Except What Has Been Forgotten, Part 5
by Suz
Huge thanks to
rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)
Part 1,
Part 2,
Part 3,
Part 4.
*
Letting the second set of books slide from his lap Stiles slowly got to his feet, frankly a little dazed. Stumbling back towards his laptop, he threw his body down into the chair and contemplated the password prompt still taunting him on the screen.
He had a few more options to go with now, and go with them he did.
werewolves
omgwerewolves!!!111
werewolvesarefuckingreal
Okay, maybe he needed to get a grip on the situation. He didn't actually know that werewolves were real. It was all still, technically, circumstantial evidence.
There was just a lot of it.
He tried again.
full moon
the moon
silver bullet
He glanced over at the books.
lycanthropy
The password prompt blinked out of existence, and he was in.
Surprised, thrilled and pleased, he reached for the mouse and started scrolling through the files. "Dude, you definitely need to come up with a new password. That was way too easy." And yes, he was apparently trying to have a conversation with a maybe-slightly different version of himself. How did that work, anyway? He was essentially the same person, he just had 18 months of memories missing. How much could those 18 months have changed him?
Then again. Werewolves, so.
Probably a lot.
And totally not what he needed to focus on right now.
Apparently nothing in the folder was given a fake name, because there were Word documents, text documents, pictures and PDFs, all with appropriately terrifying-sounding file names - most of them werewolf-related.
So. This actually was a thing. Apparently.
Werewolves.
Stiles gave himself a few moments to get the fuck over it. Derek and Peter were probably both werewolves. And given the various references to them in the messages on his phone, Isaac, Boyd and Erica were probably werewolves, too. Maybe Lydia and Jackson as well, since they were obviously part of the group?
And Scott. Scott. His best friend in the entire world since they were six years old (and, okay, maybe his only friend that he could actually remember having, but that certainly didn't make the relationship any less significant). Scott was now a werewolf.
Man, Scott must be the worst werewolf in the entire world.
And then he scrolled back up to the top and started opening files.
He had a lot to catch-up on.
*
Sadly, he only got about an hour of reading in when his head let him know - quite obnoxiously and painfully - that it needed a break from the intense squinting he was doing at the monitor. Frustrated by the needs of his body (he also needed to pee. And eat. Not necessarily at the same time), he made a mental note of the name of the file he'd been reading and made a point of coming out of everything, including the original folder.
He stared off to one side for a while.
Not only were werewolves real, but Stiles...what? Worked with them? He had a shitload of Not-So-Mythical-Beast-Anymore information on his laptop. And Derek had said he came to him when he needed 'help' (not sexy-time help then, which was disappointing - and sadly helping werewolves actually made a lot more sense). He even had that text on his phone, asking him to research ghouls. So Stiles was their...researcher? It was something he'd always been good at - he was obsessed with knowing as much as possible about everything and it always gave his ADHD-riddled brain something to do. He was actually kind of perfect for the job.
He definitely wasn't a werewolf himself. Not only was he absolutely sure he would've noticed that huge a change - according to one of the files, along with increased strength he would've also had increased hearing and smelling abilities. Not to mention fast healing which his complaining head was letting him know he absolutely didn't have. And the others would've had no choice but to tell him, surely. There was no way they could safely let a werewolf not know they were a werewolf, in case they accidentally hurt someone or gave the secret away.
Also, apparently, werewolves weren't inherently evil. Horror movies had been lying to him for years! He would write and complain to someone, but was focused more on the fact that werewolves were real.
His body still needed to do a few important things, so Stiles got up from the chair and moved back to the mess in front of the closet. There was no way he was leaving any of this stuff out for his dad to stumble upon, for oh so many reasons, so he got down to his knees again and started carefully putting all the evidence away. It was only as he did so that he realised that he'd probably also been using the porn as a form of defense; a possible attempt to scare anyone off from looking any further, stop them from seeing what other, more important things had been lurking beneath.
Shaking his head at himself, forcing the piece of wood back in place, Stiles messily grabbed the various shoes up and threw them into the bottom of the closet, quickly closing the doors and jumping to his feet.
Whoa, and as he was suddenly assailed by a huge wave of dizziness, the world swinging around him and darkness creeping into the edge of his vision, he realised he'd gotten to his feet much too quickly. Headrush was bad at the best of times. It was even worse when you were recovering from a head injury.
He didn't pass out, thankfully, although he was pretty sure he flailed pretty spectacularly as he basically lost control of his body, trying to do what little he could to stop himself from hitting the floor. He ended up just a few feet away, stumbling feet meaning he hit his back against the bedroom door, hard, and-
Derek was definitely still there, lurking around in his bedroom like a lunatic, or a pervert, or a pervert lunatic - despite the fact that Dad had just been right outside. Not only was he still there, but he was angry (not unusual) and threatening Stiles (also not unusual) and grabbing him aggressively (there was a definite pattern to their interactions). Derek was still all kinds of terrifying - especially all up-close and personal - despite not being the Alpha and thus not being the wolf who was actually going around killing everyone, but this was his house. His. And he wasn't taking that crap from anyone.
No matter how good they looked in their stupid all-weather leather jackets.
Panting, Stiles came back to himself and realised he'd slid down to the floor, back pressing against the door.
That'd been a memory, right? It'd felt too visceral, the emotions too real to be anything else - he'd actually been able to remember the fear and frustration Derek had brought out in him in that moment (apparently he really had been scared of Derek at one point. This probably shouldn't have been reassuring, and yet somehow it was). Stiles found himself starting to smile. This was amazing, fantastic news - the research he'd done yesterday had indicated that this was a very good sign and likely heralded the fact that he was going to remember everything at some point - but...
His smile faded.
He totally couldn't share it with Dad. Or at least not the total truth. Dad had to know - he'd been so worried and trying not to show it, trying not to pressure Stiles into remembering, Stiles couldn't not tell him about it. But he also knew there was no way in hell Dad would appreciate the old, hey, I had this memory of Derek Hale pushing me up against my bedroom door and did I mention that even then I found him attractive? story.
Sadly, what with the whole werewolves and Derek being so hot thing, Stiles was beginning to see why he'd apparently been lying to Dad so much.
Deciding to get himself out of this brief little funk - this was good news, it was - he carefully got to his feet and unlocked and opened his door. Peeing, washing hands and brushing teeth as quickly as possible, he rushed downstairs to share the good news.
Annoyingly, Dad was on the phone. It sounded pretty important, too, so after about twenty seconds of trying to communicate with hand gestures and Dad shrugging apologetically and pointing to the phone, Stiles rolled his eyes and went to get breakfast instead. He was most of his way through a bowl of Cheerios when Dad finally deigned to join him.
Dad swept past the counter on his way to the coffee machine. "Sorry about that, Stiles-"
"I remembered something."
Dad never made it to the coffee machine, instead immediately spinning around to face Stiles. His mouth twitched into a hopeful smile. "You did? What was it?"
"Nothing...important," he said, which was technically the truth, but he still ended up fiddling awkwardly with his spoon. "Just, I...was in my room and...I guess it was almost like a flashback, you know?" Dad nodded eagerly. "I just vividly remembered being in my room and I knew it was a memory and knew it was from those missing 18 months, so..."
Dad didn't appear the least bit upset at the ambigiousness of it. Instead he stepped forward, leant across the counter and slapped a hand against Stiles' shoulder. "I knew that huge brain of yours would be good for something," he grinned. "Your memories will come back before you know it, you'll see."
Stiles couldn't help but feel absurdly proud of the fact that he'd made Dad so happy, even though his actually remembering something likely had nothing to do with anything he'd done. "I hope so," he shrugged, grinning to himself as he finished his breakfast.
Dad prattled on in that way he only ever did when he was really happy - it wasn't something Stiles saw a lot - talking about the phone calls he'd made to work and the school, about meetings arranged for tomorrow, the hopeful lilt in his voice suggesting that maybe they ultimately wouldn't be necessary.
He really hoped Dad was right.
Eventually he started flagging - and to be fair, he'd had quite the emotional upheaval in the past couple of hours what with werewolves and memory flashbacks and seriously, holy crap - so at Dad's knowing look, he tromped back upstairs and flopped down onto his bed. He basically passed out for a couple of hours, waking up in exactly the same position, drool soaking into his pillow. This sudden exhaustion stuff may have been incredibly inconvenient, but he had to admit that he did seem to be improving every day.
Spying a glass of water and a couple of pain pills on his bedside table, Stiles sent his dad a silent thank you and quickly swallowed them down. Getting out of bed, Stiles decided to make himself generally presentable now so he wouldn't have to worry about it later. This meant a quick wash, deodorant, clean clothes and staring hopelessly at his freshly-brushed hair in the bathroom mirror. There was a pot of gel on the back of the sink which was obviously his - unless Dad had secretly joined a boy band - but he had no idea how to get his hair to look anything like what it looked like in the picture of him with Scott and Allison. At the moment it was just kind of a flat mass. Deciding less was more, he started with very small amounts of gel, trying to coax the hair at the front of his head into submission. It quickly became evident that this was clearly a learned skill, but after a much longer period of time than he would ever admit to anyone, he decided it was okay enough to pass muster and went straight back to what he really wanted to concentrate on.
Werewolves.
Yeah, he was probably never getting over how cool that was.
Devouring the next bunch of documents on his computer, Stiles stopped only when he got hungry for lunch a few hours later, only realising when Dad eyed him curiously that he was being suspiciously silent over his food because he was thinking about this werewolf thing so much he was pretty much stuck in his own head.
He promptly asked Dad about what'd been happening in his favourite soaps - only to discover that one of them had two gay characters in the cast now, with guest players in the background, which. Awesome. When this was hopefully over, Stiles would be all over that shit on YouTube. As long as there were no trains involved in any of their storylines, it was all good.
Stiles may have had - okay, totally did have - another small nap after lunch, but then it was back to research time until he was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door and Dad's voice calling from the other side. Frantically clicking out of everything - how had Stiles never had a heart attack before now? There were no actual werewolves nearby; he was only looking at stuff on the computer and he was freaking the hell out - Stiles jogged the few steps across the room, threw the lock across and pulled the door open with an innocent smile. Dad eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing in the face of the locked door. They'd come to that silent agreement sometime ago, after that one awkward night Dad had walked in unannounced.
The very next day, he'd bought Stiles a lock for his door.
Best Dad ever.
"School'll let out soon," Dad told him. "Thought I'd go and get some groceries. Snacks especially, since apparently I'm going to have a hoard of teenagers running through here." He tried to look gruff and annoyed, but Stiles saw right through it. "You gonna be all right on your own?"
"I'll be fine, Dad," Stiles assured him. "Out of the woods, right? That's what the doctor said. And I've been following her advice, listening to my body, resting when I need to. It's all good."
Dad contemplated his words for a few moments before nodding. "You want anything in particular?"
Stiles thought over it. "Chips? Soda? Or, hey!" An idea came to mind. "If there are any new snack-y things I've been eating lately that I can't remember, some of those, too." He didn't want to miss out on anything yummy.
"I'll see what I can do," Dad said dryly, obviously about to leave when he reconsidered and hesitated. "Uh. So. Is Derek coming?"
Stiles blinked. He was so not used to Dad asking about anyone in that tone of voice, especially a guy. Uncomfortable wasn't the word. "Yeah."
"Okay," Dad nodded, much too casually to be how he really felt about it. "See you in a bit. Keep your phone with you."
"Sure," Stiles said quietly, watching as Dad's back started disappearing down the stairs.
*
It had been precisely 17 minutes since school had finished, and Stiles was maybe freaking out a little.
Okay. So there was no maybe about it.
Dad was back home. Snacks were in bowls across the two tables in the living room. Soda and glasses were set up on the counter in the kitchen.
And he was still freaking out.
It wasn't like he was worrying about how to socialise. He was Mr Social. He could talk to anyone, about anything, for any length of time - whether they wanted to hear it or not. It was just really, really weird that they all knew him really, really well and the only person out of the group that he could honestly say the same about was Scott. Then there was the fact that most - if not all - of them were werewolves.
That he was willingly inviting into his home.
The doorbell rang, and it was too late to back out now. He kind of didn't want to anyway, no matter how else he was feeling about it. He still wanted to know everything.
Fortunately it was only Scott at the door with Allison - who was just as stunning in person.
"Hi," Stiles said awkwardly, and Scott just pulled him into a familiar bro-hug, slapping him on the back. Smiling into it, Stiles immediately began to relax. This was Scott. Werewolfiness and everything, he was still Scott.
"How you feeling, dude?" Scott asked, stepping back, grasping Stiles' shoulders with both hands.
"Better," he said, meaning it. Taking in Scott's curious expression, he knew what he was looking for. "Started remembering some stuff. Nothing important, though." Scott definitely looked disappointed but didn't say anything about it. Stiles focused his attention on Allison. "So...Allison, right? Nice to meet you." He held out a hand, which just made her grin.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I know this'll probably sound weird since you don't even know me, but is it okay if I hug you?"
She was gorgeous and he wasn't an idiot. "Getting hugged by a hot girl? I think I can live with it."
"Dude," Scott remarked, even as Allison moved in, "not cool."
Stiles shrugged innocently at Scott over her shoulder.
"Really glad you're okay," she said quietly but firmly, surprising him with the emotion in her voice. They really were good friends.
After a moment or two of awkwardness, he remembered to invite them in - and that was when he saw everyone else standing out on the sidewalk, silently observing.
Oooookay. That was more than a little freaky.
Scott followed his gaze. "Allison thought it should just be us, first."
Stiles appreciated the hell out of that thought. He may have invited all of them over, but it was still somehow weirder than he'd expected. "Clearly, Allison's the brains in your relationship."
"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, but then Stiles grinned at him and Scott grinned back and he felt better about it again.
Okay, he could do this. He totally could. "Come on," he said, stepping back, gesturing to everyone. "Let's get this party started! And by party I mean no actual drinking or loud music because my dad will kill me."
"You got that right!" Dad's voice yelled from the back of the house.
Smiling, Scott and Allison slipped by him into the house. After a nod from Derek - who was lurking furthest away, by what Stiles assumed was his car - Jackson and Lydia came up next. Jackson didn't look particularly thrilled to be there - it was just as obvious now who was actually in charge of their relationship as it'd been 18 months earlier - but he actually slapped Stiles on the arm, before making a bee-line for the snacks.
And Lydia. Beautiful, brilliant Lydia, who Stiles had worshipped for half his life, pressed her perfectly sculpted lips against his left cheek.
He'd literally dreamed about this moment.
It was kind of a letdown.
And yes, Stiles was intelligent enough to know that his dreams and hopes for Lydia had long since veered wildly out of any sense of reality. And technically he knew that just pressing her lips against his cheek was not about to set off some sudden chain reaction of unrestrained emotion, that angels weren't about to descend from Heaven, that Lydia wasn't about to realise that she'd been wildly in love with him for years.
It was just...a friend. Glad to see that another friend was okay.
And that was actually okay.
He really had no time to deal with any of that right now, because it was Boyd, Erica and Isaac next. They were the weirdest of all, because it was a whole group of people that he didn't know. But in the end he got an awkward hug from Isaac, a smirk and another cheek kiss from Erica, and a manly - strong, very strong - pat on the shoulder from Boyd.
And then there was just Derek. Derek, who was still lurking by his car like he was the one who had any reason to be nervous at all.
"What's the matter?" Stiles asked. "Not used to using the door?"
Derek's lips gave a twitch. Definitely.
He finally moved, slowly taking the path to Stiles' house. Stiles watched because - well, who wouldn't? And maybe this werewolf thing also made you hot, because it was ridiculous how attractive everybody else was. And Derek was...how was he even real? And in Stiles' life? And...whoa, getting way into Stiles' personal space.
Stiles was just about to point out that his dad was in the house somewhere and that this personal space invasion - much as he may have been enjoying it, ahem - probably wasn't a good idea when Derek said, breath warm against Stiles' ear, "Good to see you up and around. And dressed."
And then he was slinking into the house and Stiles was left there, blinking, with a hugely inappropriate problem in his pants.
Apparently his body hadn't grown out of that just yet.
Perfect.
TBC
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