Hey lovelies!

So, I have to say that I am a right idiot and a couple people pointed out my ridiculous math in the prologue. I swear I'm not a moron, I meant to write 'minutes,' not 'seconds.' I need to go and fix it because whoopsidoodle. *facepalm*

I really appreciate your lovely notes and comments – so much love! Like I said, there isa plot here somewhere (I may take some creative liberties on the whole dead pool idea and fashion it to my own thing), but I was just like, "FEELINGS RELATIONSHIPS LALALALALALAL!"

Here we go!

Chapter 2

Of Dogs and Men

"Okay, I thought it was you, dude, but I'm reevaluating that statement." Stiles says as he sets his tray next to Scott like it was a perfectly normal thing to be doing for someone he just met. Scott couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his face from that action. "Because, I don't want you to think I'm totally self-involved, but I think they're all staring at me."

Stiles turns around as if to prove a point and people quick turn their heads like they weren't conspicuously gaping at him moments before. Scott groans quietly, wishing he could somehow convey to the entire school that they are making matters five million times worse with all their staring. But, unfortunately, there was no one expression that correctly depicted this frustration, so he settled on ignoring them.

Stiles shuffles a little uncomfortably under their gazes, scooting to the end of the bench so that he could settle Claudia next to him, who promptly collapses at his feet. She army-crawls a way under the bench so that only her tail is sticking out. He gazes, puzzled, at those around him and everyone at the table looks to Scott.

"They already think I'm a total freak," Stiles groans, running his hands down his face. "I actually think that's a World Record for how quickly someone has been made an outcast. Someone should check it. Seriously, Google that shit. Someone, get out your phone and check what the Guinness World Record is."

"You're being ridiculous," Lydia snorts casually, as if she's talking directly to the old Stiles, and not carefully to 'Stuart.' She seems to realize this the same moment Scott does because she catches his gaze and sighs. "You're new. People stare. Get over it."

"Oh, get over it! Get over it," Stiles moans, rolling his eyes at her. "Why didn't I ever think of that? Just get over it, wow I'm all better now. Thanks for that wonderful advice. I'll just pocket that in the part of my brain for future reference."

"Don't be such a drama queen," Lydia huffs. "You know I'm right. I'm always right."

"Listen, lady, there's no way I would have prior knowledge of that," Stiles says, waving his fork at her, luckily missing the way her face falls as he does so. "But I do have a feeling that you aren't the kind of person who is wrong often." He shrugs. "But is it really the new kid thing? Because this must be the most boring town ever if some random person is so incredibly interesting to you all."

Nobody responds to that.

"Yup, it must be the freak status, then." He grumbles, poking at his food. "Freak status because of the dog. First the government cockblocks me and now Claudia makes me the freak of the school. It's like the Universe wants to dampen my quest to have any game whatsoever."

"I think you think the Universe cares a lot more for you than it actually does," Malia says, not even looking at him. "You're probably pretty insignificant on the scale of things."

Stiles looks at her, a relatively startled expression on his face.

"Malia!" Scott hisses.

"Naw, bro, it's okay." Stiles says, his expression changing to impressed. "It's good to have a metaphorical kick to the balls every once and a while to keep you humble."

He takes his sandwich from his tray and starts eating contentedly. He notices that no one else is talking and he looks up from his food. "Aren't you guys, like, friends? Shouldn't you be talking or something?"

This is going so terribly. Scott groans, taking a bite of his lunch in hopes that no one will make him talk first. But no one seems to be taking his lead. Than someone approaches.

Thank God for Danny.

Danny pushes his way onto the bench, seating himself across from Stiles with a casual smile. Scott marvels at how much better he is at this than everyone else. Danny smiles warmly at Stiles, asking, "So, how's your first couple classes, man?"

"Good! Besides everyone staring at me like I'm a sideshow, they're fine." He frowns. "Are the teachers used to working with kids with ADHD? Because I started to get a little ranty and they easily got me back on course. I mean, I had foster parents who couldn't do that."

Danny peeks at Scott out of the corner of his eye, but he's good at remaining composed. "Probably just experience with it in the past. Are you thinking about trying out for lacrosse? Tryouts are in a couple days."

Stiles shakes his head. "Naw, I can't do it. Never played before either." His tone suggests that he no longer wants to be on this topic. Instead, he reaches over to Danny's plate and grabs a handful of curly fries and shoves them into his mouth. Danny looks shocked for only a moment, but then his expression melts into something fond.

It's like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, it's just engrained within him.

Danny, once again the hero, breaks the impending awkward silence. "By the way, Scott, I looked over the hard drive that you wanted me to. I couldn't quite get the connection between everything, but here are the documents."

Danny shuffles through his backpack, unveiling some papers and handing them over.

Scott completely forgot that he'd asked Danny to do that. Stiles had not only interrupted his life, but also his focus. A few days before Stiles stumbled into the Police Department, Scott had been hearing about some disturbances in the peace around Beacon Hills. Ever since Stiles disappeared, the city had remained relatively supernaturally quiet – save for a few roaming Omegas that had stumbled upon the territory accidentally. But as for people trying to destroy everyone – they remained absent. It was nice.

That was, of course, until about a month ago.

It started small at first. Animals were dying at an unusual frequency in the forest – but due to traps and other man-made things. Seeing as it was out of hunting season, the Sheriff had asked Scott to come along one of his drives and see if he could sense anything.

He couldn't.

Which, of course, was all the more suspicious. Because even if someone had accidentally done it, there would be something. And the lack of something made Scott sigh, knowing that someone was covering up that something, but he wasn't sure what it was. Of course.

Because asking for a normal Senior year would be too much.

So, he enlisted the help of Danny, seeing if there were any unusual correspondences going across the school network, to narrow down at least the students. There were a few outliers, which only made everyone more on edge. Then Stiles came.

Scott may not have a knack for putting pieces together like Stiles did, but he wasn't an idiot. This wasn't a coincidence in the slightest. He didn't know what it was yet, but it certainly wasn't anything good – past has proven that as much.

But as Danny reaches across the table to Scott, a hand swipes the papers from his grasp. Stiles takes them without an cursory request, staring at them intently. "Have some problem with network blocking, do we?" He asks, trying to get his straw without looking and failing miserably. "These encrypted passwords seem to be connected. Have you ever thought about doing a puzzle board for it?"

He finally realizes that everyone is staring at him and freezes.

"Oh God, I am so rude," he groans. "I don't know what's come over me in this town, I swear I'm not usually this bad. I don't know what's come over me." But his eyes still focus on the papers in front of him, like he can't help but stare. "But I'm right, you know. You need a good, old fashioned cork board and you need to connect the dots if you want to get anywhere with this."

Scott takes them from Stiles once he pitifully hands them over, his eyes still tracking the words as they pass between their hands. Scott wonders if it would be a good idea to even involve him in any of this, or if his best friend would be happier outside of it. He's not sure if he could even keep Stiles from it, even with his memories gone.

"If you want, you could come over to my house after school. We could go over some of our Chemistry homework and you could help me with all of this?" Scott says, trying to hide the intense amount of hope in his voice. "I could catch you up on some of the other stuff too." He says with a shrug that he hopes is casual. By the look on Danny's face, it's probably not.

Stiles hesitates and Scott tries not to take it too personally.

"Yeah, it's okay," Scott starts, staring at Kira in an attempt to hide his disappointment. "I mean, we—"

"I have to bring Claudia," Stiles says with a wince. "Sorry. I know a bunch of people don't like dogs and have problems with them, but I need her—"

"Dude, we are dog people!" Scott exclaims. Everyone at the table bursts into laughter and poor Stiles is staring at them like he missed the incredibly funny (and ironic) punchline. "We are such big dog people, you don't even understand. You can bring her, it's not a big deal at all."

"Oh, okay!" He says cheerfully. "Besides, she'd probably pull a bitch fit and vomit all over my apartment if she was left out. Because you are annoyingly needy like that!" He says loudly to the dog panting at his feet.

Everyone relaxes and Scott widens his eyes to his pack around him. He knew this would be hard. He knew that he would struggle being next to his best friend but not really being next to his best friend, but this was unlike anything he could imagine.

He spent the past fourteen months trying to adjust to the idea that he would never be around Stiles again. That the last thing his brother did for him was die. But now he was back. And honestly?

Scott really wasn't sure how to deal with that.

XXX

"Mom, we're home!" Scott calls, leading Stiles into the foyer. He takes of his shoes one by one, noticing Stiles still next to him. "Everything okay man?" He asks hopefully; maybe something about this house was triggering. Something.

"I-I know this is a weird request, but can I keep my shoes on?" he asks hesitantly, not making any sort of eye contact.

Scott has been asked his fair share of odd things from Stiles, but he has to admit, that one was particularly odd. But he shrugs, trying to pretend he didn't think so. "Yeah, it's no problem at all."

There's some clanging in the kitchen and he can hear his mother sprinting down the hall. Scott grimaces, knowing whatever's going to happen is just gonna happen; he called his mother on the way here, letting her know that Stiles was going to be coming over and to be cool. He's not sure how much she heard over her high pitched yelping.

Now she was clearly not in control of herself as she burst into the hallway, staring at Stiles like she found her own long-lost son. Stiles recoils a bit (there isn't an inch of this gaze that could be described as subtle). She doesn't say anything. Tears dots her eyes and Scott can tell she's about to get really emotional really quickly, and so he hastily says, "Mom. This is Stuart. He's new."

His words seems to break through whatever mental meltdown she's having and she blinks a few times, trying to discreetly wipe her tears from her eyes. "Oh, sorry! I was chopping onions in the kitchen and once I got into onion-free air, it started stinging."

Wow, Scott finally realizes where he gets his horrible lying skills from.

It's clear Stiles doesn't buy it, but he puts a hand out anyway. "Stuart. I just moved here."

"Melissa McCall," she says, her words trembling a bit. "Where'd you move from?"

"Glendale. It's a bit away from L.A." Stiles says. He's approaching Melissa carefully, like she might explode at any second (which to be honest, is probably a good idea). "I just got here a few days ago."

"So you've been in California this entire time?" She asks, a little brokenly.

At first Scott wants to snap at his mom for the comment, and then the weight of her question hits him.

So you've been in California this entire time?

He was here. He was here. He was right under their noses the entire time.

Scott knows his face isn't anything that could be mistaken for neutral.

"Okay, okay," Stiles says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I have to ask because at first I thought it was just a new kid thing. But there is this voice – this voice in the back of my head that tells me once is an event. Twice is a coincidence. But three or more? It's a pattern. It's a pattern that everyone keeps looking at me like I kicked their dog or just cured cancer or something. Not that I'm not appreciative that people are talking to me or whatnot, but seriously," he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "What's going on?"

Scott looks at his mom. He's going to do whatever she thinks is right – he doesn't know nearly enough about the brain to be making executive decisions.

His mother seems to contemplate this moment for a second. Then she sighs. "You look extraordinarily like someone who was lost here a little over a year ago." She states gently.

Half-truth. Scott can deal with that.

Stiles frowns. "The Sheriff's kid? Stiles?" He asks suddenly, Scott's mind reeling.

"Someone told you?" Scott exclaimed, panic mounting. It made no sense. He was with him all day – there's no way that someone could've told him, unless it was during his free period. Scott knew he should've skipped gym.

Stiles looks at him exasperatedly. "No, but it's nice to know that you think I'm an idiot," he says playfully. So much like Stiles that Scott can see her eyes water again. "He hugged me. The Sheriff. When I got to the station, he hugged me. And he kept saying 'Stiles, Stiles.' All I wanted to know was what the hell a Stiles was, but I just put two and two together." Stiles shrugs, his hands gripping Claudia's leash tight enough to make his knuckles white. "I've always been good at finding connections."

That's for damn sure.

Scott doesn't even know why none of them thought he would figure it out. Because, obviously.

Melissa seems unable to form a coherent response, so Scott saves her. "He was taken fourteen months ago. Sorry dude, you just look so much like him. You could practically be twins."

Stiles' frown deepens. "Is that why you offered to help me today? Because I look like some Sheriff's dead kid?"

Scott can't help the wince. Stiles was never one for tact and it seemed that trait transcended memory loss. "He may not be dead," Scott mumbles, unsure of how to respond.

Stiles groans. "He was your best friend." He states, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, which at this point, it probably is. "Yeah, okay," he sighs. "I should probably just go then. It was nice of you to show me around today, but I get it. I'll just let myself out."

"No, wait!" Scott cries, grabbing his arm.

Before he understands what's happening, Stiles has frozen, his eyes locked at where Scott grabbed his wrist. Like he's burned him, Stiles wrenches his hand out of his grasp and with a deadly voice, states, "Do not grab me."

The air is thick and suffocating, the darkness that coated Stiles' voice seeping into the room.

"I-I'm sorry," Scott says, wondering how this got fucked up so exponentially. "I didn't want to freak you out by telling you that you looked like Stiles. But, stay. We still need to do our Chemistry homework and you do need to be caught up on everything else. My mom's making lasagna, which happens to be the best thing in this world. I know it's a little weird, but it won't be a thing, okay? I promise you, it won't be a thing."

Stiles looks at him, his jaw set and stony, eyeing Scott to see if he's somehow expecting a punchline. "Let me ask you one thing first, though," he says, his hand one the door. "Do you want to be friends with me because of me or because I look like your lost best friend?"

Scott gazes at his mom pleadingly, but she doesn't help. "I don't know," he decides honesty is the best way to handle it. "But you're funny and I think we get on easily. I don't want to not be your friend, just because you look like him."

Stiles ponders this for a few minutes and then smiles. "Well, I am hilarious." He says. He closes the door and steps further into the house. "Would it be okay if I let Claudia off of her leash? I understand if you don't want me to, but she's pretty well-behaved."

Melissa seems to breathe much easier once he closes the door. "Yes, we're definitely a dog-friendly household."

Scott snorts, leaving Stiles puzzled. "I feel like I'm missing out on some incredible joke because any mentions of dogs seems to kill with you people."

The two settle into the living room with their homework, a fair amount of tension still present. Scott isn't quite sure how to dissipate it.

But Stiles, as tactless as ever, apparently decides head-on is a good idea. "Was Stiles a good person?" He asks point blank, no apology in his eyes.

"Yeah. Stiles was the best."

Stiles frowns. "And he was lost fourteen months ago?" He asks, his eyes growing distant like they used to when Stiles would start making connections only he could see.

"Yeah."

"When did the investigation stop?"

Scott stares. "Huh?"

"When did the investigation stop and he was declared dead?" He asks.

It was almost shocking how clinical and tasteless he was being, but Scott supposes that was Stiles. If he wanted to know something, at least.

"Seven months ago."

The pencil snaps in Stiles hands.

Stiles shakes his head, his face wiping clean of emotion. But Scott saw that flicker. That flicker of connection that he shoved down within him, replacing it with a stoic calm. "So, Chemistry," he coughs, rummaging through his backpack and bringing out a pen. "Want to get our Stoichiometry on?" He asks with a grin.

"S-Sure," Scott says.

The two work comfortably for a while, Scott only able to laugh when Stiles bursts into rants about the strangest of topics. He used to think that it was annoying – especially when they needed to be focusing on the task at hand – but he realizes now, he missed it more than anything. Because Stoichiometry would not be quite the same without a tangent about the inferiority of denominators and the history of the number one's loneliness.

Scott looks up to see his mother is leaning against the door frame, a slight smile on her face. He isn't sure how long she'd been standing there, staring at them work. He's glad Stiles hadn't noticed because he's certain the teen would just leave.

"Dinner's ready, you two." She says fondly, gesturing to the kitchen.

Stiles peeks up, a highlighter in his mouth. "Awesome!" He says with it still there, mangling the words in an endearing way.

As they exit the living room, Melissa taps Stiles' shoulder lightly. "I want to apologize," she says quietly. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. You just startled me a bit."

"Apparently my presence has that effect on people," Stiles mumbles with a sigh. "But it's okay, I understand. I'm going to get a complex if people keep doing this to me, though."

She laughs and leads him into the kitchen, where the table is set. Stiles hesitates before he sits down, his fingers running along the silverware placed before him. Scott helps himself, handing things to his mom, who's staring at Stiles. He seems to be in his own little world, lost in the food placed before him.

"You okay, dude?" Scott asks.

Stiles whips his head up. "Oh, sorry! Lost in thought there for a moment."

"Everything okay?" Melissa McCall asks softly. "Sti – Stuart?"

Stiles looks at her, thankfully not registering the accidental slip up. "Um, yeah. I'm totally fine. I just haven't had a dinner like this in a while." He shrugs, but it's not nonchalant. "I-I can't remember the last time, actually."

Scott looks at his mom, her face twitching from clearly not showing anything pitiful or familiar. "Would you mind me asking what happened to your parents?"

Stiles looks up, his eyes growing dim. "Uh, they uh, died." He says softly, but Scott detects a sense of uncertainty in them. "I'm sorry, I know it's weird but that's kinda fuzzy. I woke up in the hospital and people were telling me I almost died and that my parents were dead and I just, uh, couldn't remember them for the life of me." Stiles sighs. "I was supposed to get into physical therapy for a while, but they couldn't find any insurance covering it, so instead I became a ward of the state. That's why I don't do P.E. or anything, because as it turns out, being owned by the government doesn't really have any perks." He pokes at his food. "Sorry. That was an overshare."

Melissa frowns and Scott can see the wheels in her head turning. Probably, on her next shift, she's going to try and find the medical records of one Stuart Smith. "Physical therapy? What for?" Stiles only looks at her and she puts her hands up. "I'm a nurse at the local hospital. I'm sure we could work out a pro-Bono situation, especially if you don't have any living family."

"Um, I don't really like talking about it. And it's fine. I make it work." Stiles says with a wink, finally grabbing his fork. But Scott can sense the uncomfortable air around him.

So Scott decides on a different tactic before Stiles vows never to come near them again. "So, Lydia's birthday is coming up," he says, knowing that if he can somehow draw Stiles back, it would be with the promise of Lydia Martin. "It's a big thing around here – Lydia throws these huge parties every year."

Melissa snorts. "If I had a dollar for every teenager that came into the E.R. with a broken nose or cut that needed stitches because of this annual party, I would be able to afford to send you to college."

Scott rolls his eyes at his mother. "Do you wanna go?"

Stiles chokes on his lasagna. "W-Wha..? Me? Why?"

"Because! It'd be fun!"

"Well, duh!" Stiles cries, waving his arms. "But I don't know why she'd want me to go! Claudia basically assaulted her in the grocery store!"

Scott laughs. "I don't think she cares. Lydia's a dog person."

"Yeah, her and every other person in this weird town." Stiles mutters.

The McCalls both chuckle.

Crash.

All three people look up from the dinner table, the sound of glass shattering breaking them from their tension. "Oh God," Melissa breathes, her eyes widening at Scott.

Without thinking, Scott leaps from his seat and sprints out of the room. "Oh God," Stiles says, pushing himself from the table. "I guess… we're running toward the suspicious sounds from the living room?"

And he runs after Scott before Melissa can tell him not to.

When Scott reaches the living room, there's a handful of people dressed in black rummaging around. "Hey!" He shouts, flashing his red eyes without thinking.

They grab a stack of papers from his bag and move to leave. Scott sprints and grabs one by their collar, throwing him across the room.

"What the hell is happening?" Stiles exclaims when he bursts into the room just as Scott has tossed the person easily to the side. "How strong are you?" He cries, flinching when the person slams against the wall.

He's distracted by that action because then there's a person beside him. He punches Stiles so the teen stumbles backwards, falling into the bookshelf tucked in the corner.

"Stiles!" Scott cries without meaning to. He doesn't even try and correct himself, but scampers over to his best friend, who's protectively putting his hands up as books tumble on his head.

Once Scott's distracted, the remaining men jump through the open glass. Scott resists the urge to jump after them, reminding himself sternly that Stiles does not know werewolves exist. Stiles blinks dazedly, pushing a few books aside. "Woah, what happened?"

"You were punched in the face by a robber," Scott states, lifting Stiles' chin up to make sure nothing else happened. "You okay?"

"Nothing hurt other than my pride," Stiles grumbles. "Did I at least look kinda badass when he laid me out in one punch?"

Scott snorts. "Totally. Totally badass."

"You're a shitty liar." Stiles rolls his eyes, shaking his head a few times.

Melissa runs into the room, groaning when she sees the shattered glass on the ground. "Crap. You know this means I'm going to have to call the police." She sighs. "Which means your father will be here."

"Hey!" Stiles exclaims, his face twisting in frustration. "I am not Stiles! Why is this so hard—"

"No, she means me," Scott says with a frown. "She means my father has to come."

Stiles grows quiet. Even without his memories, Scott knows his best friend understands. Understands that this is a topic that can only be discussed in a certain capacity.

Scott sits next to Stiles, leaning against the bookcase. "Sorry about that," Scott says breathily. "Sorry I got you punched in the face."

"I think I have a face that people just like to punch," Stiles says with a smirk. "You know how some people, you look at them and think, 'God, I want to hurt you.' I think I have one of those faces."

Scott can't help but laugh, running his hands down his face. But then he notices Stiles' leg, twisted terribly out of the corner of his eye. "Dude!" He cries, pointing at the misshapen bend from his knee down. "Oh my God, are you okay? Did he break your leg? Holy shit!"

Stiles looks at him, surprised. "Woah, breathe." Stiles says, peering at his leg. As soon as he sees it, he groans. "Oh crap."

Stiles reaches down, rolling his pant leg up.

Once he does, it's like the air leaves the room.

That's why Stiles smelled like metal. He pulls on the metal contraption wrapped around his leg, taking off the harness as he studies the prosthetic before him. "Fuck, they bent the metal!" Stiles exclaims, frowning at the contraption before him. "I can't afford a new one of these!"

Scott looks at his mom, who's eyes are wide as she's stuck mid-dial with the police. "Sweetie," she breathes.

Stiles must feel the eyes on him because his cheeks flush bright red. "Dammit." He curses. "I didn't want anyone to know. I already am a freak with how I talk, but this really pushes it over."

Stiles re-straps his knee into the harness and tries to get up, steadying himself as he does so. He takes a few precautionary steps, stumbling a bit. Scott grabs him before he falls. "Fuck," Stiles breathes. "I'm still getting used to this whole thing, but having dented metal sure doesn't help the whole smooth walking thing."

"Are you okay?" Scott knows his voice is small.

Stiles laughs. "What? Yeah – don't freak out! I don't even remember how it happened. Must've been the car accident or whatever. I don't know. But I'm not the most graceful human being anyway, so this doesn't help my endless charm."

Melissa is finishing up with the police dispatch and turns to the boys. "How about this? We have to stay here to give a statement about everything, and then I'll take Stuart to the hospital to see if we can do anything about that prosthetic."

Stiles frowns. "But, I don't have good enough insurance—"

"Sweetie, it's fine. I'm sure the hospital won't mind helping someone who was just attacked in a robbery."

"What were they trying to get, anyway?" Stiles asks, hobbling over to the couch. Scott looks through his backpack, closing his eyes when he sees what's missing.

"The documents Danny gave me." Scott sighs, tossing the bag to the side with frustration. "They took Danny's research."

"About the network trouble?" Stiles asks. "Why would they be interested in that?"

Scott doesn't even know he could possibly answer that question.

"We have bigger problems in our immediate future." Melissa says, looking at the door as sirens could be heard in the distance. "We're about to host Round Three between Sheriff Stilinski and Agent McCall."

Scott grabs a pillow and groans into it.

A/N: Here we are! I want the problems to be a slow build, so sorry if the pacing seems off. I'm really excited writing them struggling to hide things from Stiles. I figure – Stiles is the one who figures it out mostly and puts the pieces together first, they're gonna have a hard time keeping all the secrets from him, even with memory loss.

Please leave a note if you have the time!