Wow! Thank you for such an enthusiastic response! I think I'll enjoy writing this one because it won't be all angst all the time, simply because he doesn't remember anything. So there will be fun, sarcastic Stiles too! (whom I love)
Let's get these shenanigans started, shall we?
Chapter 1
Tabula Rasa
By the time everyone's present, the tension is too thick to breathe normally. Scott's been on edge ever since he received the Sheriff's phone call – the phone call that changed everything about him. He spent over a year carrying around the guilt of that day. The day where he could do nothing but watch as his best friend – his brother – was taken away from him. As a trade.
For him.
Scott would be lying if he said it didn't change him. It changed him the same way Allison's death had. It made him a little harder, a little more paranoid. It made him clutch his loved ones a little closer and be less receptive to the idea of helping supernatural creatures who came to him in need. Would it be worth the risk? Worth the risk of potentially losing another member of the pack?
No, simply. No, it was not.
So when he received a phone call from the Sheriff, he felt everything in his chest shatter again. Because he'd given up. He'd given up on his brother. He tucked Stiles in the box in the back of his mind with Allison, locking it tightly so he never had to think of it again.
Now Pandora's Box had been unleashed.
John is rubbing his hands together sheepishly as everyone stares at him longingly, so desperate for it to be confirmed in person. That Scott hadn't hallucinated or misunderstood. That Stiles was back.
"So," the Sheriff coughs. "as you all know, I asked you to my house to discuss the matter of…" He closes his eyes and Scott can see the effort it takes him to even say his son's name. "Stiles."
"Is he really back?" Malia, with all her tactlessness, asks. "He's here?"
Scott growls lightly, not able to summon the patience he usually had with the once-feral werecoyote. "Let him talk, Malia." He warns.
The Sheriff recoils at Scott's penetrating gaze. "Yes," he says softly, wincing when everyone shuffles at the word. "But, he… he…"
"Doesn't remember anything or anyone." Malia finishes.
"MALIA!"
"What?" Malia remains entirely unfazed at the several people yelling at her. "He's clearly having a hard time with all of this. What the problem with helping him finish his sentences?"
Scott sighs, shaking his head. "So what does this mean?" He asks, staring at the glass of water he has no intention of actually drinking. He looks at Deaton, who's taken his place of stoically brooding in the corner. "What can we do?"
Deaton pushes himself from the wall, stepping to be more of the group. "This isn't a supernatural amnesia, Scott. More likely, it's a PTSD repression. This isn't something we can simply fix with some herbs and magic. This is completely, entirely human."
Scott figured as much, but it didn't keep him from being disappointed. "But still," he presses on. "What do we do? He's going to come to school on Monday. People don't know what happened. We've got an entire school who thinks he's Stiles and he has a whole history here. We can't just convince everyone to pretend that he isn't who he is."
"I've contacted the school and a few neurosurgeons regarding this," the Sheriff huffs, his voice filled with pain. "Medically, they agree that we shouldn't push him to remember who he is. They say whatever happened makes his mental health state fragile. Suddenly shoving an entire history he doesn't remember could be… overwhelming to say the least."
It's clear that while the Sheriff hated this news and probably wanted nothing more than to throttle the men saying he couldn't be around his son, he understood.
"The school knows the situation. The teachers are under strict instruction to refer to him as Stuart and nothing more." The Sheriff sighs. "About the students, I don't know. We obviously can't put a PSA about this."
"We'll be there." Lydia pipes up, unnaturally quiet in the back, leaning by Derek as if she was trying to hide in his shadow. Very un-Lydia like, but Scott knows not to push it. "We'll make sure the first group of friends he makes is us. We can make sure that people leave him alone."
Everyone stares at her, her cool confidence that had been missing for the past year. "We can do this," she assures.
"I don't get it," Malia says. "Why can't we just tell him that he's Stiles and prove it to him? I mean, we could shift in front of him, show him photos – I don't get what the big deal is."
"The big deal is," Scott says through gritted teeth, feeling his face flush until he knows his eyes are burning red.
"The big deal is they're concerned for a psychotic break." Melissa McCall cuts in, putting her hand on her son's shoulders. She gives away her air of 'mom' for one of 'nurse,' her eyes caring, but hard on Malia. "We don't know what happened in the past fourteen months. We don't know why he's forgotten everything and more importantly, why he's showed up now. We don't want to do anything that'll make him hurt himself or those around him. Matters of the brain are particularly difficult. The brain is a sensitive thing and needs to be treated with care. If he thinks his name is Stuart and he's nothing more than a foster kid, that's what he created for himself to make him feel safe. And we need to respect his way of healing."
Everyone's gaze falls to the floor and she smiles at them. "The brain is still a mysterious thing. There is a possibility he'll regain his memories, but we don't want to push him to that point. Just take heart that he's here, he's alive, and he's in one piece."
She's looking at the Sheriff when she says that.
Because Scott knows, whatever he's feeling, whatever the whirlwind of torment, frustration, guilt, and elation he's feeling, it probably doesn't hold a candle to a man who cannot celebrate the return of his son. "He has a service dog," the Sheriff fills the silence with and everyone looks at him, appalled.
"What?" Scott asks, panicked. "What for?"
"He wouldn't say – said it was personal." The Sheriff's voice is soft. "But it looked like he was fine. Totally normal. He even said the name on his fake ID was Miguel."
There's a snort from the corner of the room and everyone stares at Derek. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes crinkle in a soft way that Derek usually feels the urge to hide.
"Are you sure it's him?" Deaton asks suddenly. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask – are you sure it's him? Are you sure it's not someone who happens to look like him? I apologize Sheriff, but I have to ask. Grief does strange things."
The only thing that the Sheriff seems to want to do is take out his gun and pistol whip the vet. Scott isn't entirely sure which side he's on.
But the Sheriff doesn't. Instead, his hands twitch at his sides and he sighs. "His service dog's name is Claudia," he says through gritted teeth and Scott stills in a way that he's unsure of how to get out of.
Because this is real. This is totally real.
As much as he didn't want to say anything, he was afraid. Afraid that the Sheriff was projecting, afraid that this really was a kid named Stuart with the unfortunate genetics that looked similarly to Stiles, who just so happened to come across a traumatized and grieving father.
But this is real.
"And if that isn't enough to convince you," the Sheriff snaps venomously. "We ran his dental records from the foster care system across Stiles and they were an exact match. This is, medically, my son."
Deaton, who's stony visage didn't change (although Scott isn't quite sure what it would take to get extreme emotion out of the vet), stands straighter. "Alright then. Then I have some work that I have to do."
Scott stands, simply because his pull to unify and comfort those around him is strong. He has to push his terrified thoughts out of his head and instead focus on the prying eyes of those of his pack. "We can do this," he starts off, his voice unsteady. He takes a breath to calm himself down. "Because he's back and he's alive. And we have each other. We can do this. Just be careful what you say around him," he eyes Malia at his comment. "And make sure that one of us is the first person to interact with him when he gets to school. We have to make sure we're his first friends. Other people could do more damage."
"I'm sure you can do that, Scott," Melissa says with a soft smile. "You two have been inseparable since you were five. Something like that doesn't just go away."
"Except for the past year," Scott mutters, his eyes down cast.
His mom reaches over, grabs his hand, and intertwines their fingers. She doesn't respond to his comment, but he knows that she's trying to comfort him. It helps, sort of. Not in that he totally believes her, but that it's nice to have his mother there.
"We can do this." He states again, mainly for himself. "We can."
XXX
After the horrible and wonderful meeting at the Sheriff's house, Lydia decides that there's nothing more that she wants than some ice cream. She needs to mentally prepare herself for Monday and whatever that day will bring. To be honest, she isn't even sure she can handle it.
Because she moved on.
Well, 'moved on.'
She took everything that reminded her of Stiles – the notes he used to write her in class, asking her if she thought someone was supernatural or if she's won a Field's Medal already, the flannel shirt he accidentally left at her house after an all-nighter of researching, the earrings he gave her a few Christmas' ago that slowly became her favorite pair, the drawing he made for her instead of doing his Econ homework, and so many other small items – put them in a box, duct-taped said box, and shoved it on the top shelf of her closet. She knew, logically, that the healthy thing to do was throw everything away, burn it, so she'd never succumb to weakness and stare at the items while the hole in her chest reopened. But she wasn't strong enough for that.
Because, as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't ignore his presence in her life any more than she could ignore the fact that she was a Banshee. And trying to forget him would be stupid and unsuccessful.
It didn't take a genius to figure that one out.
Which is why she stands in front of the ice cream section at the grocery store, debating the merits of chocolate versus strawberry, thinking about the hidden box in the top of her closet.
"Claudia, need I remind you that you are still working, you stupid, wonderful spaz!"
Lydia freezes.
Because she knows. She knows exactly what she's going to see when she turns to look at the source of the voice. She knows who she'll see. But she thought she had all weekend to prepare. She needed retail and ice-cream therapy to prepare.
Weakness gets the better of her and Lydia turns her head to see the tall teen struggling to maintain his grocery cart and the antsy dog at his side. The sight of him takes her breath away.
And suddenly she'd furious for Deaton ever questioning the Sheriff if it really was his son.
Because ofcourse it's him.
Stiles wraps the leash around his hand a few times, glaring at the mischievous dog as she leads him further down the aisle. He's taller – or maybe her imagination is playing tricks on her – and broader. It's strange, but he's not wearing flannel at all. Just a simple white t-shirt and some blue jeans, fitting him unlike the baggy mess he used to wear to high school. There are a few more lines on his face than she remembers, but there's an air of cool maturity that she doesn't recognize.
She is so fucked.
Then a cold nose is pressing itself against her leg and she yelps, torn from her stupor.
"Oh my God." Stiles breathes, exactly the way he used to say it – full of dramatics and life. "I am so sorry. Would you believe me if I said that she is a professional? And not," he casts a dark look at the dog who simply looks like she doesn't care at all what he thinks. "Supposed to be harassing beautiful redheads in the grocery store?"
That sentence is enough to take her breath away right there.
Stiles must take her silence as annoyance, because he laughs nervously. "I guess redhead is probably not the right color. I'd say you're more of a strawberry blonde."
Lydia chokes, nearly dropping the basket in her hand.
Stiles looks mortified. "Oh God, sorry! I have this talking thing. I'm still trying to adjust to my medication. My doctors said I took to it surprisingly well for someone who's not taken Adderall before, but clearly it's not working fast enough because I am a Grade-A idiot." He seems to realize what he's said. "Shit! Wow, good job Stuart, telling some random person that you're on medication. That's a good way to make sure no one ever talks to you in the town." He brings his eyes to the ground. "First to the Sheriff, now to this person," he glares at Claudia, who's lying happily at his feet. "Oh, how I hate you."
"Lydia," she says suddenly, drawing Stiles out of his circle of self-loathing.
"Huh?"
"My name is Lydia. And my hair is strawberry blonde." She says with a smile.
This is why high school exists. To practice pretending to be fine to people when you really are not.
She holds out a hand and Stiles stares at it suspiciously. "Wow," he says with a shrug after a moment and takes her hand. "Everyone in this town is like, crazy friendly. I'm pretty sure if I behaved this way anywhere else, they would've locked me up because of all the weirdness."
Lydia laughs easily and that scares her. "You'd be surprised at the amount of weirdness we see in this town."
"You don't say?" Stiles beams at her and it almost takes her breath away. "Well then, it looks like I've finally found my people."
"It looks like you have."
One sentence and her chest aches.
She can see him eyeing his grocery list, but she's not ready for this interaction to be finished. "Are you new?" She asks before she can help herself.
"What – oh, yeah!" Stiles jerks from his intent speculation of the groceries he still needed. She peeks at it and it's exactly the same. Stiles did most of the grocery shopping in his house, seeing as he cooked the most, and Lydia remembers making fun of him for it. It's color-coded and written in a weird shorthand that she's positive only he understands. And here it is again. "I just moved here. I'm starting as a senior on Monday."
"You don't say," Lydia says with a plastered grin. "I happen to be a senior at Beacon Hills myself."
"Brethren!" Stiles exclaims, whipping his hands up and dropping Claudia's leash. She doesn't do anything – she seems perfectly content lying in between the two of them.
Lydia can't help it. Against her instincts, she laughs.
"So, at least you'll recognize one face at the school."
"Trust me, it's a face I'm not soon to forget." He says with a grin.
Lydia claims the tingling she's feeling is due to the fact she's been standing in the freezer aisle with a dress on.
"Well, see you on Monday, Lydia." Stiles says with a flourish. "Hopefully my dog will leave you alone."
"I hope she doesn't," Lydia finds herself saying without being able to stop it.
Then she doesn't regret it because Stiles gives her a smile that seems to stretch his face, simply to make room for more excitement. "Well then," he says. "Maybe I won't be so hard on her next time."
He pushes his cart farther down the aisle, Claudia hopping on his side. Lydia stares after him, smiling when he turns one final time to smile at her, as if he isn't sure if that actually just happened. Lydia watches him leave – for research purposes only, of course – and frowns. He sort of limps as he walks away, tilting a little to the right.
She shakes her head. She has to be imagining it.
She grabs two choices and checks out, turning her car on in a flourish. But she doesn't go home. She drives a familiar road, stopping when she reaches the McCall house. Lydia found herself taking refuge in this house more than she cared to admit. Ms. McCall isn't even surprised when she opens the door to the redhead. "He's in the living room." Is all she says.
Lydia rushes into the living room, clutching the plastic bags filled with ice cream. Scott is slumped on the couch, staring at the television, but Lydia knows he wouldn't be able to tell her what he's watching if she asked. He straightens when he catches sight of her, tracking the bags in her hands to her distressed posture. He waits.
"I just saw Stiles in the store." She states, her voice catching.
Scott's eyes widen. Then he controls himself and jumps off the couch. "I'll get the spoons, you put on the Notebook."
If you asked Lydia a couple years ago if she would be close friends with Scott McCall, she would've asked who that was.
Funny how life is.
XXX
The pack arrives at school an hour early. Scott arrives with his hands filled with bags, setting them down on the picnic table they strategically placed themselves at; it's in the front of the courtyard where they can see everyone, but close enough so they can rush to Stiles if they need to. Scott pulls out the aluminum foil-wrapped plates and set them in front of everyone. "My mom cooks when she's stressed out, so she made us breakfast, " he says with a shrug. "We're here super early, so we may as well eat."
No one moves to serve themselves and Scott sighs. "Guys, we have to be normal. Stiles will notice if we're freaking out."
"How are we going about this anyway?" Liam asks, taking Scott's speech as approval to start eating. Scott thought that accidentally turning a freshman would be the worst thing he ever did – sure, it was difficult to handle the kid without Stiles constantly telling him what to do and he stumbled more often than he cared to admit – but he was alright. He was kinda like the little brother Scott always wanted, but more angry. He grabs some eggs off a plate and a fork. "We can't just tell him to sit with us, that'd be weird."
"Well, we kinda got lucky Lydia ran into him at the store," Scott says with a wince, trying to shoot her an apologetic look as she stares at the food before her. "We kinda can now, since she's the only person he knows. And knowing Stiles, he probably was more than smitten."
"He doesn't even know who I am, Scott," she says quietly.
"We never forget our first love," Scott states before he can stop himself, his eyes falling to the table. "It's engrained within you. Like a tattoo." He looks at the bands at his arm, shaking the thoughts of Allison from his mind.
"What if he's weird?" Malia asks with a mouthful of food. "What if he's changed?"
"He hasn't." Lydia states, a little harder than she intended. "It's him."
Scott isn't sure which would be worse.
People start to filter in, students casting looks at the group of them quietly eating breakfast. They mutter things as they pass because of course it's already got through the school that Stiles is back and doesn't remember who he is. Scott is annoyed, but he figures it's for the best because maybe people will act around him in a bit of discretion.
Then, Scott freezes.
Stiles is walking across the school courtyard, one hand on a dog's harness and the other shouldering his backpack. He's laughing in a carefree way that Scott hadn't seen him do long before he was taken by the Calaveras. His walk is a little off kilter – well, more off kilter than usual – which makes Scott frown. But that's not the most disconcerting thing.
The most disconcerting this is that someone is talking with him. How did their plan fail so quickly?
Scott lets out a breath when he realizes the person is Danny, possibly the best person outside of their group he could've stumbled upon. When Danny revealed he knew about the supernatural, Scott panicked for days. But he'd become incredibly helpful, especially in Stiles' absence with computer hacking and other things they needed. Most of all, he was a calming source to them all, keeping them grounded when they lost it a bit.
Humans are important.
Danny leads Stiles over to the group of them. The relief must be apparent on Scott's face because Danny's eyes crinkle with amusement when he reaches them. "These are my friends," he says, waving his arms to introduce them. Everyone stills and Scott can tell that they're probably looking at Stiles in a way that so does not scream subtle, but there's really nothing he can do about it when he's certain he's looking at the teen the same way. Because he looks exactly the same.
Maybe a few more lines are around his eyes and he gained some muscle, but this is Stiles.
And he's looking at them as if he's trying to decide whether to laugh or run for his life.
God, this was a mess.
"That's Scott, Kira, Liam, Malia, and Lydia."
"Oh, I know Lydia, we go way back," Stiles says with a smirk, winking at her. Scott can't help it – he laughs. He laughs in a way he hadn't laughed in a while because that is an action that is so inherently Stiles, it makes him want to cry. He looks at Scott sheepishly, but grins in the end.
Lydia rolls her eyes.
Danny, however, is confused. Stiles points down to his dog. "Claudia thought it was a good idea that I made a friend before school started and invaded her personal space like a creeper. But it worked out in the long run."
"How does it feel to be back in Beacon Hills?" Malia blurts out and Scott shuts his eyes with exasperation.
"Back?" Stiles repeats, frowning. "Sorry, I've never been here before."
"Ow! Lydia, why did you kick me?" Malia growls.
Lydia glares at her.
Scott sighs. This is going great.
"Sorry about that, they're in a fight." Scott lies, although it could be considered somewhat true. The two tolerated each other, at best. He stands, putting his hand out. "Nice to meet you…?"
"Stuart." Stiles says with a smile, taking his hand. He frowns once he does, shaking his head sheepishly. "Are you sure that this town is named Beacon Hills and not Déjà vu Central? 'Cus I got some serious problems, I nearly got arrested for gaping at the Sheriff like a moron." He chuckles. Stiles lets go of Scott's hand once he realized they were still shaking. "Dude, sorry. This place has got me all mixed up for some reason. I swear I'm a normal person."
Somebody snorts and Scott throws a glare over his shoulder.
"Would you believe me if I said that I'm much better than my first impression?" Stiles laughs. "I'm like a wine – it takes a while for me to taste good or whatever." He scrunches his face up. "No, wait, that wasn't what I meant. No tasting. There will be no tasting of Stuart in any capacity. Wait… I don't want to go out, giving ultimatums—"
Scott bursts out laughing, clapping a hand on his back. "Don't worry, we're used to it. Had a friend once like you," he states before he can stop himself. His grin falters. "I mean, you'll fit in here just fine."
Stiles smiles at that. "Thank God this town is filled with a bunch of weirdos." He mutters, shaking his head. "But the tasting thing probably should be off limits since it's illegal and all."
Scott knows she's going to say something before she even does. "It's illegal to have sex with you?" Malia asks.
Stiles chokes on air. "Yes, because I am very dangerous." He laughs. "No, it's the whole ward of the state thing. When you're in the foster system, it's a rule. A rule most people ignore, but seeing as I don't want to lose my home, I should probably follow it." He leans closer to Scott like he used to, but not bothering to keep his voice low. "Who knew the government is the biggest cockblock of all time, amirite?"
All Scott can do is laugh when Stiles realizes what he's said. "Wow, I am literally the worst!" He exclaims. "I don't even know you guys and I'm talking about how the government cockblocks me. You'd think I'd be too embarrassed to function, but I'm maxed out!" Stiles groans, rubbing his hands down his chest. "Sorry dude, you have a nice face. Uh – what I mean is that it's trustworthy? God, shut up Stuart," he grumbles.
"Nah, dude, it's fine." Scott says with a genuine smile. He wants Stiles to keep talking like this. He wants him to trust him in this way. "Makes for an interesting morning. What's your class schedule like?"
Stiles frowns at him. "Either you guys are the nicest people on the planet or my face is much more adorable than I ever gave it credit for."
"Definitely your face."
"Why I ever question my looks and charm – I'll never know." Stiles laughs. He pulls a schedule out of his pocket and shows it to Scott.
Scott breathes easily. "We have English together first period. Why don't I walk you there and show you around?"
"Really?" Stiles asks, eyes shining. "Bro, you're the best! And here I thought I'd be forced to sit in the bathroom and eat by myself after scaring everyone off!" He fist pumps in the air.
"Why don't you have P.E.?" Scott asks, frowning at the schedule. They have everything the same except this one class. "Isn't it required?"
"Medical problem," Stiles says with a shrug. "I have a waiver."
"A waiver?" Scott asks.
He must notice Scott's gaze fall onto Claudia, because Stiles says, "Not her problem to deal with. If that was the case, the poor dog would be overworked. She can't help me with everything." He says with a grin, but Scott can tell he's entirely uncomfortable.
A bell rings across the courtyard and everyone looks up. "Class?" Stiles asks, eyeing Scott like he's not sure if the teen was being serious.
"Class." Scott states, motioning Stiles to follow him.
Stiles calls, "Nice to meet you all!" behind his shoulder as they leave, the two walking away.
Scott tries not to space out over the fact that his best friend is standing next to him, chatting his ear off in a way that he's missed. Even though he feels like it's invading his privacy, Scott tries to sniff the air around him, desperately trying to pinpoint what would cause him to need the dog at his side. But he doesn't smell sick. All he smells is a bit of metal as he walks down the hall.
"Dude, everyone's staring at us," Stiles says as they make their way through the hall. Scott groans because, well, it's not subtle in the slightest. "Are you like, 'the popular kid' in school or something?"
Thank God that's where his mind went. "I'm captain of the Lacrosse team, which is sorta the equivalent of football around here. It's a big deal."
Stiles whistles. "Then what are you doing hanging around a weirdo like me? Should you be like, making out with some hottie in the corner or signing autographs? I am legally not allowed to get any – let me live vicariously through you, dude!"
Scott snorts. It's almost frightening how quickly the two fall back into line. It's easy as it ever was to talk to Stiles. He thought he had to look after the rest of his pack, making sure they didn't do anything stupid.
He really should be looking after himself. "I think you are giving me more credit that I deserve," he settles on, glaring at people who are staring at them.
"Clearly not, seeing as everyone just looks at you in awe."
They're really looking at Stiles, but Scott's not going to point this out. "You should try out for the team," Scott says. "Then they could all get up in your business."
Stiles bursts out laughing. "I don't think people 'getting up in my business' is a good thing, buddy. Besides, I can't do P.E., I'm not going to be able to play competitive lacrosse. I've never played before so I'd just be an embarrassment."
Scott frowns. "Lydia has a thing for lacrosse players," he tries because he's shooting in the dark at this point.
Stiles looks over at him, appalled. "Government cockblock, dude!" is all he manages.
Scott has to laugh. "What?" He asks innocently.
"I already have a government cockblock, there's no point in tempting. I'm only human, you know."
Scott shudders with how much he knows this fact. They stop in front of their English class, Stiles frowning. "You're easy to talk to," he says suddenly.
Scott stares. "I've been told," he blurts out for lack of anything else to say.
"It's weird," Stiles continues and he gets this look in his eyes like he's trying to figure everything out. Scott holds his breath, unsure of what's coming next when Stiles shrugs. "But a good weird. Thanks for showing me around."
"Anytime," Scott breathes. "Seriously. Being new sucks."
Stiles smiles. "So far it hasn't been too bad."
A/N: I swearthere's a plot in here somewhere. I just get distracted by feelings. ALL OF THE FEELINGS.
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