Work Text:
He slept for four days straight when he finally came home.
The Sheriff took leave from the station and McCall even offered to fill in for him with no hesitation and a guarantee that his job would still be his when he came back.
That might have been the biggest surprise out of everything, in the end.
Scott spent as much time as he could at the house. He stayed by Stiles' side and watched him sleep, reached out to take pain when he could feel Stiles' body getting restless. The nogitsune kept Stiles and all his bodily reactions to the stress on his body suppressed the whole time it was in him. But like someone warming up from hypothermia the recovery was painful.
Melissa stopped by twice a day to measure Stiles' vitals. Then she'd stay for coffee and have "adult time" with the Sheriff, as she put it. He wasn't sure if a card or fruit basket would be the best way to express his ever-lasting thankfulness over those small gestures.
When Scott wasn't around there was a constant stream of other people around. Lydia showed up the most after Scott. When she thought the Sheriff was sleeping in his chair and wouldn't see them she would climb into bed beside Stiles and lay her head on his chest, listen to his heart beat and his chest rise.
The Sheriff would take that sight to his grave.
Isaac showed up, helped by Allison. Isaac could sense the Sheriff's hesitance at letting Isaac see Stiles but in a halting way Isaac managed to explain that he knew it wasn't really Stiles that did all those things. That he needed to be sure for himself. Closure, for once, one one more horrible thing that happened to him.
Well, Isaac may not have said it all like that with those words but with Allison's pleading eyes and the way Isaac wouldn't actually meet the Sheriff's gaze he could put two and two together. Allison hugged him so tightly he might have "oof'd" a bit when she squeezed his ribs.
Deaton showed up, checked Stiles over. Declared this a "healing sleep" and said he'd need to stop by the vet office when he was on his feet again for a rehab, of sorts.
The Sheriff nodded and didn't bother asking questions. He was too tired and knew too much to take any more in at the moment.
Scott brought Kira once and she brought some kind of charm from her mother. Something to put under his pillow and ease his sleep, Kira explained.
Sure, the Sheriff thought. Why not?
The Sheriff didn't see Derek stop by but a couple times when he checked in on Stiles the window was open just a little, enough for a breeze. The first time the Sheriff almost called Scott, fearing the worst.
The second time when he looked out the window he thought he saw a flash of leather disappearing into the early morning light and opened the window just a bit more instead.
The Sheriff took on the task of making sure Stiles got to the bathroom on a schedule and at least drank something to keep his body hydrated. Deaton recommended supplement shakes since Stiles wasn't conscious enough yet to actually chew.
It was terrifying and sobering because… well, what if Stiles wasn't Stiles any longer? What if the nogitsune left a lasting trick behind in stealing what made his son so vibrant and unique?
It also made him feel grateful that he had his son back and he was being cared for. That he could look in on him and feel immense relief that he was home and safe in his bed.
The wondering came to an end on the fourth night.
The Sheriff took the place of his insomniac son and only dozed on and off since Stiles came home, in case he was needed. He didn't want to have the thought even pass through his mind that he needed to be on guard in case… well, in case.
He was cleaning out his closet. Because what better time to go through old uniforms and at least twenty too many old undershirts than at three in the morning on a Tuesday?
He heard something. A creak, a sigh, maybe the squeak of bedsprings. Who knows now?
His first inclination was to reach for the gun in his bedside drawer, the one loaded with wolfsbane bullets and then his second was to whisper, "Get a hold of yourself," and shake his head.
He crossed the hall to Stiles' room and hesitated before turning the knob and pushing the door open.
He was standing in front of the window, curtains wide open so the moonlight could stream in, and staring up at the sky. He was so still, so quiet and calm that for a terrifying, heart-clenchingly tense few seconds the Sheriff was sure it was back.
That it never left.
"Stiles?" The Sheriff whispered, unable to speak louder for fear his voice would shake with fear.
Stiles turned around and even in the dark he could see his son's eyes and knew. He had circles and was still exhausted but there was a softness in his eyes that his father knew like the back of his own hand.
"Hey dad," Stiles croaked, voice thin from disuse.
"Good to see you awake," he replied.
Stiles smiled wryly. "You have no idea."
"Bet I can guess."
"I bet you can," Stiles replied with a grim expression. The Sheriff wasn't sure what, if anything, he would remember from the past few weeks.
"Want anything? Water? Juice? Something to eat?" The Sheriff asked, scratching the back of his head.
"I was dreaming," Stiles said suddenly and the Sheriff tensed.
"Oh?" he asked cautiously.
"There were superheroes coming to save me. Like when I was a kid," Stiles explained, voice getting thick as his eyes welled up. "I didn't think they'd ever find me."
"Oh, Stiles," the Sheriff sighed. He crossed the room and finally got to touch his son for the first time in what felt like forever. Stiles clung to him, burying his face against his dad's chest and breathing hard.
"Know who finally came?" he asked, voice muffled in the fabric of the Sheriff's t-shirt.
"Who?" he asked, smoothing his hand over Stiles' hair.
"You. I dreamed about you. Because you always fight for me," Stiles whispered, sniffling messily and it was the most beautiful thing the Sheriff ever heard.
"And I always will," he said fiercely, holding Stiles tight enough that he'd know the truth in his words.