Stiles buried his face in his hands and let out a deep sigh. Even though practically nothing has gone according to plans during the summer, he had never expected anything like this to happen.
Much earlier, almost a whole day ago, Stiles had walked out of a movie theatre with his best friend Scott, just to find out he had gotten a ton of unanswered calls during the movie. Some of them had been from his friend Danny, but most of them had been from various unknown numbers. It was weird, and Stiles had stared at the unanswered calls from Danny with a frown; it wasn't like him to call more than once, or even call at all, he usually preferred texts.
"You should call him back," Scott had said after also checking his phone. "He's called me a few times too."
"Yeah, I guess," Stiles had mumbled, his finger ready to press call. His heart had been pounding in his ears so hard he had barely heard Scott speak. His hand had shaken so severely that it had been hard to read anything from his phone's screen, and pressing the damn call back -option had felt like an impossibility. He hadn't even been sure he wanted to know the reason behind all the calls. "What if something's happened?"
"Like what?" Scott had asked with a confused, yet worried look on his face.
"I don't know." Stiles had shrugged with a sigh. "Maybe something's happened to dad."
" Or maybe Danny just desperately needed something from you?" Scott had suggested hopefully, and Stiles had rolled his eyes at him. "And maybe the others are just… I don't know, telemarketers?"
"Really?" Stiles had asked his face blank, not sure if he was supposed to laugh or cry at that. "You're seriously telling me that 15 telemarketers called me during the last two hours?"
"No. I'm saying there were three of them and they called you five times each," Scott had muttered, clearly understanding that wasn't something that could really happen. "Just call Danny back, he clearly needed something ."
"You're right."
Just when Stiles had been about to hit call , his phone had rung, and one of the numbers that had called him earlier popped on the screen. His heart rate had immediately shot up like he had just run a marathon, and it felt like he had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
With a shaking hand, Stiles had reluctantly brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?" His voice had been a bit weak like he had already been fighting back tears of panic.
"This is Annie from the Beacon Hills' hospital, am I speaking to M... Mie… Miec…"
"Mieczyslaw Stilinski, yeah, that's me," Stiles had said with an impatient sigh.
"Good, good." The lady had gone quiet for a while. "I'm calling about your dad."
Stiles had felt his heart break into pieces and his mouth go dry. "Wha- what about him?" he had managed to ask after a long silence.
"He's at the hospital," the lady told him lowly. "He's been shot, and he's- " after that, her voice had turned into a distant mumbling.
The phone had dropped from Stiles' grip. His sight had gone blurry. The world around him had flipped upside down and his legs had shaken so hard he almost hadn't been able to walk anymore.
"I need to get to the hospital," he had heard himself say, and before he had even realized it he had been sitting behind the wheel of his jeep, pedal against metal, heading to the hospital.
Stiles couldn't remember anything about the ride to the hospital. He only remembered hearing his dad had still been in the operating room and he hadn't been allowed in. He remembered he had felt dizzy, his head had felt heavy.
Then he remembered waking up in the bed he was sitting on now. His throat was sore and it felt like there was a hole in his heart. Tears fought their way through his blinking, but he was quick to wipe them away when the room's door opened after a quiet knocking.
"Stiles! You're awake!" Scott walked in with a happily surprised look on his face. "Took you long enough."
Stiles furrowed. "What?"
"You slept over 12 hours." Stiles stared at Scott in silence, trying to remember when he had gone to sleep or what had happened before that. "You don't remember?" Scott asked like he had read his mind. When Stiles shook his head, Scott let out a quiet sigh and made his way across the room to take a seat next to Stiles.
"You came here after they called you about your dad," Scott said lowly, his eyes filled with something that told Stiles this wasn't going to be a happy story. "Mom told you that he was still in operation and nobody knew what was gonna happen next or how long it was gonna take. Mom tried to tell you to go home but…"
"But what?" Stiles asked, his voice barely even a whisper. "But what , Scott?"
"You kind of lost it."
It felt like a punch in the face. "L-lost it?"
"I don't know," Scott shrugged, glancing quickly at Stiles, "you just… lost it."
And suddenly it came back to him. He remembered not being able to breathe, he remembered he had screamed so loud even his own ears had been ringing and it had felt like his brain was going to explode.
He remembered how Melissa had told him to calm down. "Shut up!" he had screamed back, and when she had told him to calm down again he had grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and thrown it at her.
"If you hadn't passed out like you did," Scott mumbled and shook his head, "I guess they would've called the police."
Stiles remembered how he had pounded the operating room's door as hard as he possibly could, and how he had screamed he wanted to die when the nurses had grabbed him and forced him to back away from the door. He remembered vividly how the screams escaping his throat hadn't even sound humanly possible, how it had hurt like somebody had ripped the beating heart out of his chest, how he had thought he was ready to die if they wouldn't let him go see his dad.
"I- " Stiles breathed out, but there was another knock on the door.
"Stiles?" The door opened and Melissa poked her head in. "I knew I heard you talking. You took a pretty long nap, don't you think?"
Stiles let out a short, emotionless laugh, lowering his gaze from Melissa. He didn't have the heart to even look at her after what he had done. She, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any problems walking up to him and taking a seat next to him on the bed.
"Do you remember what happened?" Melissa quietly asked, wrapping her arm around Stiles as she spoke.
"I didn't at first, but Scott told me," Stiles mumbled with a lazy shrug. "I'm sorry Melissa, I didn't mean to- "
"I know baby, I know." Melissa pulled him into a tight hug.
Stiles gave himself the permission to lean against her and let the silent tears roll down his cheeks. He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe that his crappy summer had ended like this; his dad getting shot and ending up in a hospital, and he having a mental breakdown because of it. He didn't know if his dad would survive, or if he was even alive anymore, and he didn't know if he could handle losing his father too.
"You ready to go?" Melissa asked with a smile after slightly opening the room's door.
"I guess," Stiles mumbled and glanced at her direction before lowering his eyes back to his dad.
After Melissa had talked with Stiles earlier that day and forced him to eat something from the cafeteria, she had let him go see his dad who still hadn't woken up; he had been shot three times, one of the bullets had almost hit some huge vein in his shoulder and the doctors didn't believe he'd wake up very soon.
Stiles got up from his seat and quickly made his way out of the room, blinking tears away. He didn't want to go, but he had promised Melissa he wouldn't stay all night at the hospital, and she had even suggested that Stiles could sleep at her place. And even though Stiles wanted nothing more than to be left alone right now, he had agreed to go, because he knew it meant Scott would be there for him if he felt like he wanted company. And since they lived right across the street from Stiles' home, it would be no problem to just sneak out and go home if he'd want to.
The ride to McCall's was filled with heavy silence. Stiles was in the back with Scott, both staring at the city roll by. On the way, they stopped for some pizzas, even though when they got to Scott's place, Stiles left his pizza untouched and simply walked up to the spare room where he threw himself on the bed.
After hours of lying on the bed with lights off, there was a knock on the door, and with a tired grunt, Stiles gave the permission to come in.
"Do you still wanna be alone?" Scott asked quietly. Stiles shook his head and Scott stepped inside, closing the door after him. "I've been thinking you know," he took a seat next to Stiles' legs, "and I think it's time for you to finally get help."
"Get help?" Stiles repeated, raising his brows.
"Yeah. You know, go see a therapist or something."
"Absolutely not," Stiles mumbled and quickly sat up. "We've been over this a hundred times, Scott. I'm not gonna go see anyone. I can manage."
"You call last night managing ?"
"Well, I- "
"You call having constant panic attacks, hallucinations and feeling like you wanna die, managing ?" Scott was clearly upset, and he did absolutely nothing to hide it. He stared at Stiles with such serious, dark eyes it made Stiles feel like crying. "It's time for you to get help, Stiles. I can't stand watching you feel like this."
Stiles stared into the darkness of the room. He had always managed, he had always had some kind of control over his problems, but he knew things had gotten worse during the summer. He had spent most of the time home feeling like a pile of shit because of no reason while his friends had done practically everything a person their age could dream of doing during the summer break. His hallucinations had gotten more recent, and his nightmares scarier than ever.
Scott was right. He couldn't go on like this anymore, and last night was just more proof of it. But even thinking about asking for help made him feel like even more of a failure. And it felt scary. He knew what Eichen House was like and how they treated people there, and he just knew he'd end up there if he told someone about the hallucinations.
"Stiles," Scott's voice was almost desperate, "you can't go on like this."
"I know, I know. You're right." Stiles let out a tired sigh. "I have to get help."