, he has to go on the run from the cops - from my dad, I might add. And we became friends? He didn't try to kill us? Thus living up to the reputation we accused him of in the first place?" Honestly, this whole thing sounded like a farce.
"Well," Scott shrugged awkwardly, "he was kind of moody for a while."
"No shit!"
"Stiles-"
"No, really," Stiles interrupted, "I can't imagine why he'd be a little moody over the whole accusing him of murder thing."
"Look, it all worked out in the end," Scott insisted, obviously frustrated like Stiles wasn't listening to reason or something, when it was clear there was absolutely no reason to listen to. "He was exonerated and everything. And the fact that he came to see if you were all right last night just shows that-"
"That was the reason he came?" Stiles asked. "Really?" It hadn't felt anything like a visit to see how someone was doing.
"Probably," Scott answered. "Why? What did he say?"
"Not much," Stiles admitted. "But he definitely didn't ask how I was doing or feeling or anything. Mostly he just made it seem like my amnesia was a huge pain in his ass."
Scott nodded slowly. "Definitely Derek. He's kind of...different." Which was really funny, because that was totally what people used to say about Scott. Of course, Stiles promptly thumped anyone who ever said it in front of him. "Because of the way he was raised, I guess. His familly were...strange." Scott was twitching again, looking furtive. Totally lying. About something.
Watching carefully, Stiles put the paper bag to one side. "There's stuff you're not telling me."
Clasping his hands together, Scott actually started wringing his fingers in distress. "Yeah," he finally admitted, like he was forcing it out. "Just, it's...it's a lot to deal with?" Stiles had already been dealing with accused murderers. What could possibly be even more disturbing than that? "I think you're better off remembering it on your own. Deal with all the...normal problems first and then that one afterwards, if we really have to, you know?"
Which meant...what, exactly? Stiles now had abnormal problems to face?
So, basically, Scott didn't want to tell him whatever the hell was really going on, and was just praying he remembered on his own. What a guy. It was only due to their years of BFFness that he was willing to let it go - for now. "Later on, when I do remember? I'm probably gonna kick your ass for not telling me."
"Probably," Scott agreed. That was when Dad came back into the room and Scott immediately - and obviously - changed the subject. "So, when are you getting out of here?" he asked, too loudly. "There are so many people who want to see you!"
Stiles rolled his eyes as Dad came to a stop at the end of the bed. "Well, they're talking about sometime later today." More accurately, Stiles had spoken to Dr Doyle earlier that morning when Dad had left the room and done his absolute best to convince her he was fit to leave. She'd smiled at him knowingly and said she wouldn't rush anything, but she'd see what she could do. Stiles had made what he thought was a very persuasive argument involving an extra hospital bed being available and one less soul being forced to drink the cheap cartoned apple juice that looked, smelled and - he was pretty sure, although there no direct experience - actually tasted like pee. Seriously, what was in that crap?
"We'll see about that, Stiles," Dad murmured suspiciously.
Doing his best to smile innocently, Stiles then actually thought over what Scott had said. "Wait. So many people? Is that actually true or were you just bullshitting-?"
"Stiles."
Apparently, cursing was still a no-go activity. "-er, bullcrapping?"
"Stiles!"
"Lying to make me feel better?"
"Better." Dad nodded with satisfaction.
"Actually, it's kind of the truth," Scott told him. "You're...kind of popular, now." How in the hell did that happen? They were always Stiles and Scott, the two nerdy weirdos who didn't care they were the two nerdy weirdos. Now Scott was, like, some chisled-out-of-perfection Love God or something, and Stiles was... "You're Co-Captain of the lacrosse team."
Stiles must've definitely had a concussion, because there was no way he'd heard that correctly. "What." It wasn't a question. He couldn't even make it a question. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating this entire conversation.
"With Jackson."
He stared. "Jackson Whittemore? He hates my guts!" It wasn't personal - Jackson pretty much hated everyone's guts. It was kind of his thing.
"Still does, pretty much," Scott agreed helpfully.
And it was pretty ironic, really, that out of everything Scott had told him that this was the thing he was having the hardest time wrapping his mind around. He moved his head to look at Dad. "This is all true?" Dad nodded. "And you didn't tell me?"
"Thought the shock might kill you," Dad pointed out really quite reasonably, if not a little proudly. He was being sarcastic of course, but there was some truth to it. Stiles was...popular. This would take some getting used to. "Me running in and out of the room all morning?" Dad asked rhetorically. "Dealing with people who want to come in and see you. Told them all to get lost so you could get some rest. Except Scott." He nodded towards the boy in question who smiled, pleased at being singled out.
So, if he was popular... "Am I seeing anyone?" Please let it being Lydia. Lydia. Or Danny. He'd totally cope with Danny.
Shaking his head, Scott explained. "No girlfriend. Or boyfriend."
And apparently that wasn't a secret anymore because Scott had just said that plain as day, right in front of Dad and there were no awkward moments from anyone. Except Stiles, who was now feeling incredibly awkward to be the only who he knew he'd come out and yet didn't know anything about it. "Well. Okay then." This was good news. He should be happy.
Maybe he wasn't as okay with this whole amnesia thing as he'd originally thought.
And now that he was actively thinking about school and his mind was a little clearer... "What about school?" he asked suddenly. "What am I missing? It's...February. 2012." Wow, that was still really weird. "So that means coursework and exams coming up soon, right?" It wasn't that many months away until Graduation. What if his brain didn't get its shit together before then?
"No need to panic about anything," Dad said assuringly. "The school's already aware of your situation - but like Dr Doyle said, this is probably temporary, and you likely won't have anything to worry about." Stiles opened his mouth to make an argument, but Dad beat him to it. "However...should the worst come to worst...sometimes, in special circumstances, arrangements can be made. But you need to bear in mind that all of those options are extremely unlikely, okay?"
Stiles couldn't imagine not graduating when the rest of his class did. He'd always worked hard but school had always been easy for him, too, and graduation had always seemed like something he could do well, something he could achieve easily. Something to make his dad proud, when he never got off the bench during lacrosse.
But that was the way things used to be.
"Trust us, Stiles," Scott jumped on the 'Hey, there's really nothing to freak out about!' bandwagon. "It'll all work out for the best. You'll see."
Right.
*
Stiles was indeed released from the hospital later that day, and when he was he and his damaged brain were the owners of some shiny new information. Lydia and Jackson were depressingly still together, their relationship even stronger than ever (apparently they'd broken up, realised what they'd lost and were now openly in love. That news had added such a spark to Stiles' already perfect day). Scott had a girlfriend called Allison who from all accounts (Scott's), literally had the sun shining out of her perfect ass (Stiles was not in any way jealous). However, it wasn't all good news about teenagers in love - Scott's asshole dad had, annoyingly, suddenly become 'interested' in his son about four months ago, causing Scott and his mom no end of trouble. As for Stiles himself, he was not only actual friends with Lydia and Jackson - in as much as Jackson could be anyone's 'friend', besides Danny, and Lydia actually knew who he was? - but he was also friends with Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes and Boyd Lawrence. He remembered them being at school but they'd certainly never been friends and he couldn't help but wonder what'd brought them all together. When he thought about it, though, he could see how it'd happened. According to Scott, although Stiles was popular, he still really only had a close circle of friends. And it made a certain amount of sense that said friends would end up being the kids who, like him, had always been seen as weirdos due to one reason or another.
Harris still loathed him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. This wasn't a surprise.
By the time they pulled into the drive, Stiles' brain - and body - had had more than enough. He gladly dragged himself upstairs, collapsing into bed. "I'm gonna sleep for a million years," he slurred into his pillow. And wow, his bed had never felt this comfortable before.
Dad chuckled from somewhere behind him. "Well, before you get started on that, Sleeping Beauty, you might want to take your sneakers off." Stiles tried, but really not that hard, and in the end Dad took pity on him, bending down to tug off his sneakers for him. "I seem to remember a young man telling me he wasn't a child anymore, that he didn't need me to baby him."
"Ha," he muttered into the bed as his second leg fell back down. "You have never babied me in your life. And no fair, bringing up conversations only you can remember."
"Come on, arms up," Dad encouraged.
Stiles whined and complained but did give Dad some assistance in getting his shirt and jeans off, finally and gratefully burying himself underneath the covers afterwards. "Sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes. Everything else could wait. "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep."
He might have felt pressure on the side of his head and then he definitely heard Dad say, "Love ya, kid."
"Mmm," Stiles responded, which was totally good enough for a 'me too' at the moment. And then he fell asleep.
*
Stiles woke because he needed to pee. And yes, he still thought pee because even piss was cursing to Dad. Which was ironic considering Dad could swear like a sailor.
Stumbling only a little as he got out of bed, he followed the familiar route to the bathroom using only moonlight to guide him. He found himself feeling grateful that all of this was familiar - the route there, the bathroom itself, the instinct-ingrained habit of knowing exactly where to go for middle-of-the-night peeing. Once he was finished though and had washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He'd seen flashes of himself in reflections of windows, and the few times he'd carefully used the toilet at the hospital - although then, he'd been concentrating more on not falling over and hitting his head again instead of worrying what he looked like.
He'd definitely grown up. He still looked like him, just...different. A little taller. Hair a little longer, not the close buzzcut he remembered having. His face was a little thinner, too, but in direct contrast, the rest of his body had filled out. He wasn't huge; he wasn't even at Scott standards, but compared to the way he remembered his body, it was definitely strange staring at himself now. He was still lean, but he had actual muscles - actual muscles he could see - which made sense given he played so much lacrosse now, but was still hugely surprising given that he couldn't remember playing any of said lacrosse.
Deciding to make a more thorough examination of his body at a later date - he didn't even feel like jerking off right now, which really said a lot - he shuffled back to his room.
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
Derek Hale was standing on the far side of the room, next to his bed.
"Oh my God," Stiles hissed, because Scott had said Derek was different, but he'd said nothing about Derek turning up in Stiles' bedroom like he belonged there. "What're you-?" He stopped, realised he wasn't alone in the house and that Dad apparently knew nothing about him even knowing Derek, and quietly closed the door. "Is this something you do?" he demanded quietly, well aware that he was only in his underwear, quickly reaching for the pair of jeans hanging over the back of his computer chair. "Randomly turn up in my room whenever you feel like it?"
"Yes," Derek said simply.
Oh. Stiles finished pulling his jeans on, zipping them up, thinking about behaviours and what they implied. And that Derek looked really, really good. "Scott said we're friends."
Derek plainly hesitated, and for a moment it looked like his eyes were lingering on Stiles' chest. But it was kind of dark in his bedroom and he did think that Derek looked really, really good. It was probably wishful thinking.
"Yes."
Okay, this was taking his brain some very interesting places. Stiles was about to clarify - again - that they were such good friends that Derek would suddenly turn up in his room in the middle the night whenever he felt like it, when Derek spoke again.
"Did Scott say...anything else?" He looked almost hopeful.
"About you?" Stiles asked, watching Derek nod. He decided not to mention the comments about Derek's 'differentness'. "Uh, not a lot. Just that we got you in trouble, helped you out of it, and now we're all friends. Which - thanks for that, I guess. Big of you. Although when my life became a Hardy Boys mystery, I have no idea. Oh, and apparently you know your way around my bedroom." And wow, he had not meant that to sound the way it had.
Derek's expression didn't change much, but Stiles thought he saw a flicker of frustration. So far, Derek looked frustrated a lot of time, so it was kind of hard to tell if there was even more gracing his face. Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his ridiculous leather jacket. "When I need...help, sometimes." It was like it was physically difficult for him to say, but he was saying it just the same. "I come to you."
Stiles just barely stopped himself from asking if it was sex-type help, because he seriously couldn't fathom any other reason for a guy who looked like that to turn up in Stiles' bedroom at all hours. And keep any relationship between them quiet from his dad.
Thankfully, he managed it. "Okay."
"You can be...useful," Derek said, and the guy was plainly not used to giving compliments because he looked like he was having a root canal.
"Um. Well, thanks? I mean, I always knew I was awesome, but it is nice to hear it from someone besides Scott. He's kind of like a loyal dog, you know?"
"Believe me, I know," Derek replied, looking amused and he needed to look like that all the time because it was an even better look on him than the grumpiness or frustration.
"So...is that why you're here now?" Stiles asked. "Do you need something?" Honestly, he should've been a lot more worried about a guy lurking in his room in the middle of the night, but Scott had already vouched for him. Plus, this whole damn thing was interesting. Whatever Scott was hiding, Stiles would bet his entire Tomb Raider collection that Derek was involved somehow. He wanted to know more.
Derek's smile faded and he went back to looking constipated. "It's been brought to my attention, that I wasn't...considerate. The other night. At the hospital." Huh. Was that Scott's doing? "I came to rectify that situation. Because we do worry about you, despite...or maybe because of..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You're one of us," he said finally, and that had all kinds of connotations that Stiles knew he totally wasn't getting.
Then, before Stiles could do anything more than blink at him, Derek turned and started climbing out the window. Which...was ridiculous and absurd, but if Dad knew nothing about Derek he had to get in the house somehow, right?
Stiles couldn't believe he was even trying to rationalise this.
Crouched down in the open window, pausing, Derek turned to face him. "I can't believe I'm about to say this," Derek said quietly if firmly, "but we're all hoping you're back to your normal self soon - annoying habits and all. But even if you're not, even if you never are..." he paused meaningfully, "you'll always have a place with us."
And then he turned and...leapt. Out the window.
Leapt.
Stiles just stared at the open window, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
He didn't care what time it was. Finding his phone - which was new to him, and thus fiddly to work - he finally managed to send a text message.
To: Scott
Ok give it 2 me str8. did we join a cult???
TBC
Next Part.