Someone's voice had Stiles drifting into a blur of consciousness. Everything was so white and bright and Stiles knew that above him people were talking. Muffled tones of hushed words and Stiles was seriously starting to think someone was plotting something that maybe he should be a part of.
"Whash're you plottin' er sumthin'?" and that had definitely not sounded the same way in his mind. He must have been drugged; they tended to muck up his ability to do fucking anything.
"Stiles?" his dad asked, too much worry in his voice for Stiles' liking. Why was he worried? I saved Derek. Stiles thought back to the fire; it had been his house that burned down. Stiles hadn't been able to prevent that.
"'m sorry," Stiles wanted to sound sincere, because he did feel really bad about it, but he was so damn tired and the room was too freaking bright. Lifting a hand to rub at his itchy eyes, Stiles gasped. Holy ever living crap did his shoulder hurt. A lot.
"You don't need to apologize," his dad reassured, guiding Stiles' hand back down to the sheets; "You are okay, Stiles. That's all that matters."
"Wuh happen'd?" Stiles grumbled, struggling to sit up; "Where am I?" Yes, Stiles could feel the drugs wearing off and the haze in his mind began to lift. He didn't need his dad to answer, he could see that he was in a hospital, in a bed, and where were his clothes?
"You're in the hospital Stiles," his dad explained patiently; "Do you remember the fire?"
"Yeah," Stiles snapped up, pulling at the bandages on his shoulder and when did he get those? "Oh crap! What about Derek?"
His dad's jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. "Derek Hale? Did he have something to do with the fire?"
Oh yeah. Stiles clamped his mouth shut. Not telling dad about that. "Wait, I think..." Stiles groaned, shifting uncomfortably and laying back in the scratchy sheets; "I think that was a dream."
Relief washed over his father, and Stiles felt like a complete dick. Seriously, he hated lying to his dad, hated seeing the trust in his eyes and knowing that it was misplaced. It made him sick to his stomach. That, or the pain that was starting to throb in his chest. While the meds wearing off meant Stiles could think it also meant he could feel and, shit, his entire body hurt. He shifted and flinched, stifling a grunt.
"Stiles, are you okay?" his dad was on his feet, ready to run out and wave down the nearest medical professional. It made Stiles smile.
"Yeah Dad," his throat hurt; "I'm fine. Just really freaking thirsty." Immediately a cup of water with a long straw was shoved into his hand, the one on the side of his body that didn't look like someone had tried to mummify it. "What are these?" Stiles motioned towards bandages.
The sheriff sank into the chair nearest Stiles' bed, running a hand through his short hair. "There was a torn tendon or rotator cuff or something in your shoulder," he sighed; "They had to put you through surgery to fix it. The doc couldn't figure out how you got it, said something about it happening with a shoulder dislocation. Thought you must have fallen while you were in the fire and messed it up really bad..."
Stiles swallowed, "So, does 'really bad' mean no lacrosse for a couple weeks or...no moving my arm ever again?"
"It means you'll be going physical therapy for a while," his dad crossed his arms, "but it should heal just fine."
Thank God for that. Stiles sagged in relief, his eyes slipping shut. Even though a deep ache had settled in his very core, Stiles relaxed. It was going to be okay. He was so tired. Everything that had happened in the past couple of days had been so exhausting, Stiles was completely drained. He barely even registered his dad draping a blanket over him as Stiles felt sleep tugging at his mind. And before he could have a second thought, Stiles was asleep.
"We go on vacation for two days, and that dumbass does what?" Jackson barked, jerking Stiles from his state of rest, and how long had been out? It was much darker in the room now.
"Look, don't make a big deal out of-" Isaac was trying to keep the peace, and obviously failing.
"Don't tell me what to do Lahey!" Jackson snapped; "He almost got himself killed. Hell, he almost got all of you killed and—you know what? I don't care. The idiot got what he deserved." Stiles felt a jab of something in his chest. Mean Jackson wasn't really new, but Stiles couldn't fight the sting of those words.
"Jackson," Lydia's voice held a quiet scorn that had Jackson deflating, his tail firmly between his legs; "Stiles is a hero." At that Stiles' heart swelled. This was going to be an emotional roller-coaster ride, Stiles could tell.
"That doesn't mean he isn't an idiot," Jackson retorted under his breath and Stiles could practically hear Lydia rolling her eyes.
"Would you two shut up?" Isaac wasn't really asking; "I think he's awake."
"Stiles?" Scott asked to his right and Stiles perked up.
Stiles hadn't realized Scott was in the room. He hadn't realized there were so many people in his room actually. Seriously they were packed in there. Allison clinging to Scott on his right, Lydia and Jackson at his feet, Isaac to his left. But the entire room felt uncomfortably empty when he realized Derek wasn't there.
He looked directly at Isaac, pulling himself into a sitting position; "Is Derek okay?"
Then everyone hesitated. Eyes became transfixed on the floor and lips were being bitten. Well, that probably meant 'no'. Stiles' heart pounded as fear sparked in his veins. Derek had been in pretty bad shape when Stiles had last seen him. When was that again?
"He..." Isaac started, glancing around the room for support and finally Scott offered it.
"We don't know," he almost sounded mad, but Stiles could tell he was just...strained; "We haven't seen him since he brought you here."
"Which I have a question about," Jackson folded his arms, scowling at Stiles. What's his problem? Under the scrutiny, Stiles could feel himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Lydia put a hand on Jackson's shoulder; "Jackson, don't-"
"Why didn't you call someone," the man pressed and it was okay, because Stiles had known it was coming. He just hadn't expected it from Jackson; "Like your useless father or one of these ass hats?"
"He's right Stiles," Scott joined in and the deep ache in Stiles' shoulder was starting to throb into something much more difficult to ignore; "You have Isaac's phone-"
"Um...actually I think I might have dropped it in the fire," Isaac opened his mouth to speak and Stiles hastily added; "while I was running for my life and saving Derek and suffocating." To that, Isaac said nothing, just pouted. Stiles turned back to Scott and shifted, even though he hurt no matter how he was sitting; "And why does it matter anyway? Everything turned out fine-"
"Fine!?" Scott barked; "You call that," he motioned towards Stiles' injury, "fine?!"
"Yes, Scott," Stiles was seriously getting restless. He had been laying in the stupid hospital bed for too long and he needed to get up, the pain only making it worse; "because I'm in the hospital and they fixed it. That's about as fine as an injury can get." He cleared his throat and why was it becoming so hard to talk?
"You told us you were calling the police, Stiles!" Scott yelled and Stiles realized that his head was pounding, just add it to the freaking list; "You lied to me!"
Stiles recoiled, clenching his eyes shut and seething when the too fast motion pulled at his shoulder. Breathing deeply, Stiles willed the pain away and when he opened his eyes again he was surprised to see the anger had wafted from the room. Scott sagged.
"It's just-" he sighed and Allison grabbed his hand tenderly; "I could have—should have been there to help you this time." And oh this was something a lot deeper than Scott had been letting on.
"Look Scott," Stiles glanced down at his hands and saw bandages there, burns probably; "I'm sorry, but calling you guys didn't even, like, occur to me. I was driving so fast and all I could think about was Derek being burned alive and I get that I'm human and you worry that I'll die the moment I'm out of your sight, but I can take care of myself man. I thought you'd get that by now," Stiles shrugged, cursing himself and why, God, had he even thought that was a good idea?
"That's just it though!" Scott snapped, calming when Allison squeezed his hand a little harder. Too hard, maybe. When he spoke again his voice was strained; "You don't take care of yourself. I mean you were running around with a torn whatever in your shoulder and fighting janitors and jumping into burning buildings trying to take care of Derek and it didn't even occur to you that you could have died! Like so many times."
"Yeah it did," Stiles said lowly, not angry just frustrated, because fuck he was starting to really fucking hurt and where were his damn pain meds? "I knew what I was risking. I'm not an idiot," he glared at Jackson and the other man shifted, looking away; "But I was not letting Derek end up like that werewolf under the school. If you had seen it, Scott, we wouldn't be having this, ughnn, talk." Shit, was he sweating? That didn't make sense. He was kind of cold.
"Stiles?" Lydia interrupted, her voice wavering; "Stiles, are you alright? You don't look so good." He was breathing too fast. It hurts. Is it supposed to feel this bad? "I'm not sure..." Lydia responded and had Stiles said that out loud? "Let me get a nurse."
His skin was throbbing, wave after wave of pain crashing over him and Stiles realized there were so many more burns than he'd thought. Up his arms and on his chest and it wasn't his skin that was hurting, just his wounds. Like that made it any better. Everyone was quiet but Stiles' head still pounded.
A nurse sauntered to his side, stopping to fiddle with his IV. He had one of those this whole time? "Did any of you kids touch this?" her voice was quiet, but she was obviously annoyed.
"No," Scott responded first; "Why?"
She huffed. "Someone must have touched it because the drip chamber is closed."
"Meaning?" Jackson was huffy right back and Stiles felt himself smiling.
"Meaning," she quipped testily; "his pain medication hasn't been entering his system, probably for a while now. He's got to be hurting something awful." And just like that pity softened her cross nature. Sliding the plastic end on the drip chamber to 'open', she smiled down at Stiles. "There. Those should be kicking in soon," and God yes if that wasn't the most exciting thing ever. She turned to the others, "Now everybody out! He needs to rest and once those meds hit his system he won't be very good company anyway."
Stiles wanted to tell her that he didn't want them to go, because honestly being alone right now didn't sound very appealing. He had seen that janitor in the hall, mopping the floors and plotting. But he was too tired. The numbing effect of the medication was already sinking in and Stiles felt himself being pulled down. Relishing the absence of pain, Stiles let himself be taken and slipped into a restless, medicated sleep.