Archive of Our Own

Stiles liked to think he had a pretty good, spot on memory. He could always remember details that seemed insignificant. Like design of the shirt that Lydia Martin was wearing when he first laid eyes on her (light pink with a purple daisy in the center). Or the color of the crayon that he offered Scott in kindergarten when Scott was pouting about breaking his (blue). Or the feel of wet sand under his feet the first time his mom, his father, and him took a vacation to the beach. Or the smell of freshly mown grass as his mother pushed him in the swing set in the backyard – the creaking of the swings in the back of his mind. He couldn’t deny connections to certain things – like the way the scent of stale coffee made him feel safe because of the long nights he spent as a kid passed out in a chair in the sheriff’s department because he wanted to go to work with Dad.

The memories, however, he tried to block from his mind were the months his mother spent in the hospital. Which was hard when your best friend’s mom worked in one.

The bright fluorescents that were made all the more brighter by the too-white walls and the too-white sheets. The sterile smell that was almost an inhalable taste. And it was never, ever quiet. There was always something. The buzz of the white noise on TVs. The beeping of heart monitors. The low chatter of nurses. The crying of children.

He never thought that his banishment of his mother’s days in the hospital would come back to bite him. Why would it?

See, Stiles always just assumed Derek had created some strong, strange personal vendetta against him. Because he was the human. Because he was disposable. Because he was irritating. Annoying. Put himself in dangerous situations more often than not. All of the above.

Derek and Stiles had found themselves at each others’ throats (metaphorically, of course) once again with their words. At this point, the waters were calming down a little when Derek turning his bitch glare #2 on Stiles. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, forcing his voice quiet so that Stiles had to strain his ears to listen, “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Stiles looked instantly bemused, “What the hell are you talking about? Did you hit your head, or something? Leather too tight and constricting your oxygen flow to your brain? Of course I know who you are. Derek Hale. Sourwolf extraordinar. The big bad alpha. Award winning brooder. I can keep going if you like.”

Derek floundered for a moment, “That’s not…-“ He cut himself off with a frustrated growl and Stiles almost thought that he was going to hit him, Derek’s face contorted in what could only be described as both anger and something that Stiles couldn’t place. But instead he turned over a shoulder and stormed out, “Never mind.”

----

Stiles was eight when his mother got leukemia. She was admitted to the hospital in early September of that year. Stiles was young, but he still wasn’t stupid. He knew his mother was sick. He knew what the IVs and the nurses’ faux smiles meant. Something was wrong. And it scared him. As the months went on, it scared him how his mother got skinner and her skin yellowed.

A lot of the time they were at the hospital, it was for his father to talk to doctors about tests. Stiles never understood why so many tests had to be done. But, when this happened, young Stiles retreated to a small family waiting room that had a corner for children. Coloring books, large cardboard books, magazines. Stiles never found much amusement in it, sitting in a Stiles-sized chair in the corner with his knees pulled up against his chest and arms wrapped around them as he waited for his father to come in and say “Ready to go, sport?” Usually, Stiles was alone in the small waiting room – if not for the occasional older woman who just gave Stiles these looks of pity and he could almost hear her say, “Bless his heart.”

It was that moment Stiles decided to try and find the cafeteria. His dad had left him a few dollars in case he got hungry while he was off talking to doctors about “adult” things and told him how to get to the cafeteria. Too bad Stiles wasn’t paying attention.

He pushed open the big door to the waiting room and wandered out into the hallway. For someone as small as Stiles, the hallways were big and almost seemed like they could easily swallow him whole. Doctors and nurses roaming too and fro quickly – like little ants in their hills working mindlessly. Stiles felt all too tiny as he wrung his hands together in front of him. His eyes darted around to try and find arrows that would hopefully lead him to the cafeteria, beginning to wander seemingly aimlessly through the halls.

What seemed like hours later (when in reality it was probably no more than twenty minutes), Stiles had walked himself in circles and no longer knew where he was. He felt a small bit of panic building in his tiny chest, eyes burning despite himself as his vision blurred from the stinging tears in his eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling – he was lost. Lost in the big hospital alone and he didn’t even know how to get back to where the waiting room was. He turned over his shoulder a few times, blinking rapidly to try and clear his eyes of the tears in them. The panic was building more by the moment, backing himself up by a wall as a doctor rushed past him quickly – talking to the nurse beside him.

Stiles jumped with a small yelp as a hand fell on his shoulder, turning to look at the source of it. He was greeted by a warm pair of green eyes staring down at him – the owner of them giving him a soft smile that Stiles wanted to wrap himself in to stop the tears and panic. The green eyes belonged to a boy – the boy looking to be a few years older than him. He had dark soft hair – the softness of it reminding him of a rabbit they had as a class pet in first grade. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice just as soft as his expression as he gave his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze.

Stiles’ breathing stuttered a little and he wiped at his now wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I… think I’m a little…” his voice was small and squeaky, eyes darting around everywhere but the boy.

“Lost?” the boy finished for him. Stiles returned his eyes to the older boy and nodded silently, looking up at him through wet lashes. “It’s okay. The halls are like a maze and if you don’t know where you’re going, it’s really easy to get lost.” The boy tilted his head to the side a little, “Tell you what, I’ll help you. Tell me where you’re going, and I’ll take you there, okay?”

Stiles didn’t understand why this older boy was being so nice to him. Usually older kids at the elementary school were rude to kids his age. He had to at least be a fifth grader. Fifth graders were big and mean. “Don’t… Aren’t you here for someone?”

The boy’s eyes were darting over Stiles’ face, seeming to take in the way his pale cheeks were pink and splotchy from the few tears that dripped from his chin. “No. I volunteer here. Keep patients company. And their families. Is it okay if I help you?”

Stiles nods.

----

Stiles thought that Derek’s strange outburst from earlier was done and past and he was going to do the nice thing and completely ignore that it even happened. Stiles was in his bedroom, one leg hiked up on his desk and the other dangling half-hazardly off his desk chair and pushing it back and forth. His fingers scuffed at his scalp, frowning as he tried to focus on the words on the textbook in front of him.

He really needed to start locking his window with all of his werewolf friends. He jumped when a voice spoke, “Stiles.” He flailed a bit, foot dropping from the desk and almost tilting his chair over and he turned around.

“Goddammit, Derek,” he hissed. “You can’t just sneak up on someone like that – I don’t have your blessed superwolf hearing and the advantage of knowing when someone has snuck in through my window. Which, by the way, is still very creepy. You should see to fixing that.”

Derek gave him his signature scowl that looked as if it was supposed to be more threatening than it really was. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting them fall back down to his book, “Look, dude. I don’t speak your brooding language. So, either you annunciate a little bit, or…-“ Stiles was cut off by Derek slamming down a fucking stuffed animal on his desk. But, before Stiles could ask what drugs he was on when he turned over his shoulder, Derek was gone.

Stiles huffed, looking back down at the small stuffed animal on his desk – slender fingers moving to pick it up and turn it over between his hands. It was a wolf, go fucking figure. It looked old and worn, like it had been a child’s comfort toy. The glint in the fake, plastic hazel eyes made his breathing hitch and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

----

Stiles fell into a fit of giggles as the other boy made fake growling noises with Stiles’ stuffed wolf in his hands, animating it ever so slightly and making it howl. Stiles was sitting in the Stiles-sized-chair again, but this time he wasn’t alone. The boy was volunteering again and he decided to spend his time entertaining Stiles.

Stiles decided he really liked this boy, fifth grader or not. Or, whatever grade he was in. He was funny. And cute. (Even if Chelsea from his class said that little boys weren’t supposed to think other boys were cute, Stiles still did.) And the boy seemed to actually genuinely like Stiles – despite him being ‘just a kid’. Making a special effort to get him to laugh, a grin that made Stiles feel like the entire sky was brighter spreading across the older’s face.

They had talked a lot that day. About Stiles’ favorite food. Color. About why he was here – his mom. About all the fun things him and his mom were gonna do when she came home.

The door opened suddenly, Stiles turning his eyes to see his father. Looking back on this moment in his life, Stiles should’ve realized just how much older his father looked in this moment. Lines of stress and pain in his face. But, Stiles was only concerned with the fact that he was here so much earlier than normal  - he didn’t want to say goodbye to his new friend just yet. His father gestured for him to come with him, and Stiles stood. He waved a hand to the boy when he offered him the wolf. “I’ll be back.”

Stiles didn’t come back that day.

Or any day after.

----

Stiles looked back up to the window where Derek had disappeared, still clutching the stuffed wolf in his hand. He was frozen for a moment before he scrambled to his feet and ran for the front door – almost falling down the stairs in his wild sprint down.

See, the thing was… the boy at the hospital never told Stiles his name. And Stiles had tried his damnest to banish all the memories of the hospital that he could – just because he didn’t want to remember his mom in that state. He stopped himself when he was in the middle of the road, still holding to the silly wolf in a hand – chest heaving from where he had ran. Derek looked to have been long gone, him looking down the road in one direction.

Stiles nearly yelped out as a hand fell on his shoulder, turning over to meet a pair of achingly familiar green eyes that he should’ve connected in his mind much earlier. “Are you alright?”