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When Stiles finally came to, he could tell from the feel of the mattress and the smell of the sheets that he was sprawled out on his best friend’s bed, which was worlds away from where he’d been the last time he was awake and aware. He knew without looking that Scott was sitting in his desk chair, watching him with the same concern and attention to detail with which Ms. McCall watched her patients at the hospital. Combined with their long years of friendship and his enhanced senses, there was no way Scott had missed his return to consciousness.
There was a chance that Scott would allow him to maintain the illusion for a little longer, but even as Stiles contemplated keeping his eyes closed for thirty more minutes, he was far too anxious to find out where Danny was to follow through. He remembered the sight of tanned skin, whole and unblemished, prior to passing out.
Hopefully his good work had not been undone when he collapsed on top of Danny’s newly-healed torso.
He swallowed dryly and took a deep, bracing breath before opening his eyes to the entirely unremarkable ceiling above. The sound of fabric rustling and swishing alerted Stiles to his friend’s movements, so he expected it when one side of the bed dipped. Turning his head, he met Scott’s concerned stare and headed off what he was sure would be a slew of questions about how he was feeling. “Where’s Danny?” he rasped, pondering the merits of sitting up when his limbs were about as firm as over-cooked pasta.
“He’s sleeping on the couch - really sleeping, not passed-out sleeping,” Scott made sure to add when he heard the faint noise of distress Stiles could not hold back. “He’s fine, dude. Whatever you did left him good as new, except for being really, really tired.”
Scoffing, Stiles asked, “What makes you think I did anything? Maybe I just couldn’t handle having to look at all that blood.”
Scott was shaking his head long before Stiles actually finished speaking. “No way, dude. When Danny called me, he said he’d been clawed from his navel to his collarbones, and when I got there, there was way too much blood for that to be an exaggeration.” He gazed at Stiles intently, his mouth set in that way it always did when he had a point to make and he just knew that he was right. “You definitely did something.”
“Okay, maybe I did.” Stiles was going somewhere with that, he was fairly certain, but then his eyes widened in horror, and he asked, “Dude, did my dad call? Crap, how long have I been out?”
“Yeah, he called, like, an hour ago.” When Stiles started to look like he was having a stroke, Scott held his hands up, placating him with the same tone he used on the animals at Dr. Deaton’s practice. “Don’t worry about it, though. I told him you were taking a nap, and he totally bought it. You never have any energy on this day.”
As grateful as felt, both because his best friend was looking out for him and his dad, and because his dad now had no reason to come and get him, Stiles still could not stop the guilt at yet another lie being used to cover his ass. He should have been at home, or at least available in case his dad called. On this day, six years ago, the doctors sat his mom and his dad down and told them that she had cancer. His dad was always a little more protective on this day. If he felt like he could take the day off of work, Stiles was sure his dad would spend the whole day with him, but he was still the sheriff, and so he went in and did his best to look after the citizens of Beacon Hills. To make up for it, he liked to call a few times throughout the day, checking to make sure Stiles was doing all right and staying out of trouble as much as possible - because even when Stiles made a concerted effort not to go looking for it, trouble somehow found him.
Regardless, he forced himself to swallow it down and offer his friend a smile, faint as it might be. “Thanks, man. For coming to get me and Danny and for handling things with my dad.”
“Yeah, of course.” And this time, Stiles actually believed that Scott meant it. Not that Scott ever really said anything disingenuous if he could help it, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own problems for so long that Stiles had started to doubt that he was really there for him the same way Stiles was always there for Scott. In this moment though, he was certain, and a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying left his overburdened shoulders.
Grinning, he reached out to snag his best friend’s hand and drag him all the way onto the bed. Scott went, laughing quietly all the way until he was sprawled out across Stiles and smiling down at him, careful to brace his weight on his arms. In a gesture that was more wolf than boy, Scott leaned down to rub their cheeks together, and Stiles accepted it with what he felt was infinite good grace, reaching up to pat Scott on the back.
When Scott pulled away a little, Stiles demanded his help getting out of the bed so that he could see Danny himself. Scott resisted for a few moments, amused by his friend’s pitiful attempts to push him off, but then he rolled up and away, holding his hands out to steady Stiles in the event that he wasn’t quite as ready to be up and about as he wanted.
Stiles took great pleasure in being able to walk out of the bedroom under his own power.