A/N: WELCOME TO ROUND TWO. I'm so sorry that this took me forever to write! I was feeling a little uninspired. I literally wrote like a sentence every night before bed and then stopped. So, ummm, yeah. Here it is, folks! The sequel to Obedientiam...
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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"We're home, Stiles."
Stiles blinked his eyes open as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking for the hand's owner, Stiles came nose to nose with his dad. He looked over his dad's shoulder and saw that they were, indeed, home. "Did I fall asleep?" He asked groggily. John laughed softly. "Not so much 'fell asleep' as 'passed out.' C'mon, let's get inside." John wrapped a hand around Stiles bicep and helped him out of the car. Stiles looked down behind him as he felt something slide off his shoulders. It was the blanket Lydia had given him at the school. The last thing Stiles remembered was sitting in the car talking to Lydia about something random. Anything to keep his mind off the ordeal he had just been through. Stiles didn't know how long they had talked before he had fallen asleep. Or rather passed out, as his dad said.
Stiles picked the white blanket up off the seat and brought it with him inside the house. Once he had both feet inside the house, he took in a long, deep breath. It felt good to be home. Stiles stepped further into the house and closed the front door behind him. He knew his dad was going to have a thousand questions about what happened to him while he was missing, but all Stiles wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a million years. But he had something to do before that. "Hey, Dad?" Stiles said softly. John turned at his son's call. "I'm going to go grab a shower," Stiles said as he gestured to the stairs. John nodded his understanding as Stiles mounted the stairs and disappeared up them.
Stiles first stop was his room. He dropped the white blanket on his bed before rummaging through his dresser for a clean pair of sweats to wear. He pulled out a faded grey pair from the bottom and closed the drawer. He also grabbed underwear and socks before he left his room and entered the bathroom. Stiles cranked the shower handle as far as it would go to quickly heat the water. He then stripped off the shirt Cullen had forced him into and threw it in the trashcan. Stiles considered burning it later.
He was about to strip off his pants when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Stepping closer to the sink, Stiles twisted his body around in an attempt to see a reflection of his back. He inhaled shakily as he saw the row of burns near his waistline, the scabbed over welts, and the various colored bruises that mottled his skin. He twisted to see over his right shoulder and that's when he saw it: 'Cullen Cedars' carved in elegant script. Stiles quickly pushed away from the sink and stepped back until he could no longer see himself in the mirror. Stiles braced a hand against the wall as dizziness threatened to knock him down. His dad could never see that name carved into his son's skin. Stiles refused to let it happen.
Stiles stripped down and stepped into the shower. He didn't even care that the water was practically boiling his skin. All he cared about was getting clean and being rid of the layer of grime he felt he had collected in Cedars' basement. Stiles scrubbed until his skin was bright red and even then he didn't feel completely clean. He sighed as he finally shut off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower. Snagging a towel off the bar, he dried himself off and slipped into the sweats he had brought into the bathroom. Stiles quickly ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, collected his jeans and boxers off the floor, and left the bathroom. He padded barefoot back down the hall to his bedroom. Stiles threw his dirty clothing into his laundry basket as he passed it and then went and sat on the edge of his bed. He could feel exhaustion creeping back over him but his plan to sleep for a million years didn't sound as appealing anymore. He looked down at the digital clock. It displayed the numbers 11:46 pm in fluorescent blue. Stiles sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He flopped backwards onto the bed and let his arms stretch out across the mattress. A hollow feeling had over taken his stomach and Stiles knew that he should probably eat something. But the thought of putting food into his mouth was strangely appalling. Stiles never turned down food; it seemed as if he was always eating something. But, at that particular moment, food was the last thing he wanted. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and, turning onto his side, brought them in towards his chest. He folded one arm under his head and stared through his open door into the hallway.
On the wall, there was a picture of the Stilinski family from when his mom was alive. John had hung it right outside of Stiles' door upon eight year old Stiles' request. Stiles still occasionally slept with the door open and stared at the picture until he fell asleep. Something about seeing his mother's smiling face in that picture had a sort of calming affect on him. Even now, he could feel himself starting to relax. He let his eyes slip closed and finally gave in to the exhaustion.
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Stiles woke up feeling disoriented. Something didn't feel right. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he peered through the remaining sleep fog in his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was covered in a blanket that he didn't remember getting under and his feet were shoved under a pillow but there was another pillow under his head. Frowning, Stiles pushed himself all the way upright to get his bearings. Looking around him, he finally got it. He had fallen asleep upside down on the bed. That would explain why his feet were under a pillow. His dad must have come into Stiles' room last night and covered him with a blanket and put a pillow under his head.
Stiles flung the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Or rather he tried to. It seemed as though he hadn't completely unentangled himself from the blanket. Instead of placing his feet on the floor, they got caught somewhere behind him in the material. Stiles' arms windmilled as he felt his upper body beginning to pitch forward. He turned his torso backwards and tried to quickly unentangle his appendages from the blanket but it was a lost cause. He fell backwards off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud 'boom'. Stiles groaned and clutched at the back of his head. Suddenly, there was the sound of rapid footfalls coming up the stairs and down the hall. John burst into Stiles' bedroom and looked down at his fallen son. John raised his eyebrows. "You okay?" He asked simply. Stiles unscrewed his eyes and looked up at his dad. "Yeah," he replied thickly, his voice stilled filled with sleep. "I'm good." Stiles fully and efficiently kicked off the blanket and stood up. He quickly tugged his sweatshirt down over his healing wrists to keep them out of his dad's sight. John nodded several times before he asked, "Do you want some breakfast? I haven't made anything yet, but I'm sure we can find something."
Stiles looked behind him at the clock. The time was 10:16. Stiles frowned. "Are you saying you haven't eaten yet?" He asked his dad curiously. "And aren't you supposed to be at work?"
John waved off the first question and he replied to the second. "I took the day off. Now, do you want breakfast or not?"
Inwardly, Stiles sighed. Outwardly, he nodded. John nodded back and disappeared back into the hallway. Once his dad was gone, Stiles hinged his head back and blew out a heavy breath. He knew this wasn't going to end well.
"Oh, hey, Stiles?"
Stiles snapped his head up as his dad suddenly appeared back in the room. "Mhmm?" He answered.
"Scott called about an hour ago. He said there's only a half day of school today. He's coming over later," John informed him. Stiles felt his insides freeze. He wasn't sure he was ready to see Scott yet. Stiles had shot his best friend. He knew Scott healed fast, but that was no reason for Stiles to brush off what he had done.
Stiles forced a small smile onto his face. "Oh, that's awesome," he said with false enthusiasm. John smiled and once again disappeared. Stiles debated escaping through the window to go find a place to hide for the day. In the end, he decided to just face the music. He took a deep breath as he left his room to prepare himself for whatever the world planned to throw his way.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw his father standing over a pan of eggs on the stovetop. John looked up as he heard Stiles enter the room. "Are scrambled eggs okay? I was going for fried but that didn't exactly work out." A rueful smile spread over his face as he scratched at his forehead with his free hand. Stiles laughed softly. He loved his father dearly but the man couldn't cook to save his life. Walking over to stand next to his dad, he took the spatula out of the man's hand. "How 'bout you let me do this? I'm not really in the mood for burnt food," Stiles offered as he gently hip-bumped his dad out of the way. John chuckled and stepped back. "That sounds like a good idea."
There were a few moments of silence as Stiles continued the job his father had started. "So, I was thinking that maybe today we could go have you checked over at the hospital," John suggested gently. Stiles knew his dad was going to ask sooner or later, but he didn't expect his dad to take the sooner route. "Dad, I told you: I'm fine. I don't need to be checked out. If something was wrong, I'd tell you," Stiles responded over his shoulder. He heard his dad sigh. "Yeah, I know that. I believe that you're fine. But, will you please do your old man a favor?" John pleaded.
Stiles sighed as he turned off the burner and removed the pan from the heat. "Dad, I –"
"It's fine if you don't want to go to a hospital! Would you agree to having Melissa check you over?" John almost sounded desperate. Stiles wanted to put his dad's worries to rest, but if he agreed to have someone look him over they would see all the damage Cullen had done to Stiles' back. Which would mean that Stiles would have to tell his dad everything that had happened. Which would then mean that Stiles would run the risk of his dad seeing the name carved into his shoulder and Stiles refused to let him see that. He didn't reply to his dad's suggestion. Instead he focused on getting two plates out of the cabinet and divided the eggs evenly onto them. He then took the bread out of the fridge and put two pieces into the toaster. After he pressed down the lever on the toaster, he took a seat across from his father at the table. He rested his forearms on the tabletop as he said, "Do you trust me?" He raised his eyebrows inquisitively at his dad. John copied Stiles stance and folded his hands on the tabletop. "Of course I do," he said seriously. Stiles nodded. "And you said you believe me, right?"
John nodded firmly. "Yes."
"Then believe me when I say that I am fine and trust me enough to let this go," Stiles pleaded softly. He watched as a tinge of sadness creeped into this dad's eyes.
John sighed. He didn't agree with this entirely but he could tell that this just wasn't the time to deal with the subject. He nodded in response to Stiles' request. Stiles gave him a thankful smile and vacated his seat as he heard the toaster ejecting the toast. He had just deposited the plate of eggs and toast in front of his dad when there was a loud knock on the front door.
"It's open!" He called. The door was opened to admit an out of breath Scott with his backpack slung over his shoulders.
"Yo, Scotty," Stiles greeted. "Why are you breathing so heavy?"
Scott kicked the door closed behind him and dropped his bag by the door. "I didn't have my bike," he explained as he stepped into the kitchen. Stiles raised an eyebrow. "So what? Did you run? You ran didn't you? Freaking werewolf..."
Scott smiled at his friend's falsely bitter tone. "Hi, Mr. Stilinski," he said to the man. John smiled at him. "How're you doing, Scott? We're just about to have breakfast if you want to join us," John offered. Scott's smile grew a little. "Thanks, but I'm good," he said as he took a seat at the table. Stiles rolled his eyes a little and started to inch toward the stairs. John caught him before he made the first step.
"Sit down, Stiles," his dad said firmly with a hint of peppiness in his voice. Stiles's legs immediately propelled him towards the table. He pulled out a chair and quickly sat down. Once he was seated, he sent a heatless glare to his dad. John grinned and got up to retrieve the second plate of food Stiles had made. He set it and a fork on the table in front of Stiles. "Eat," he said firmly. He hated using the curse against his son but Stiles needed to eat. That was one thing John was going to make sure happened. He watched as Stiles picked up the fork and began to eat the scrambled eggs. John then got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water which he then slid in front Scott. Scott looked up and said a quick 'thank you'.
John sat back down in his chair to finish his own breakfast. Seeing as it was only 10:37, he asked, "So, did school let out earlier than expected?"
Scott set down his glass before answering. "Yeah! We had a test in math today and the teacher said once we finished we were free to leave. Math was the last class I had for today," he explained. John nodded his understanding and went back to eating his breakfast.
"Um, Stiles, man, are you okay?"
John looked up at Scott's question. Stiles had his eyes closed and a hand covering his mouth. John knew that look. He bolted up out of his chair and around the table. He slotted a hand under Stiles' armpit, hauled him out of the chair, and led him into the nearest bathroom. He had just enough time to flip up the toilet seat before Stiles lurched forward and threw up everything he had just forced down. The second time he retched, nothing came up but bile. The third and fourth times were just dry heaves. Once John was sure his son had finished, he flushed the toilet and closed the lid. "Sit down," he told Stiles before he left to go fetch a glass of water. Scott already had one waiting for him. John gratefully accepted the glass and stepped back into the bathroom. Stiles had propped his elbows on his knees and was holding his head in his hands. "Here," John said to get Stiles' attention. Stiles brought his head up and took the glass from his dad. He took a quick sip and swirled the water around in his mouth. He stood up, leaned over the sink, and spat out the water. He turned on the tap and let the water run down the drain. He took a second sip of water and swallowed that one. He set the glass down and turned off the tap.
"Are you okay?" His dad asked concernedly. Stiles pulled his lips into a lazy smile. "Fan–friggin–tastic," he replied sarcastically. John sighed worriedly. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit? I'll come check on you later."
Stiles flashed a thumbs up as he left the bathroom. "Want to come make sweet love to me, Scotty?'" He asked as he passed his friend on the way to the stairs. Scott laughed. "Gross, man," he replied as he followed Stiles upstairs. Stiles entered his bedroom and immediately flopped down on the floor. Scott didn't question his friend's antics. With Stiles, he had learned it was better just to let the teen do what he wanted. He stepped over Stiles' prostrated form and settled into Stiles' desk chair.
"You're sure you're okay?" Scott asked. Stiles turned his head sideways and rotated his eyes to look up at the wolf. "Never better," he said flatly. Scott hung his head and sat forward in the chair. "Stiles, I'm sorry that –"
"Oh my god, please don't!" Stiles interrupted vehemently. He rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Don't apologize for anything. None of it is on you. If anyone's apologizing, it should be me," he stated seriously.
"You don't have anything to apologize for," Scott pointed out. Stiles squinted up at his friend. "Scott, I shot you. In the arm. With a freaking gun. Or did you forget?"
Scott shook his head. "You didn't have control over it, Stiles. It wasn't your fault."
Stiles laughed harshly. "Control or not, I shot you. There's no excuse for that."
Scott abruptly pushed himself out of the chair and stood at his full height. He stretched out a hand to Stiles and pulled him up off the floor. "Look," he instructed firmly. He quickly shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeve on his left arm to expose his bicep. The skin were the bullet had entered was completely smooth. It was as if Scott had never been shot. Once he was sure that Stiles had completely accepted what he was seeing, he rolled the sleeve back down. "It's all healed. I don't even feel it anymore," he assured Stiles. Stiles looked at Scott with guilt-filled eyes. "Don't apologize," Scott told him with a smile. Stiles sighed heavily and nodded. Even if he wanted to apologize, which he did, he couldn't now.
"Yeah, okay," he agreed. Scott's smile grew at his friend's response. "Lydia promised to come over to my place and help me study later," he said, changing the subject. "You could, if you're feeling up to it, tag along and we can watch movies all night instead."
Stiles squinted at the wolf. "Oh my god. You are such a girl," he criticized. Then, after a beat of silence, he said, "I get to pick the movie."
Scott rolled his eyes. "Fine," he acquiesced. Stiles patted Scott's shoulder solidly before he turned toward his closet. "I need to change first," he announced. Scott smirked. "And I thought you said I was the girl."
Stiles waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he opened the closet door. He pulled out one of his many t-shirts and a pair of dark wash jeans. Without a thought, he pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head and prepared to slip on the shirt he had chosen.
But before he could get the shirt over his head, there was a sharp inhale of breath behind him.
"Stiles, what is that?"
Crap.
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Thanks for reading! Drop me a review and let me know what you thought! All the love and mint gum!
