In hindsight, going into the woods at night to try and find a dead body probably wasn't one of Stiles' smarter moves.

Going in alone, though...that was the real failure of his intelligence.

"Oh, man, Stilinski, you've really done it this time," he muttered to himself, clutching his flashlight tightly in his shaking hands. He jumped at the sound of leaves rustling behind him and giggled nervously, wetting his lips with a pink tongue as his eyes darted from side to side.

He should have just gone to Scott's house and asked him to go with him. His best friend might not have jumped at the chance to go creeping around in the woods at night, but Stiles could be very persuasive when he wanted to. But he'd been too pumped up on adrenaline and Adderall and coffee, and he just wanted to go, go, go. Now he was seriously regretting that decision.

What kind of idiot was he, anyway? Going into the woods at night to find a dead body. A dead body that somebody murdered. Someone that could still be on the loose for all he knew. Somebody that could be right behind him right now. He whirled around and shined his flashlight around frantically, but all he found were more trees. That didn't really do much to ease his worries because have you seen trees at night? Creepy as hell.

"Okay. This was a bad idea," he muttered to himself, fumbling for his keys in his jacket pocket. "We're just going to go back to the Jeep, drive home, curl up in bed, and forget this night ever happened. Yeah, that's what we're going to do." He'd only taken a step in what he hoped was the direction of his Jeep when he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of a deep, animal growl.

He didn't even pause to look behind him, just ran blindly through the forest in the direction he hoped he'd find safety. He didn't know what was making that growl, but he did know that he didn't want it to catch him. He strained muscles he didn't even know he had to full-on sprint. He could hear the heavy footfalls of something behind him, could hear deep panting breaths somehow over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears and his own labored breathing. It was a long time before he finally had to slow down, a stitch in his side and his heart going about 500 miles a minute.

Stiles glanced around, the pure blackness of the woods only penetrated by the sparse star and moonlight peeking in from the branches above. He'd dropped his flashlight somewhere while he was running, and no way was he going back to try and find it. He shivered and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't hear anything, and it was cold, and he was most definitely lost. Could the situation get any worse?

He regretted that thought almost immediately as something slammed into him from behind and rough pain erupted in his shoulder. His head smashed into a rock as a heavy weight knocked him to the ground. He fought to stay conscious, but was soon lost to darkness.

Stiles woke with a gasp, staring up at the navy sky. He was alive? How the hell as that even possible? He blinked back tears of relief as he tried to sit up, hissing at the pain that erupted in his shoulder. He glanced down and grimaced at the putrid-looking bite mark. That would need disinfecting. Preferably soon. Preferably before his father noticed he was gone. Oh, who was he kidding? His father probably had every deputy already out looking for him. He needed to get home fast and cover it up before his father could see.

Of course it took him close to twenty minutes to find his Jeep; he got all turned around in the dark and between tree, tree, rock, stick, and fucking tree, there weren't exactly that many landmarks to go by. He finally stumbled upon it by the grace of pure luck and slumped in the seat, feeling all of a sudden out of breath and dizzy. He fingered the bite with a hiss of pain.

What was it that attacked him anyway? A wolf? No, there hadn't been wolves in California in sixty years, that was stupid. A mountain lion? If that was it, why didn't it rip him to shreds while he was unconscious? He was so confused. What kind of animal just bites its prey and then leaves it? He'd have to do some discreet research into it, as soon as he got home and took a hot shower and put on clean clothes and crawled into bed and...fuck, he still had to go to school.

He glanced at the clock on his radio. It was pushing 5:30 AM. He'd make it if he hurried.

His father's police cruiser was gone when he pulled up in the driveway. Stiles wasn't really sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he certainly thanked his lucky stars he could at least get in a shower and maybe hide the bite before his father saw. He bounded up the stairs to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then locked it for good measure. Mostly for his dad but also because he had this slight nagging feeling like something was following him. It made him all itchy-crawly under his skin and he didn't like it.

Stiles shed his clothes, setting his shirt and jacket aside to throw away later, and then turned on the shower head. Lukewarm at first, when he stepped under the spray, then inching up in increments every few minutes. It stung his shoulder terribly but at least he knew it was getting clean. He scrubbed at it gently with a washcloth, wincing with each scrape against tender skin. When he was satisfied it was clean, he washed the rest of him, twice. That itchy-crawly feeling was still there, it made him feel dirty.

When he'd finally had enough, he shut off the spray, not even bothering to towel off as he surveyed the bite in the mirror. It was inflamed. Of course. He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant from the medicine cabinet and some cotton balls. Knowing it wasn't going to end well, he dabbed at the wound. A high keening noise escaped his lips as he pressed harder. He was never going into the woods again. Never, ever, ever...

A loud knock on the door made him jump and knock over the bottle of disinfectant. "Stiles? Stiles, are you in there?"

"Y-yeah, Dad, I'm in here! I'm fine, I'm just...fine..." He hurried to clean up the spill, shooting the door nervous glances even as he knew his father couldn't get inside.

"Where the hell have you been all night? You didn't text or call, I've been out looking for you for hours!"

"Dad, could you just, uh...give me a minute? Okay? Just one minute?" He was starting to feel a creeping panic up the back of his neck and had to bite his lip to keep from outright screaming. He couldn't deal with his dad and this at the same time, he just couldn't. Shaking hands reached into the medicine cabinet for his Adderall. He grabbed three and knocked them all back without water, swallowing them in relief.

He took his time in the bathroom, assuming the radio silence from outside the bathroom meant his dad was gone. He continued cleaning out the bite until he didn't feel like crying every time he touched it, then carefully bandaged it up. He finally grabbed a towel to dry himself (though he was pretty much dry already by then) and then wrapped it around his waist as he opened the bathroom door.

"That sure took a long time," his father said, standing directly in his path and making him flail and backpedal rapidly.

"Jesus, Dad! Can't a guy shower in peace?" He tried to shove past his dad before he saw the bandage, but that was pretty much a pipe dream because he noticed it almost immediately.

"Stiles, what happened to your shoulder?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Stiles tried to elbow past him but his father blocked his way with both hands on the doorjamb.

"It's not nothing. Stiles, you're missing all night and you come back with a bandage on your shoulder...do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried I still am? What happened?"

"Nothing. I just...okay, I went out in the woods last night and I got attacked by something but it wasn't bad, I just got bit but I cleaned it, it's fine..."

His father's expression turned dark. "Stiles, let me see. Right now." Stiles couldn't disobey his father when he was like this so he peeled back the bandage a bit to show him. It was bleeding again and still a little inflamed but not too terrible.

His father, it seemed, felt otherwise. "That thing is infected. We need to get you to the hospital, right now."

"No, Dad, it's fine..."

"Get dressed. We're going." There really was no arguing with his father so, heaving a sigh at the unfairness of it all, he stalked off to his room. He chose jeans and a simple grey sweater that covered up his bandage perfectly, then met his father downstairs. He hadn't even changed out of his sheriff's uniform.

"So...I guess this means no breakfast?" Stiles said, his stomach growling mournfully as his father led him out to the police cruiser. His silence was answer enough. He made sure to whimper pitifully as they drove to the hospital.

Of course the first person he saw when he walked through the doors was Scott's mother. He pretended not to notice the way his father nervously checked his reflection in a nearby window. It was obvious they had some sort of thing going on (or, more accurately, his father hopelessly mooned after her) but Stiles wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. It had only been four years since his mom died. It seemed a little soon to be moving on, but maybe that was selfish of him.

"Hi there, Melissa." His father flashed the cheesiest of smiles as he leaned on the nurse's station counter, trying to look casual but landing somewhere between pain walrus and desperation.

"John." She looked surprised, and rightfully so. Stiles waved as her eyes fell on him with a frown. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Uh...I do kinda need to admit Stiles, though. He got bit by something nasty and I think it's infected."

Without another word, she stood and approached Stiles, pushing his sweater off his shoulder so she could get a good look at the bite. He let her, craning his neck to the side so she could get a better idea of it. She was the only person, besides his father and Scott, of course, that he'd let touch him so easily.

"You really shouldn't have tried to take care of this yourself," she scolded. "You should have come straight here." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly.

"Yeah, I know..."

He sulked around a bit while she made a few calls and pulled some strings, getting them in to see a doctor much earlier than they would have if they had just waited their turn. Sometimes having your best friend's mother be a nurse was pretty useful, if not terribly conducive to secret-keeping. He expected a frantic call from Scott tonight or may he face the wrath of Stiles' scorn.

Stiles sat on the exam table and kicked his legs back and forth while his father paged through a magazine. He was in one of the flimsy green hospital gowns that everyone knew was just an excuse for the doctor to look at your ass (joke's on them, he was wearing his Batman boxers) and really really wishing he hadn't gone out in the woods for the umpteen billionth time. He knew he was fine. Better than fine. He was feeling great. He could barely even feel the bite anymore.

"Dad, you know, there's still a chance to leave. We could slip out the back, you could give Mrs. McCall your number, tell her to call you in a smooth James Bond voice, everyone lives happily ever after."

"Stiles, you're getting that checked out," his father said, pointedly avoiding looking up from the magazine as his ears turned pink. Stiles groaned and whined and kicked the table until the doctor arrived, and even then continued to shoot his father anguished looks to make sure he knew the extent of this torture.

"Good morning, Rupert. Sheriff." Stiles glanced up and immediately recognized the doctor as Derek Hale. Not that he knew him personally, but his family had lived on the outskirts of town for as long as anyone could remember. They were rich and well-liked, which begged the question of why exactly they lived in a place like Beacon Hills to begin with. Especially after the fire that had cut their family down to no more than Derek, his older sister, and their uncle. Stiles wasn't exactly an expert on trauma, but he wouldn't really be thrilled to stick around the place where his entire family had died. "Why don't you go ahead and take off your gown and let's take a look at that shoulder?"

Stiles sighed as he pulled the gown off his shoulders. "It's Stiles," he muttered, not really thinking the other would hear him. He jumped when he realized he was literally right in front of him. Man, that guy was sneaky.

"Okay. Stiles." He smiled as he peeled back the bandage and took a look at the damage. "This is actually well taken care of. How long did you wait before you came in? This looks like it's ready to scab."

"It happened last night," the sheriff said, finally glancing up from his magazine. "It was inflamed before I brought him."

"Really?" Dr. Hale peeled back the bandage to reveal little more than slightly pink, shallow puncture wounds. "Looks just fine to me. How did this happen, anyway?"

"I, uh...was out in the woods last night..." Stiles admitted, staring down at the bite. It barely even looked like a bite mark anymore.

"Really?" Dr. Hale's eyebrows knit together in a frown. "Did you happen to see what attacked you?"

"Uh...no, I...fell and knocked myself out."

"You what?" his father burst out. "Didn't you think that might be worth mentioning?"

"No, Dad, it's okay, I'm fine..."

"On the contrary...your father is right, Stiles. It's always best to tell someone immediately if you've experienced head trauma. Especially if it resulted in a loss of consciousness. You could possibly have a concussion." Dr. Hale looked concerned, but he was also looking at Stiles in a way that made him very uncomfortable. Not in a doctorly way. More like a predator sizing up its prey kind of way. "I'm going to need to check your pupils before I can let you leave today."

Stiles didn't want to agree, but he didn't really seem to have a choice in the matter, since his father wouldn't let him leave without a clean bill of health. He was still looking through that magazine but Stiles knew he wasn't reading. He knew hospitals made his father uncomfortable. His mother spent the better part of a year here after the treatments started failing, and a part of him had never really gotten over that fact.

"Okay, I just need you to look right here and try not to blink." Yeah, like blinking would be easy with a latex gloved hand forcing his eyes wide open. A bright light shone on his cornea and he flinched away instinctively. After a few seconds, long enough to make a spot on his vision, he moved to the other eye, then moved away entirely.

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong, and the bite looks like it's doing fine. If anything starts hurting, come back and we can do something for it, but until then just keep doing what you've been doing and you should be okay." Stiles grinned in relief and hopped down from the table. Dr. Hale left the room to give him some privacy, much to his relief. Something about him skeeved Stiles out.

"Now how is it that that bite is almost completely gone after only a few hours?" his father said as Stiles shimmied into his pants.

"I dunno, Dad...maybe I'm just a really fast healer?"

"Stiles, you once had a paper cut that didn't stop bleeding for a week."

"Well that's..." Actually, it was because Stiles had a bet with himself to see how long he could keep it bleeding, so he kept biting it. "It doesn't matter. Can we go home now?"

"Uh huh." His father glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, since you're all healed up, looks like you've got just enough time to get to school."

"Huh? But I thought..."

"Thought you'd get to spend the whole day at home?"

"Well, yeah..." Stiles pulled his shirt on. "Come on, Dad, I don't even have my Jeep. How am I going to get home?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention? You're grounded until further notice. No Jeep. I'll be driving you to and from school."

"What?! But...come on, Dad!"

"Better hurry before I make you take the bus." Stiles groaned long and loud and followed his father out of the hospital.

Life really was suffering.