Chapter Text
It was by chance that Scott was awake, lying in bed in the dark, and saw his phone light up. It vibrated on the night stand for what felt like a long time and Scott simply stared at it. His mind had been elsewhere before the small distraction, making it impossible to sleep. Eventually he scooted to the edge of the bed and reached out from beneath the comforter to grab the now silent and dark phone. Tapping the power button the screen came alive once more, showing he had more than the one initial text message.
Scott’s eyebrow twitched; he hadn’t even noticed the other ones come through. There was one from his mom telling him she would be coming home late again, and another from Isaac asking if he was okay. Scott’s lips pressed together at the obvious answer to the question but he backed out of the message to look at the recent one. It was from Stiles and Scott felt his heart skip a beat, pulling him from his stupor almost instantly. He was fully alert, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.
It was a little past midnight now, Scott could see from the numbers on the corner of the phone’s screen. He almost didn’t even want to read the message past the little preview that faded off into little dots. It felt like a horror movie, and if Scott was in any other state of mind he might have found it comical. He drew in a breath, letting it out in a heavy rush. He hated feeling that way about his best friend.
Scott clicked on the message anyways, regretting it almost instantly he read it.
'There’s a hole in the wall and derek was here. Idk what happened and I don’t want my dad to see when he gets home.'
Scott felt his heart rate increase, only instead of concern and apprehension there was only anger. He threw the blankets off, staggering out of bed with a soft thud. He specifically told Derek to keep his distance until they could figure out how to get the thing out of Stiles. Considering Derek’s track record, he assumed it was the best course of action. He didn’t bother changing out of his pajama bottoms, throwing on a shirt that was lying around and slid into his shoes.
The keys jingled gently when he picked them up from his desk and snatched up his helmet. In a matter of minutes he was outside the door and on his bike, situating the helmet and shoving the keys into the ignition.
* * * * * *
Stiles’ fingers kneaded at the material in his hands, eyes locked on to the leather jacket though he wasn’t really seeing it. He remembered Derek being here and saying he had taken down everything Stiles had been working on, whether he had been aware of it or not. He remembered what he told the werewolf and then all of a sudden Derek had him against the wall. Stiles vaguely felt his head throbbing from that, and there was a brief moment of panic as he considered that he might actually have a concussion.
No, no that wasn’t right. There had been no blurriness or sensitivity to lights, no drowsiness or dizziness when he came to from whatever the hell it was. Well, it was something of a lie; he definitely still felt exhausted and weary, as if his energy had bottomed out. Hell, he could practically feel the bags beneath his eyes.
There was, of course, the event of his blacking out. Stiles didn’t think he hit his head hard enough to fall unconscious, but at the same time he really couldn’t be sure. He fidgeted, eyes twitching with the heaviness of sleep still on them, looking to the wall he had hit. There was nothing there to even show anything had hit it. He couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something important. Stiles let out a small, harsh laugh, the sound explosive in the dead silence of his room.
Of course he missed something important; there was a hole in his wall, a sizeable one at that, and Derek’s jacket had been left here. More specifically it had been on his body, which was kind of weird in and of itself. Even still, Stiles didn’t relinquish his hold on the jacket, one hand lifting from it only to pinch the bridge of his nose where a faint pressure was beginning to build in the center of his head.
How long had he been asleep? He got home around five o’clock and now it was one in the morning. Stiles couldn’t quite grasp the huge chunk of time that was missing, his heart thudding in his chest the longer he thought about it. It just about leaped from his body entirely when his bedroom door was flung open and Scott rushed in. Stiles gave a shout of surprise, nearly falling off the bed when his body reacted. Scott’s face was a wreck of emotions, each one seeming to swarm in his brown eyes.
“Stiles, why is your front door—“ he blurted out, face falling and eyes darkening when they saw the hole in the wall. “What the hell happened?”
Stiles was still trying to calm himself, trying to catch his breath and still the adrenaline that was now coursing through him. He didn’t realize he had a death grip on Derek’s jacket until his fingers started aching. Slowly he relaxed, letting out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know, dude. That’s why I texted you,” he replied blatantly, trying to not sound aggressive.
Scott moved closer, putting his helmet on Stiles’ dresser and stepping dangerously close into his personal space. He took several deep breaths, Stiles side eying him and leaning away a fraction of an inch.
“Are you alright?”
The question was loaded, Stiles knew, but he could hear the sincerity of it and he wanted to break down then and there. Instead he leaned back a bit more, eyeing Scott.
“Physically, yes. Mentally and emotionally… the jury is still out on that one. I mean, I have a headache that is teasing to grow into a colossal one because of the whole thing, but I’m fine. That’s why I texted you and didn’t call you so you wouldn’t think it was an emergency and rush—“ Stiles prattled on, pausing as he really looked at Scott, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you wearing your pajamas still?”
Scott was unperturbed by the observation, feeling some slight amusement that Stiles was still all there. Stiles saw it and felt his shoulders sag in response to the small spark in his best friend’s eyes. Scott glanced down at his pants and offered a small smile, his own shoulders slumping with relief.
“I know. It’s just… the last time you called in the middle of the night…” Scott began, Stiles visibly flinching. There was a long pause after Scott trailed off, Stiles finding it hard to meet his gaze.
“I just didn’t want to take any chances. I’m glad you’re okay. What’s the last thing you remember?” Scott asked finally, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.
Stiles huffed and tapped on his toes for a moment, gaze trailing from the huge dent in the wall to the spot he last remembered being in, and then back to Scott. “Well,” he breathed, shifting his weight on the bed. “I came in here after coming home from school and Derek was in here. Which is totally not cool because that means he very creepily climbed through my window because the front door was locked. Anyways, he, uh, said some things and I said some things back and the next thing I know he’s pushing me against the wall.”
Stiles gestured at the spot and heard a soft growl, watching as a bright, glowing scarlet bled through Scott’s eyes. Stiles stared at him for a moment, though his friend made no attempt to respond so Stiles took it as his cue to keep going.
“Derek said something before I blacked out but I, uh, hit my head and totally went out. I don’t remember what he said…” Stiles’ face twisted in concentration and he looked down, remembering what was in his hands. “I woke up not too long ago with a headache, this jacket on me, and a damned hole in the wall. Now we’re here.”
Scott considered him quietly, deep in thought. Stiles felt naked, being scrutinized the way he was, and he found himself subconsciously pulling the leather jacket closer to his body on his lap. The look was intense for a second, but it wasn’t like the way everyone had been looking at him when he was found in the coyote den and when he was at the hospital. That was a small comfort to him, though it didn’t help much.
“Well, are you okay?” Scott broke the silence finally, eyebrows rising up in inquisition. The question was not new from anyone here recently, and it seemed to be the only question on Scott’s mind since he got here. This time it was different, implying something deeper. Stiles side eyed him again, feeling the annoyance and trying to mask it.
“Aside from the splitting headache and gap of time I somehow missed, peachy,” came his biting response. Scott winced and Stiles felt a small stab of guilt in his gut, eyelids fluttering. His fingers drummed on the cold leather as he looked away. “Sorry, man. It’s just—a lot has been happening and it’s just a little overwhelming.”
Scott nodded but said nothing, falling back into silence. Stiles looked back to him, watching as the werewolf turned to look at the damage. That was when realization set in and he cocked his head slightly, looking back at Stiles. “What happened to all the stuff on your wall?”
Stiles sighed, scowling as he pushed himself off the bed, turning to look at his walls by his bed. “That’s another thing,” he said simply, hand extending out in irritation. “Derek said he took all of it down and I have no idea where he put it. Or why it even mattered so much to him that he had to, like, show up in my room like a creep.”
Scott scowled with him, rising from the bed and peering around his relatively small room. It was nowhere to be seen, even when he poked around in the stuffy closet and sifted through his dresser. “It has to be around here somewhere. I doubt he would have been able to toss all of that stuff somewhere away from here. If we can find it, we can use it to cover up the damage until we can figure out something better,” Scott offered, crossing the room to the door, not even waiting for Stiles.
Stiles took the jacket, throwing it in the corner of the room more aggressively than was necessary. He wished Derek had been in it though, because at least that would have been more satisfying. He slipped out of the room, Scott already having gone downstairs to poke around. He pushed the door open to his father’s bedroom, feeling weird poking around. His dad hardly ever was in it enough to make a mess, so by that reasoning alone it should be easy to find a mess of string and articles and other assorted papers.
When he didn’t find it under the bed or in the closet or anywhere else in the room he felt the frustration building within him once again. Something stirred in his mind, jaw clenching and fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.
“I found it!”
Scott’s voice was echoing in the silence of the house, muffled from the distance but almost instantly the feeling inside of him dissipated. He rushed downstairs, the sound of a car passing loud and distinct as Stiles made his way through the kitchen to the back door where Scott was standing in its open threshold. “He tossed it in the trash out here. Not very subtle, but that works for us.”
Stiles offered a small smile of his own, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Scott followed him outside and they both dug into the trash, pulling out the piles of papers and string and hoping that any trash inside was already tied off. Stiles felt his stomach sink as they pulled out jumbles of red string, knowing what it symbolized when he was doing his research, forgetting that he actually had that many. Scott didn’t comment on it, taking as much as he could in his hands. They both managed to bunch it all in their arms, albeit not very gracefully and hardly effectively. The string hung everywhere, papers and clippings tending to fall every which way. Scott managed to catch some before they fell, but Stiles fared a little more difficultly, flailing when some flew away as they scrambled back upstairs.
They had plenty of time before Stiles’ dad returned home that much he knew, but at the same time he didn’t want to risk it. Besides, he needed all of this. He somehow felt more comfortable and at peace having recovered it all, urging Scott to dump it all on his bed as he went back downstairs to pick up the strays and close the door. When Stiles got back to his room he found Scott picking through some of the papers, studying them intently.
He dumped the rest of it on his bed and scratched at his brow, arms folding across his chest and face scrunching up. “I know what it looks like, but I swear I’m on to something. Once I get it sorted back out again I can show you. You know, so maybe it won’t look like I’m such a nutjob, though that’s questionable anyways. Derek said something about that, too, I think when he told me he took it down…“ Stiles trailed off when Scott turned to face him, whatever he was reading put aside as he stepped closer to his friend.
“It’s okay, bro. I believe you. Besides, this is totally your element. You’ll figure it out. You always do,” Scott said with a smile. Stiles smiled back, even though it was brief and he looked away from him.
His arms fell to his sides and he sat back on the bed, shoving the mess away closer to the wall. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… the nightmares I’m having. The time I keep losing, which seems to be getting longer by the way, the sleepwalking. They were looking for what my mom had, and they found it. Something is different about it somehow. I don’t know- I don’t know what’s happening to me and it-“ Stiles’ words caught in his throat, seeming to tie into a knot. He tried swallowing around it and found it nearly suffocating.
Scott slid down to the bed in front of him, his face twisted in worry. “Hey, hey, it’s all going to be fine, alright?” When Stiles began shaking his head Scott pulled him closer, wrapping him into a comforting embrace. Stiles clutched at him, staring past him as he remembered the hospital before he took his tests, what Scott had said to him. “We’re going to beat this thing, like we’ve beaten everything else that was wrong with Beacon Hills,” Scott murmured, the vibrations of his voice somewhat calming.
Stiles drew back, wondering if anything would be the same again after this. Scott searched his face, seeming to want some kind of response. Stiles nodded, having a hard time finding words. “You should try and get some rest, dude. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Scott pressed as he stood up, retrieving his helmet from the dresser.
Stiles drew in a breath, watching Scott cross the room slowly. “Yeah I’ll see you tomorrow,” he responded after a while, giving a half-hearted wave as Scott meandered through the doorway, lingering at the door as if he was considering staying. Stiles sat numbly, hands in his lap, listening to Scott’s footsteps down the stairs and across the floor to the front door. When the door clicked into place with a small squeak Stiles found his footing once more, staring at the pile clustered on his bed.
He rubbed his face, blinking a few times in hopes that he could push the sleepiness away. He grabbed his last bottle of Adderall, lamenting at the sight that there were only two pills left. Cursing softly he downed them dry, tossing the bottle and setting to work sorting through his evidence and facts. He paused only to clear a spot on the wall around the dent, moving around posters and pictures to make it look obvious that he was rearranging stuff. He began pinning up his web like before, something just feeling right about it. His face was set in concentration, sleep far from his mind even though his body screamed at him for it.
He covered the hole in posters and pictures, hoping that it would be enough to disguise it without further investigation. That left the adjoining wall free for him to work. Something just was unsettling about the ease in which he sank back into the task, and he paused where he was kneeling on the floor, a tack tucked in between his teeth and fingers holding up a picture on the wall. He was looking past it; however, wondering just how they could possibly figure it all out before it was too late. Stiles wasn’t sure, but he had a dreadful feeling that time was just not on their side for this one, and they were using up too much of it doing nothing. He pushed the feeling aside, removing the tack from his mouth to poke it through the picture he found himself staring at, eyes narrowing.
It was the Eichen House.