A/N: Yes, I know, I've been away for a while. Don't worry, I'm still writing, I just have other things to take care of before I can sit back and relax with my writing.
Enjoy!
"Welcome home dude!"
Stiles is greeted by his best friend pulling open the door to his house, the house he's been longing for for almost a year. It's been nine months since he's last seen the off-white walls of his living room, the faded, light brown couches with the old floral throw pillows that his mother had gotten so many years ago and they could never bear to throw them away. He's glad to see that there's not a single alcohol bottle in sight but he's afraid to see the condition of the alcohol cabinet.
"We made up the downstairs so it looks almost like your room upstairs. I mean, we didn't paint the walls or put up your posters down here but we did get your bedding and clothes and computer and desk down here."
Stiles is wheeled, because he's in a wheelchair, into the house by his father and he takes a moment to just look at everything as much as his vision will allow. For some reason, it doesn't quite feel real yet. It probably won't feel real until he's had a chance to touch everything, to feel that it's solid and not a figment of his imagination or a hallucination.
The rest of the pack that hadn't been able to go to Utah to see him is there, standing in the living room in varying degrees of discomfort (Jackson) to eagerness (Isaac). Lydia, Allison, and Peter are there too. There's little fanfare as loud noises and lots of people too close still have Stiles falling back into fear and panic and really, what is there to celebrate? Stiles looks horrible, feels horrible, and will probably stay horrible for a long time, possibly the rest of his life. This isn't a happy thing, just a relieving moment of being home.
"Do you want to see everyone or get comfortable in your room first?" his dad asks.
Stiles hesitates before, "Pack."
He watches as Lydia and Allison's eyes widen and even Peter looks a little frazzled, his eyebrows scrunching a little and his eyes focusing hard on him.
"Alright bud, sounds good. Let me talk to them real quick while Derek gets you situated in the living room."
His dad walks around him and Derek takes over the controls, wheeling him past the three waiting people and to the couch. He still can't lift himself so Derek easily scoops up his thin frame from the chair and deposits him softly into the cushions of the arm chair next to the sofa. He can hear his father talking even from this distance.
"These three words so far have been identified as trigger words. Under no circumstances can you say them. These situations are also triggers. Be quiet, don't move too quickly, and don't try to touch him too much unless he reaches for you first. He can't talk very well nor can he move. Don't ask him about his condition or what he went through. If he doesn't answer you then move on, if he does don't comment on his voice. And don't stare."
All three of them, even Peter, nod solemnly and follow his father into the living room after reading through the piece of paper that he hands them that must contain the things that have so far triggered panic attacks, black outs, outbursts, or other fear and panic induced reactions. Stiles can practically smell the pity coming off of Allison but Lydia strides right up, slowly though and without aggression, and seats herself on the sofa cushion closest to him, Allison taking up the middle cushion and Peter on the farthest cushion. They're all looking at him but he's grateful they aren't staring like his father had said.
"Stiles, let me tell you, it's been boring at school without you. I managed to keep your make up assignments in a very well put together order so that you can catch up to me once you're feeling better." Lydia says as if it's a normal day about a normal subject and it makes the anxiety in his chest ease.
It surprises Stiles when it's Peter who talks next, "Derek and Scott have been insufferable this past year, do try and leash them a bit now that you're back."
It makes Stiles want to smile at the small growl that Derek gives at his side but all it does is float right through him. So, he just turns his gaze to Peter, nods, and moves it away again, not sure what else he can do. It'd make them uncomfortable if he were to look at them for very long with his blank eyes.
Allison clears her throat and Stiles pretends he doesn't notice the strain and hidden tears as she says, "My dad wants me to tell you that he's available whenever if you need him for anything, anything at all. We're also glad that you're back."
It's by far the most awkward first words he's gotten but it's to be expected. He nods again at her in acknowledgement.
"We heard you lost those bastards at the state line, good thinking. Definitely the same Stiles we know and love." Peter smiles and winks.
The word 'love' has Stiles' gaze locking on Peter who falters for a second before the smile becomes more real, something he'd probably never seen on the man before. He holds up his hand towards the man, wanting to make sure that these really are the people he knows and loves. That he's not just looking at and listening to empty air. Peter slowly, gently, scoots off the couch in a crouch and walks towards Stiles who puts the damaged fingers of his right hand against the sparsely stubbled cheek and breathes a sigh of relief when it's solid and real beneath his fingertips.
Then he turns to Allison and reaches out. She scoots forward much the same and the dimples in her smile are definitely real. Then it's Lydia, who's the closest and he presses his palm against her cheek and finally that cool façade is broken and she looks devastated as he feels the warm apple of her cheek, so much plusher than those of the ones who'd hurt him before.
"I missed you." He says, his gaze going over them.
Allison gives a small hiccup and then she's crying. "We missed you too, Stiles, so, so much. We were so happy and relieved when they called and said they found you."
"It's good to have you bad." Peter says in a voice so quiet Stiles probably wouldn't have heard it before he lost his sight.
Lydia doesn't say anything, just presses her fingers against the ones still on her face and Stiles can feel the warm wetness of tears even with his burned off fingertips.
"Ok kids and Peter, I think it's time for Stiles to get some rest. You can see him tomorrow once he's rested and not fresh from the hospital." His father ushers them out and they go with reluctance, Lydia holding on until the last second before his fingers slip away.
Everyone says their goodbyes except Derek and his father, even Scott needing to go home and get some sleep. Once they're all out the door his father comes back out and claps Derek on the shoulder.
"Thanks for taking care of my son kiddo. Let's get him to his room and I'll start dinner for the two of us."
"Unless Stiles wants to join us?" Derek asks, looking at Stiles who shakes his head. "Alright then. I'll join you for dinner once he's resting." Derek says and scoops Stiles into his gentle arms and carries him to the downstairs bedroom without fuss.
As Stiles is laid down on the bed his hand grips Derek's shirt and he mutters, "Sorry."
Derek's face goes soft and he shakes his head, holding onto Stiles' hand, "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. Me, your dad, the pack, we're all here because we love you and want you to get better, not because we think we have to. All you need to worry about is getting better, ok?"
Stiles shakes his head and says, "You won't," quietly before turning away from Derek, pulling his grasp from his hand.
Derek thankfully doesn't push it and just takes a seat in the comfy chair that had also been put in the room when it'd been made into his temporary bedroom. His presence is a comfort and when he picks up a book from the shelf next to him the sound of the turning pages allows him to relax further and slip into sleep.
A/N: I don't know when I'll post next but I promise I will continue writing. I'm determined to finish this fic. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
~hearts~
