Laura is freaking out.

They've been sitting in Beacon Hills Hospital's visitor parking for ten minutes and Laura hasn't said a word.

Stiles isn't freaking out, but that's just because he knows what's happening.

Nobody likes hospitals.

So here he sits, letting Laura freak out.

Sometimes, that's all you can do—sit and wait. It sucks, but then again, so does life.

"I think I'm ready," she says, fingers twitching at the door handle.

"Are you sure?"

"No," but she exits the car anyway.

Wonder Woman was pretty accurate, Stiles muses. Then he gets out of the Camaro, falling in step with Laura.

They make their way to the hospital entrance, Stiles gearing himself up for the weirdos that are in the ER this late at night. The many stories he's heard from Melissa about sweet potatoes and candles stuck in butts has made him a bit jumpy.

Stiles leads them through the controlled chaos, weaving his way between staff until he reaches the nurse's station.

Ugh, Gladys is manning the desk. She gives Stiles a look and dismisses him. "What do you want, Stilinski?"

"Is Ms. McCall around?"

The Toad, as dubbed by Scott, scowls and says, "She might be, but she's busy. Now scram."

Stiles senses Laura stiffen next to him. He holds out his hands, palms up to indicate supplication. "Now, Gladys, I came here in need of some medical assistance." He motions to Laura, and The Toad takes reluctant notice. "My friend here needs medical attention, and I figured, why bother Gladys when I know another nurse." He elbows Laura and scrunches his forehead, mouthing be sick.

Laura starts to cough, deep and phlegmy—wow, she's good—and pipes in with a nasally voice, "Yeah, real sick."

Stiles shakes his head forlornly. "But if you say Ms. McCall is busy, then she's busy." He looks around the room and sees the small number of night staff already working with other patients. "And from the looks of it, everyone else seems to be busy, too. So we'll just have to ask you, dear Gladys, to help us."

Laura starts hacking louder.

Gladys grimaces and wheels her chair away from Laura. "Now that you mention it, McCall's on the third floor. She pulled long-term care tonight. The elevator's to your right."

Laura turns pale.

"Thank you, Gladys. You've been most helpful." He grabs Laura's hand and practically drags her over to the elevator bay.

Laura and Stiles start cackling as soon as the doors close in front of them.

"That was priceless," Laura gasps as she wipes tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Gladys is pretty predictable. The only thing she hates more than me, is having to actually deal with me."

She side-eyes him as the elevator dings! at their floor. "I'll bet."

They exit and Stiles wanders over to the third-floor nurse's station, slowing when he spots a head of curly dark hair.

"Stiles!" Melissa calls out when she spots him.

"Hey, Ms. M! How's it going?"

She walks over to them carrying an armful of charts. Squinting at Laura, she asks, "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and says, "I have a friend who needs to visit a patient. We know that visiting hours are over for the day, but we were hoping you could, y'know," he wiggles two fingers, miming a person walking, "sneak us in."

Melissa sighs, throwing her head back. "You know those hours are hospital policy for a reason, don't you? I can't just let—"

"Peter Hale," Laura interrupts.

Melissa pulls up short. "What?"

"We're here to visit my uncle, Peter Hale. He's a patient here."

Ms. McCall sucks in a sharp breath, and something soft passes over her face. She looks over her shoulder and calls out, "Come with me. We'll verify your identity at the desk. As long as you're family," she gives Stiles a hard look, "it should be fine." Melissa motions for Laura to follow her and points at Stiles. "You stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

He salutes her with a flick of his fingers.

Laura shrugs apologetically at him as she walks away with Melissa, but Stiles just waves her off and points at the little gift shop.

Stiles strolls into the shop, touching practically everything on the shelves.

The older lady sitting at the cash register looks at him like she's about to breathe fire.

He calls it The Stilinski Effect.

Wandering through the small store, he sneezes at the wilting bouquets and he pets every stuffed animal. Stiles is about to walk back into the hallway, when a flash of color catches his eye.

He digs through the stuffed animal basket, past all of the brown teddy bears and the white kittens, and scoops out a bright red fox. It's sitting, bushy tail curled around its legs. The fox has a smirk and little whiskers on its face, and for some reason, Stiles doesn't want to put it back. He tosses it on the check-out counter.

The lady sets down her magazine and rings the stuffed toy up, huffing as Stiles waves goodbye to her.

Bitch.

But it's okay, he has a stuffed fox now.

Stiles walks back over to the nurse's station, leaning against the desk as he waits. He doesn't see Laura, so she must have gone in to see her uncle.

He jumps a little when Melissa sidles up to him. "So," she begins, "how's your father?"

"He's fine. Working a lot of night shifts." He gives her a forced smile. "You know how it is."

"Don't I ever," Melissa groans. She gives him a wicked grin. "Did you give Gladys hell?"

Stiles matches her grin with one of his own. "Maybe."

"Good, she's a real piece of work." She reaches an arm around Stiles' shoulder and tucks him into her side. "You're a good kid, Stiles."

He flushes and looks at the floor.

Melissa runs a hand reassuringly over his back. He follows her gaze to room 313. "I think she needs help," she murmurs. "I'm glad she found you." And then she walks away, her arms still full of patient charts.

Stiles walks over to Peter's room and rests his back against the wall.

He stands there for over 20 minutes before the door opens and Laura walks out. She has her phone pressed into her shoulder and Stiles can hear a muffled voice trying to yell through the speaker. Laura turns pleading eyes on Stiles and begs, "Can you go sit with him while I take this call? It'll be like five minutes—ten tops." She doesn't wait for an answer—she just thanks him, walking farther down the hall and muttering into the phone: "Derek—Derek, calm down. I swear to God…"

Stiles hesitates in front of the open door, but he goes in anyway.

The sight of Peter Hale is nothing short of horrifying.

Stiles still remembers the first time he saw the man lying in a hospital bed. He remembers thinking: so that's what being burned alive looks like.

The entire right side of the man's face is puckered and grotesque. The deep grooves and swirls of Peter's mottled flesh extends all the way down the guy's neck, and from what Stiles can see from his arm, probably continues all the way down his body.

"Hello," Stiles says quietly. He looks around the room, noting a lone rocking chair, a bathroom, a small bedside table, and a dresser. Stiles sits in the ugly chair next to the bed. He opens the side table's drawer and, yep, there it is.

"I'm sure you don't remember me, Mr. Hale, but my name is Stiles Stilinski. I'm here with Laura." He pulls out a worn copy of Aesop's Fables and fans through the pages. "The Wolf & The Shepherd" is dog-eared.

"Once a wolf, always a wolf," Stiles whispers. He looks back up at the man. "I left this here. I did that with all of the books I read. I'd leave whatever I was reading in this drawer every afternoon." His eyes zone out. "My mom was in 314, right next door. When she would fall asleep, I'd wander around the floor. Your room was always empty." He snaps the book shut. "I'd come in here and do my homework, read stories aloud until my dad would come and pick me up."

Stiles runs a hand along the spine. "She died after a year, and I never stepped foot on this floor until now." He snorts. "Your niece assumed that I know you because of my dad, but she's wrong—I don't know you. I was just a 12-year-old kid that read Grimm's Fairytales and Sherlock Holmesout loud in room 313." Stiles sighs, wiping a hand down his face. "I was too young to care about anything but myself, and I'm not sure if I can—or even want to—apologize for that. But I'd like to make up for it."

He looks at Peter, really looks at him.

"I'm going to help find who did this to you, Mr. Hale. To you and your family. I'm going to help Laura find them, and whoever they are, they're going to pay." He tucks the book back into the drawer and takes the stuffed fox out of his hoodie pocket.

Stiles places the red fox next to Peter's still hand and—

"What do you think you're doing?"

Stiles flinches backward at the shrill voice.

It's a nurse. Maybe 40 years old. Short. Brown hair.

Dead eyes.

"I'm visiting Mr. Hale," he says, voice hard.

"Peter doesn't get visitors."

Stiles clenches a fist.

She calls him Peter.

There's something off about her.

"You must not have worked here long, then."

Her eyes flash. "I've been his primary caretaker for over a year now."

It looks like she wants to stamp her foot.

"That's very impressive…," he reads her name tag, "Jennifer."

She must hear the sarcasm in his voice—honestly, it's hard not to—because she stalks up to him and points a bony finger in his face. "Listen here you little…"

"He's with me," Laura interjects, voice ice cold. "Peter is family, and I said Stiles could be in here. You," Laura gets in her face, "you, on the other hand, are not welcome. I'll be speaking to your superiors." She bares her teeth, practically snarling, and Jennifer's face turns ashen. "You'd better leave and never come back, or I might have to do something I won't regret."

Jennifer leaves, footsteps quick like a startled rabbit.

Stiles' shoulders relax. "You didn't have to do that. It was probably just The Stilinski Effect mak—"

"It wasn't because of you," Laura growls. "Well, that certainly didn't help, but it wasn't anything to do with you." She glances at her uncle, a sickened look on her face. Laura reaches out and gently grabs his unmarred hand.

Stiles looks around, uncertain. "If you're sure…?"

"I am." She takes her hand away from Peter's and steps toward the door. "Are you ready to go?"

He nods, shaking off the raised hairs on the back of his neck.

"Goodbye, Uncle Peter." Laura walks out the door.

Stiles lingers for a second, patting the end of the bed. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hale." And then he scrambles after Laura.

As the door closes behind him, burnt fingers twitch to life, brushing against soft red fur.