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Malia was leaving him. Even though she promised not to, she was leaving and it was all his fault. Yet, Stiles couldn't go after her. He could only crouch on the cold ground of the Hale vault, shivering. Scott stood behind him, still regaining his bearings. He spoke to Kira about his vision still being blurry. Stiles felt a pang of guilt run through him. If he had just been faster, smarter-
"Stiles, we gotta go. I can hear how worried our parents are." He lets his friend pull him up, but in the dark of the vault, they don't see the blood splattered across his face. Stiles knows it's there. He can taste it on his tongue, his ears are still ringing from the gunshot. Hands clammy, he follows behind Scott and Kira until they're met with the light of day again, until they leave him to go meet up with their parents.
His head feels like its underwater, threatening to explode at any moment. He knows the school hallway is loud, but the voices fade in and out, the world seems to slow down and speed up. Faintly, Stiles recognizes the feeling of his heart hammering painfully fast in his chest.
There's a loud gasp, drawing unfortunate attention to the mess that is Stiles. Heads turn and whispers follow, most likely about the blood coating his face and his clothes. Stiles can't control the shiver that runs down his spine. Ever since the possession, he just couldn't seem to get warm, but this was different. This was all him, all his fault.
The next thing he knows, he's being surrounded by CDC workers and FBI agents. They ask a million questions at a time, bickering between themselves but still hovering over the boy. Slowly, he lifts his hands to his ears. Something he did as a child, when everything was just too much. His head pounded along with his heart and-
It's going to explode.
His breath quickens almost immediately, air somehow not making its way into his lungs despite the strain. Stiles can't breathe, his stomach twists when he licks his dry lips and tastes salty, metallic blood. Bile rises in his throat; the only reason he doesn't spill his guts right then and there is because the dark spots in vision completely take over.
He's on the floor within seconds, "Stiles!" Theres voices all around him, but he hears his dad loud and clear.The CDC and FBI are shooed away from the shivering boy by Lydia and surprisingly, Coach. The sheriff places his hands under Stiles' armpits, firmly pulling him up, "Son, look at me." Another whole body shiver wracks Stiles' body, but he can't seem to pull his eyes up to meet his dad's.
"Can't- can't breathe-" He chokes out through his hyperventilating. They'd done this a million times, normally without half the student population watching, but still.
Sheriff takes a deep breath, "Alright, Stiles. Count with me, try to focus on my breathing." He exhales, "1...2...3...4,"
"1...1..." Stiles felt the tears spilling now, and God damnit. He's never gonna live this down, but his dad is here with him, breathing with him, "2...3...4..." Scott and Kira had come back at some point, though he's not sure when. Stiles' could tell by the way the shadows shifted on the floor that they were trying their best to shield his breakdown from the rest of the school, but the damage has already been done.
A blanket is draped across his body, by who he isn't sure. He appreciates it all the same. With the help of his father, his breathing slows down into a more controlled pace. Stiles' body is mostly limp where it's sprawled half across the sheriff and the cold floor, "That's it, Stiles." He hears Scott's dad now, mumbling something about giving a statement and shock.
When the panic subsides for the most part, he's lifted up by his dad and Scott. His vision is hazy, filling with black dots with every step, but his friends... his family had seemed so concerned for him. Stiles needed to get it together, needed to give his statement, needed to- take his clothes off?
"Wait, what?" He's sitting on a desk, surrounded by his pack in a classroom he can't recognize at the moment.
Scott's dad speaks up, "We're going to need your clothes. It's considered evidence. After that, a nurse will come check up on you." The words are confusing, still sounding jumbled despite the man's clear speaking. Stiles averts his eyes down to his hands, counts his fingers just in case. His mind goes blank for a moment, completely forgetting what exactly he's supposed to be doing.
"One, two, three-" Stiles' whispers are cut off by Scott. His best friend had approached him at some point.
Scott takes his hand, brow permanently furrowed at this point, "You're awake, Stiles. This is real." Meeting the other boy's eyes had been a feat in itself, but the relief that floods Stiles's body makes it worth it. The others are watching their exchange, pointedly trying to look busy.
"Okay," Stiles whispers, "Okay." He repeats it, louder this time like he's trying to convince not only himself, but everyone in the room. His face is still wet and it mixes with the blood on his face, dripping down onto his hands. When Stiles notices this, his stomach turns. He had forgotten, momentarily, that a man's brain matter had been blown onto him. Nausea twists his insides around violently, and he's running for the trashcan only seconds later.
He can hear a few groans of disgust, but his dad places a comforting hand on his back. The back and forth motions ground him, yet they bring even more tears to his eyes. His mom used to do this for him. Back when he was younger, throwing up at 3 in the morning. Even though he most likely had some sort of stomach bug, his mom had held him close, kissed the top of his head and promised-
"Everything's gonna be alright. I'm right here, mommy's right here."
Stiles expels the last of his lunch, cringing at all the fluids he's losing. That can't be good. He's handed a tissue before he can messily wipe his mouth on his sleeve, "Go ahead and get changed. We'll be right outside." Agent McCall hands him a hospital gown. Stiles doesn't even try to hide the grimace on his face. At least they weren't cutting the clothes off of him. God, that'd be so embarrassing.
But, it couldn't be much more embarrassing than everything else that's happened today. He takes the gown with a solemn nod. Everyone starts filing out the room, but his heart pounds at the thought of being alone, "Scott." The alpha stops, looking at him with his full attention. It's nerve wracking. Stiles doesn't think he's ever given anything his full attention, "Can you stay with me?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure, buddy." His answer is immediate. The nickname makes Stiles melt a little bit. Scott looks back at the rest of the group, giving the sheriff and his own dad reassuring looks. The door clicks shut quietly, as if any sudden sounds would cause Stiles to fall apart all over again. They were right to think so, too. Just hearing kids slamming their lockers outside the classroom had him flinching.
Scott approaches him, cautious. Stiles feels his legs grow weak once more, but his best friend is there to catch him, "Thanks, man." Scott huffs a little bit, hopefully in amusement. It hits Scott suddenly. Stiles hadn't just wanted his company, he needed help getting undressed. His eyes were drooping and when Scott tried moving him back over to the desk, his limbs are like noodles. Stiles is already clumsy as it is.
"Lets get these clothes off of you." The act of taking his best friend's clothes off should be weird to him, but it's not. They've been friends so long, they're practically brothers. Scott remembers that night at the motel. He'd nearly set himself on fire, yet Stiles had talked him out of it. Stiles might've been the only one who could. Scott pulls the shirt over the boy's head and supports him while he shuffles out of his pants. If anything, Scott feels kind of honored. Stiles could've asked his dad to help him, but he asked Scott instead, "Why me?"
"I-I trust you, Scotty." He's still shivering out his words, "And I didn't want my dad to help me into a hospital gown. He... He helped my mom with that plenty of times already." The words are heart breaking. Scott has to suppress the urge to wrap his best friend in a hug and not let go.
Stiles turns around, silently asking for help. He'd never been good at voicing his needs, but Scott had always understood, talked for him when he couldn't. With the hospital gown tied in the back, Scott gives into the urge and wraps his arms around Stiles. He immediately gives into the light-headedness, slumping into Scott's frame, "How about we have a sleepover tonight, like when we were kids."
The human nods, a small smile making its way onto his face. In the fogginess of shock he murmurs, "I don't wanna leave you guys again." Before Scott can reassure him, there's a knock on the door. The sheriff pokes his head in, taking in the sight of his son leaning all his weight on Scott. He wasn't particularly heavy, but Scott wasn't sure if that was because of his own werewolf strength or Stiles' poor eating habits.
"Stiles, a nurse is here to see you." He means to give some sort of affirmation, but he's not sure any noise comes out. Scott is so warm, Stiles can't help but grumble when the wolf tries to detach from their embrace. He's sat back down in a chair, which is freezing, thank you very much. It does nothing to help the chills. A lady in a mask comes over and squats in front of him. There's a few questions she asks, but he can't remember if he answered or if someone else did. Scott is still standing near, hovering almost.
When the nurse shines a light into his eyes he's reminded of Melissa. She'd done this for him a lot, back when he was a kid and couldn't stand the thought of going back into that hospital. His dad would have to drag him out, kicking and screaming, or call the nurse he considered a mom.
Something warm and wet touches Stiles' cheek, causing him to yank back, drawn out of the dissociative state he'd been in. For a second, he thought it was blood. The same blood that's long since dried. It was warm, disgustingly so, "It's alright, son. It's just water." His dad had placed a hand on his shoulder at some point. The wiping motions begin again after he exhales.
Stiles stumbles and stutters through his statement, keeping his eyes on the floor or silently counting his fingers. His breath catches in his throat when he retells the story of how The Chemist held a gun to his head, how he closed his eyes and shook because that's all he could do. Stiles wouldn't give up his friend's location, no matter what. Someone's calling him brave, his dad is agreeing proudly, and Scott has a grounding hand planted firmly on his shoulder. Another shock blanket had been draped across him at some point.
A water bottle is handed to him before he has the chance to get up. Chances are his legs would buckle immediately, so he's not surprised to find his friends helping him out of his seat. When they enter the hallway, it's quieter than before. Most of the students, along with their parents had migrated outside. Still, he can feel eyes on him. The sheriff shrugs off his coat for Stiles to cover up with, or to keep the chill at bay. Hospital gowns aren't known for their warming abilities.
He stares at his socks as they walk out the school's doors. They had taken everything but them and his underwear, thank God. Lights are flashing all around the parking lot, so Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, letting his dad and best friend lead him to his Jeep, "I have to stay a bit longer, but I'll try to be home as soon as I can." The human's head snaps up.
"No, I don't want to leave you." It's the clearest thing he's said in hours.
Sheriff Stilinki sighs, "I'm going to be fine. You, on the other hand, need a shower and a lot of rest. Let Scott take you home, okay?" There's a short silence, but Stiles finally nods, then wraps his arms around his father like he could disappear at any second. Noah sinks into it, relaxing the slightest bit because Stiles is okay, emotionally scarred for life, maybe, but he's alive. His son is alive and that's all that matters.
Scott already has Stiles' keys, though he's not sure when the wolf got ahold of them. The car ride is quiet, peaceful for the most part. Stiles almost falls asleep with his cheek pressed against the window, but when he thinks of sleeping, he thinks of the Nogitsune. Scott nearly misses their turn and goes straight to his house, but Stiles reminds him that they're going to his home, not Scott's home.
When they pull into the driveway, Lydia and Kira are standing outside the front door. They come over to support his wobbly limbs out the car, "What are you guys doing here?" They should be with their parents, reassuring them that they're alright.
"Sleepover, remember?" Lydia answers for him, always sounding slightly sarcastic. She has a smile on her face though, looking worried even beneath her nonchalant demeanor.
"Lydia," Stiles reaches for her hand, "did you- did you think I was going to die? Could you feel it?"
The smile drops, expression suddenly somber, "I didn't know who it was. It felt like... everyone." Scott rounds the corner of the jeep just in time to see Stiles pull Lydia into a hug.
"I'm sorry. I can't imagine how scared you must've felt, unable to do anything to help." Lydia simply sighs into it, obviously relieved.
They separate and Scott is by his side again, helping him to the door. You'd think he broke a limb with the way his friends are basically carrying him. Despite the welling feeling of shame in his chest, Stiles appreciates it. He doesn't try to push them off. He's glad he's human, really, but that doesn't mean Stiles wants to be fragile. He doesn't want to be useless.
Scott directs him to the bathroom, "I'll go get you some clothes. Think you can manage without me?" Stiles hums, he doesn't feel as weak as he did in the school. Plus, they have a shower chair from when his mom was too sick to stand for long periods of time. He didn't think he'd ever end up using it, but here they are. His body feels like it's shutting down. After months of stress, a possession, and supernatural creatures trying to kill them, Stiles has reached his limit. He's been stuck in that fight or flight mode way too long and that gunshot seemed to break him out of it.
He can't say for sure that he's glad. By the time Scott returns with some clothes and a towel, Stiles is sitting in the shower. He lets his eyes fall closed, his head hang down. Warm water drips down his hair into his face. The Chemist appears in his mind, eyes quickly glazed over as blood pours out the hole in his head. Stiles exhales shakily, ignoring the wave of nausea he feels.
"We'll be right outside if you need anything, okay?" Scott says rather loudly over the spray of the shower. Stiles makes a quiet hum in acknowledgment, knowing his best friend would hear it regardless. Once the door is clicked shut, Stiles grabs the nearest bottle of body wash and practically dumps it on himself. He scrubs, and scrubs, and scrubs until his skin is red, nearly raw. He still doesn't feel clean.
His friends are there when he gets out. Lydia grabs a towel to dry his hair with, Scott is setting up a make shift bed in the living room, and Kira is in the kitchen fetching plates. They had ordered food at some point. The coffee table has been moved somewhere, replaced by every blanket and sheet in the house. Stiles notices that his pillow has somehow made its way onto the pallet.
Uno and Monopoly have been pulled out, boxes covered in a layer of dust. They never have times to play games, or to be normal teenagers anymore. Stiles takes a seat, finally feeling some sense of peace. He relaxes for the first time in what seems like forever. Plates are passed around and the games begin. Stiles tries to ignore the pang of anxiety he feels when he thinks of Malia. She would've loved to be here, if he hadn't lied to her.
Scott and Kira convince Lydia to play a few video games with them, but only if she can give the boys makeovers in return. Neither of them have a problem with that, so after a few rounds of Mario Cart (the three supernaturals decided against any games involving guns), Lydia and Kira are doing their nails. Scott gets red polish, Stiles gets green. It's actually pretty relaxing. Lydia reprimands him for moving too much, or for biting his nails too far down, but its all in a gentle tone.
Stiles had fallen asleep first, head resting on Scott's shoulder. The drool slowly dripping onto the wolf's t-shirt doesn't bother him because they've done this a million times. Bus rides in the afternoon, Stiles could hardly keep his eyes open. Movies Stiles wasn't all that into, his head would drop every few seconds. Scott had always been the perfect height for him to rest on.
Kira clicks the lights off without touching the switch. Before they all settle in for bed, she asks, "Do you think he'll be okay?"
"...Yeah, he'll be okay." Scott whispers back, a heartfelt smile on his lips.
Lydia pushes the bangs from Stiles' face, "I hate to say it, but he's been through worse." They lay the sleeping boy down and tuck him in, "He's strong, certainly braver than most."
Sheriff Stilinki finds them on the make shift bed, all curled up around Stiles. He snaps a picture to send to Melissa before pulling a blanket across all four of them. If there's one thing he's sure his son has, its amazing friends. Friends that would do anything for him, just as he'd do anything for them, and when Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night gasping and yelling, they're all there for him, helping him to breathe easier.