Chapter 11 – To Be or Not To Be

The teenagers were all staring at him, and Dave shifted uncomfortably. He had a feeling that the moment he had been dreading had finally arrived, and he had run into people who recognised him.

When he had been in hospital, a nurse who thought herself a comedian had left a DVD of the movie Overboard by his bed. He had been bored enough to watch it, and right now all he could think of was the scene where the heroine set eyes on her husband for the first time since her accident, and all of her memories came rushing back.

This was nothing like that.

There were eight people who were all standing there looking at him as though he should know them, and for all Dave knew they might as well be blank faces on the street. There was no rush of memory, no tinge of familiarity – they were strangers, nothing more.

An olive-skinned boy took a half-step forward, and when he spoke his voice cracked on the word. "Stiles?" he asked.

Dave frowned, confused. "What the hell is a Stiles?"

He might as well have cussed a response, by the boy's reaction. His face crumpled, eyes wide as he swallowed. The boy looked broken, and Dave was torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to get the hell out of dodge before this turned into an episode of This is Your Life.

The boy answered him before he could decide. "It's your name," he explained. "You don't...you don't remember?"

Dave shook his head, licking his lips nervously. He glanced at Dean, begging for rescue with his eyes, and thankfully Dean seemed to get the message.

"He doesn't remember anything," Dean explained in a firm tone, before jangling his keys pointedly. "And he's already decided that he doesn't want to, so there's nothing more to be done here. We're going."

He opened the driver's door decisively and Dave gratefully scurried back a couple of steps and reached for the passenger seat handle. His heart was pounding a little, and he suddenly wished he was back at Bobby's house, sinking into a couch with an ancient book and a bottle of beer.

The door opened, and Dave was about to climb inside when there was a rush of footsteps and a trembling hand on his arm. Dave froze, staring at the hand for a moment before raising his eyes to meet the gaze of the boy who had spoken before.

"Stiles – Dave – please," the boy said desperately, and Dave realised with shock that there were tears in his eyes. "We've been looking for you for months, I thought you were –" he broke off, swallowing, and when he spoke again his voice was small. "I missed you so much, I've been going crazy. And your dad – it's killing him. Please don't go."

Dave hesitated, and this time when he glanced over the roof of the Impala at Dean he was uncertain. Dean seemed to realise his trouble, and shrugged helplessly. "It's your call, Dave," he said gently. "Stay or go, or we can stay in town another night and you can have a think about it, up to you."

"I don't understand," one of the girls spoke up from several yards away. She was gorgeous, all long legs and short brown hair, and Dave almost wished they had met in better circumstances. "Why don't you want to remember?"

"Because," Dave said, then hesitated. "Look, I don't know you. I don't know who I used to be. But I do know that I spent weeks in hospital and needed two separate surgeries because at some point in my old life, someone stabbed me in the stomach. I know that in my old life, someone thought it was a good idea to just dump me at the front of a hospital in a strange town where I didn't know anyone, and then take off."

The strangers' expressions had transformed from shock to horror, but Dave powered on. Maybe they would get the message after all. "You guys are clearly mixed up in something bad, and whoever I used to be, I was in way over my head. I've been given a second chance, and I don't want to screw that up by chasing after something that was obviously more bad than good."

"You know, I was in a similar situation once," said the girl from earlier. Her eyes flickered to an electric blue, and Dave swore loudly as he stumbled backwards in shock.

"It's alright; she's a werewolf," Dean explained calmly.

Dave stared at him. "And you're okay with that?"

"So long as she's in control, which she apparently is, yes."

"Werewolves," Dave huffed. "Okay. Sure. Carry on."

"Actually," the girl continued, "I'm a werecoyote. And my name's Malia, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Dave mumbled automatically. "What did you mean, you've been in a similar situation?"

Malia bit her lip and looked as though she was picking her words when she replied. "When I was eight, my mother and sister died in a car accident. I had an opportunity to run away and put my old life behind me, and I did. For eight years, I lived in the woods as a coyote."

Wait, what? Dave hadn't seen that coming. A curious itch was taking hold of him, and Dave opened his mouth to ask more before catching himself and closing it again. No, he didn't want to get involved with these people.

For the first time, though, Dave wavered, feeling a hint of doubt. When he had first woken up in the hospital and started watching news stories for lack of anything better to do, he had decided that he must have fallen in with the wrong crowd, been attacked by a gang of some sort. Now, though, he had to wonder.

The world was so much more than what he had thought, and maybe this wasn't his first brush with the supernatural. If so, the possibilities of what had happened to him were endless. Granted, something awful must have happened for him to end up in hospital, but he couldn't help but be slightly curious as to what that awful thing consisted of.

Morbid curiosity. Trainwrecks and news reports. Dave wondered sometimes if his mind was as fucked up in his past life as it was now.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Dave realised that Malia was still speaking. "You and Scott, you guys tracked me down and forced me to turn back to being human. I hated you for it, at first. I didn't want to have to face my dad or to deal with what had happened. But you helped me adjust, and eventually I realised that you have to take the bad with the good." She shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable, and Dave wondered if it was normal for her to open up like this. He thought not. "Facing up to my past was the best thing I ever did."

"I'm sorry about your mum and sister," Dave said quietly. Malia managed a small smile. "But it's not the same thing. My memory's gone. It's not coming back. This Stiles guy, he's dead, and you can't expect me to just pretend to be him to make you feel better."

The boy before him opened his mouth, but before he could speak there was a soft clearing of a throat from behind him, and Dave turned. A man in a trench coat was standing there, and his blue eyes were radiating sadness. "Actually, I think I can help with that."

Dave blinked, confused, and Dean spoke up to fill the void. "Dave, this is Cas. Cas, Dave."

"Huh," Dave blurted out. "You're not what I expected. But, uh…good to meet you."

The man blinked wide blue eyes at him, and Dave internally berated himself for his awkwardness. He was saved as Castiel merely nodded at his response and picked up from where he had left off. "I have to confess something, though. I was the one who left you at the hospital after you were wounded."

Dave's mouth was open, he realised, and closed it with a snap. Anger and confusion swirled within him, and he couldn't bring himself to form words, instead letting Dean speak for him.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean spluttered. "What happened?"

Castiel glanced a Dean before turning back to Dave, face solemn. "Several months ago, I caught word that there was a meeting of angels. I couldn't pass up such an opportunity to hear news of my brothers, but I was so far away – I drove day and night trying to make it in time."

"Cas," Dean said softly, brow creased in worry. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"You had bigger demons," Cas brushed off his concern. "And it didn't matter, in the end. I arrived too late. When I came upon the area where the meeting was supposed to be, the angels had been slaughtered, and the grass was covered in bodies."

He looked Dave square in the eye and spoke directly to him. "That's where I found you. You were one of the vessels left behind, and you were dying. At the time, I had no grace and couldn't heal you, so I did the best I could and brought you to hospital."

Dave's mind spun, and suddenly he really wanted to sit down. Resting his back against the Impala, he slid down until his bottom landed on the ground. He felt as though his world was caving in on him, there were entirely too many revelations happening for one day.

Apparently the day wasn't over, though, as Castiel wasn't finished. "Things have changed, though," he said. "I couldn't heal you then, but I can now. I can give you your memories back."

The door stood solid and closed in front of him and Dave gathered his courage, glancing at Bobby's supportive face out of the corner of his eye. After Castiel's offer, Dave had begged off for the afternoon, claiming a spitting headache and a need to think. The werewolves' faces had all twisted with horror, apparently convinced that he was going to run off on them, and for a moment Dave considered it. It would definitely be the easier choice.

The olive-skinned boy – Scott, Dean informed him later – had eventually let him go on the condition they met up later, and had given him this address hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper. Dave wasn't sure that he would have turned up, but that guy had a definite talent for puppy dog eyes that put Sam's to shame, and before he knew what he was doing he was giving his word that he would be there.

Which brought him to now, and Dave couldn't help but regret his decision a little. Even with Bobby, Dean and Sam at his side, not to mention Castiel, he couldn't help but be nervous. He had had a long few months to consider the many possibilities of how his old life could have gone wrong, and now the scenarios danced across his consciousness in a morbid parade.

Taking a deep breath, Dave raised his hand to knock, but the door slid open before he could. "Wow," he blurted out, taking in the spacious loft and wall of windows before him. "This place is amazing."

Scott raised an eyebrow, managing a half-smile in response. "I'll have to get that in writing. Derek will never believe me otherwise."

The sentence made absolutely no sense, but Dave let it slide as Scott gestured him inside, and he stepped inside the room, taking note of the rest of the pack who had fallen silent as his approach. Dean and Bobby had briefed him on who was who back at the motel, so he was relieved to find that he was able to identify them all without difficulty.

Isaac was the first to break the silence. "So, have you decided yet?" he asked bluntly.

"Not yet," Dave responded. Scott's face fell and Lydia looked away, swallowing hard as she focussed on a point on the wall. "There's one thing that I need to know first."

Dave took a deep breath, avoiding everyone's eyes. "Malia said earlier that I need to accept the bad stuff, and she's right. But I need to know that there's some good in there as well. I've done my research on this town, I know what kind of crap happens here. Is it all just murders and disappearances?"

He felt rather than saw Scott ready himself at his side, and when he glanced up he was surprised to see the Latino boy was smiling.

"No, there's good," he said softly. "Don't get me wrong, we've been through some stuff. But you've got your dad, and me, and at the end of the day that's always been enough.

"Your dad's amazing, Stiles, he really is," Scott said, and god help him but Dave wanted to believed him. "He's the town Sheriff and he's damn good at his job, but you always came first. He loves you, and he's been falling apart without you. The two of you are so freaking good together, I used to always be jealous of your relationship when we were kids."

Dean shifted behind him, and Dave knew what he was thinking. He didn't know the full story, but he didn't have to be an expert to realise just how important family was to the Winchester brothers.

Scott seemed to have found his momentum, though, and didn't pause before continuing. "And your family doesn't end with your dad. We might not be blood, but you're my brother, through and through. We've been friends since we were four, we've been through everything together. Hell, we even lived together for a while when we were kids."

"Wait, what?" Liam interrupted, staring at Scott. "Seriously? When was this?"

"Actually, I think I remember that," Lydia mused. "Sixth grade, right?"

"Sixth, seventh, and part of eighth," Scott confirmed. His eyes were distant, and his face lit up with a smile as he recalled the memory. "It was after my parents got divorced, when I finally made it back to Beacon Hills after kicking up enough of a stink that Dad gave back his custody rights. Mum and Stiles' dad were both shift workers, and neither of us were really old enough – or trustworthy enough – to be left home alone for long periods of time. The babysitting costs were crippling both of our families, so eventually Mum and the Sheriff figured something out. They arranged it so that they worked opposing shifts, and we would eat and sleep at whoever's house happened to have a parent home that night."

Kira raised her eyebrows, looking amused. "Your poor mum," she said. "The two of you together twenty-four hours a day? I can see her going completely insane."

Scott laughed in response. "Nah, she was fine. The only reason we stopped in the end was that Stiles' dad was promoted to Sheriff and his hours became more regular. Otherwise that arrangement would probably still be going on, to be honest."

To Dave's surprise, Scott almost sounded wistful, and a part of him ached. Whatever demons his past held, this relationship was clearly an important one to Scott, and he couldn't help but feel slightly jealous that he couldn't remember it.

"There's good in your life, Dave, and you bring so much good to everyone else's as well," Lydia spoke up from the corner, her green eyes shining with a warm light. "I never told you this before, but I still remember the first time we met. We were eight years old, and I had just moved to town. I was terrified that I wouldn't make any friends, because at my last school I had been badly bullied as a nerd. So I decided that I would pretend to be an airhead, so that people would like me."

Dave's eyes widened in surprise. Granted, he barely knew anything about Lydia, but she was beautiful, and gave off an air of poise and confidence. The idea of her being a victim of bullying was unfathomable. Still, she seemed sincere, and her lips twitched in a small smile as she continued her story. "You saw right through me, even back then. I don't think you had even heard of the concept of subtlety, but you managed to catch me when I was alone on the playground, and started spouting all sorts of nonsense about long division until I eventually cracked and started correcting you.

Scott snorted softly from the corner. "No, he definitely wasn't subtle at that age, and he didn't exactly get much better at it as we grew up," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Dave frowned a little, eyeing him. There was a slight change in the mood of the room, and Dave couldn't quite place his finger on it. Where previously it had been fond reminiscing, there was now an edge of…was it grief?

Dave swallowed harshly. Of course it was grief. They had lost a friend of theirs, and it was his fault. He was keeping Stiles from them. But then again, didn't he have a right to exist as himself as well?

Lydia was still talking, and Dave dragged his focus back to her. "You started grinning when I started explaining the maths to you, and suddenly I realised that the whole conversation was a ploy to get me to admit that I knew more than I was letting on. I was so angry with you for seeing right through me that I didn't speak to you for the next eight years."

Lydia laughed, eyes gleaming. "That might had been the worst decision of my life. I was forced to take you to the sophomore formal – don't ask – and you were probably the most courteous date I ever had. That was the beginning of us becoming friends, and our friendship is what eventually caused me to drop the façade altogether. After all, if you could still like me even though I learn languages as a hobby, why should I have to hide that from everyone else? You gave me the confidence to be myself, and for that I'm forever grateful."

She smiled at him, and Dave couldn't help but smile back. His stomach was churning, though, a strange combination of jealousy and fear. A part of him yearned to be able to understand these stories, but although it was slowly receding he couldn't quite shake the fear that had been present ever since he had awoken alone in the hospital. The sincerity in Lydia's voice was clear, though, and he wondered just how close they had been.

Dave hadn't realised he'd voiced the thought out loud until Malia answered him. "We're pack, Dave."

Dave shook his head. "What does that even mean?" he asked.

"Family," Malia replied. Her brown eyes were soft, and Dave noticed with surprise that they were slightly damp. "So maybe we're not blood-related – so what? All blood relations have given me is a psycho murderer for a dad and I've never even met my real mum. That doesn't matter. We're family, and we'd die for each other, and that includes you. You might not remember us, but promise me you won't forget that."

There was a brutal honesty to her tone, and Dave felt his fear fading. He turned to Bobby with wide eyes. He wasn't sure if he was searching for advice or permission, but fortunately Bobby seemed to know exactly what was running through his head.

"You gotta take the bad with the good, kid, and whatever you choose you'll still have us," Bobby murmured, and beside him Dean nodded in agreement.

"I'm all for repressing memories, don't get me wrong," Dean said softly. "But giving up on family isn't something to do lightly."

Dave let the words sink in, and finally everything seemed to slide into place and for the first time in months, he felt at peace.

Castiel was hovering at the doorway, so Dave took a few steps toward him. "Okay," he said steadily.

Without a word, Castiel reached out a hand to his forehead, and Dave gasped as his head erupted with a splitting pain.

Scott unconsciously stepped forward, drawn toward his friend as he gasped in pain, the angel's hand pressed firmly against his forehead. A moment later, Castiel withdrew his hand and Scott darted forward to catch Stiles under the arms as his legs trembled and he threatened to fall for the second time that day.

Stiles seemed to steady himself under Scott's touch, and finally let out a groan. "Fucking ow," he muttered to himself, before shaking his head as though trying to dislodge. He glanced at Scott's arms and stiffened, finally seeming to realise his surroundings. "Don't worry, Scotty, I'm okay," he reassured.

It took a moment for the nickname to register, and when it did Scott threw himself forwards, gathering his friend in a tight hug and heaving a few deep, shaky breaths. "Stiles," he choked, squeezing tighter.

"Yeah, Scott, it's me," Stiles wheezed, patting Scott on the back. "Not to ruin the moment, but you're choking the life out of me."

Scott released Stiles as though he had been burned, eyes darting over his face. "You're okay?" he asked, worried.

Stiles smiled, raising a hand to cuff his shoulder affectionately. "Yeah, I'm good."