A/N: Here's another chapter for ya. Again, I'm gonna say it as many times as I need to, I'm not a medical professional, many things will be inaccurate, it's all gonna be ok though, promise.

Enjoy!

His father can't come up with anything, a few muttered excuses which clearly aren't enough to warrant the extreme abuse Stiles went through. Does…does that mean that his father, in the seven months that he's been gone, learned about the secret he's been keeping from him for the past year or so? Fuck, he's always been a smart man.

"Now, as far as the investigation goes, like I said, you'll have to go to the local police to get all of the information you'll need."

"Yeah, ok. Just…can I see my son now? Please?"

The doctor hesitates but eventually he must give his consent because the door to his room slides open all the way instead of just being cracked open and he hears the sharp intake of shock from his father.

"Sir, remember, this is still Stiles, he just may not look or act like it, especially not now."

"No, that's definitely my son." His father croaks out, walking slowly towards the bed. "His swollen face looks like it did when we realized he was mildly allergic to bee stings. Well, minus the bandages of course."

Noah gives a sniff and blows out a breath, trying to steady himself and Stiles feels so guilty that he's put his father in this situation. There are fingers gently touching his and in panic Stiles twitches, trying to pull away and the touch immediately disappears. Yet, it's a feeling of bereavement that takes the place where relief had been before because this is his father. His father! He needs to know that he's real, that he's actually here, that he's not hallucinating again.

Tentatively, he lifts his hand, trying to make the weak muscles move and takes in a breath through his nose.

"D-daaad." The sound comes out haunting and broken, the 'a' sounding like a breathless whistle instead of an actual word.

"Stiles," a sniffle and rustle of clothing as his father leans down next to him and gently touches his hand again, "Oh, Stiles. Hey kiddo, I've missed you. I finally found you though, I never gave up that I would have you back, I just knew that my smart boy," flinch, "would eventually find his way back to me."

In the background the doctor had quickly retreated from the room as soon as Stiles had moved and was calling down the hall for the nurses and other doctors.

"Dad. Mis-ssed. You." He whispered.

"I know, I know Stiles, you don't have to say anything, we can talk later. Right now, you just focus on getting better and then I can take you home and you can see all your friends." His father gives a laugh that sounds more like a choke, "Scott's been pretty crazy lately, and, surprisingly, so has Derek Hale. That kid really took the lead in trying to find you with your little rag tag team of super heroes."

Stiles flinches, the beeping on his monitor picking up.

"Hey, no son, it's not a bad thing, it's ok. You don't have to worry about anything, nothing at all. Nothing is wrong, just breathe son."

"Sir, I need to have a word with you, please. It's urgent."

"Ok." He says reluctantly, "Stiles, buddy, I'll be right back. Just keep breathing for me, in, out."

Stiles wants to hold onto him but his useless fingers can't curl so he's left with a trembling hand and a useless body as his father gets back up and follows the doctor out as the other doctor and nurses pour in. Stiles focuses his hearing as they walk into the hallway.

"What is so important that I can't spend time with my son who has been missing for seven months?" his father seethes.

"Well, your son is supposed to be completely under. We've given him enough pain killers and anesthetics to keep him under for the time needed for his body to heal. After the last time he was lucid, we decided to keep him in a sort of medicated coma to prevent any movement or pain, I mean, even that time he'd woken up suddenly even with all the pain medication in his system."

"What does that mean? Doesn't it just mean he's strong? He's going to heal in no time!"

"Well, maybe, but most likely it means that while he was being held, his captors probably overdosed him with medications, meaning he's immune to some of them now. It's dangerous for a growing kid to be immune to such strong pain killers. When he does eventually leave this hospital, I don't know what I'll be able to prescribe to him for at home use that will help with his pain. Right now, he's on morphine but I can't continue to give him that because it becomes addictive fairly quickly."

His father contemplates this information in silence until, "So how do you know that he doesn't have other dependencies? He has ADHD and needs Adderall which is addictive."

"In the toxicology reports there were no drugs in his systems meaning whatever they did was long enough ago that it's left his system, the same with the Adderall, there wasn't any. That withdrawal either went unnoticed due to the torture or was part of his torture, most likely around the beginning of his captivity."

"Fuck. Can you not say torture, please?"

"Sure, however, you'll need to come to terms that that is exactly what happened to him."

"Yes, I know, but it doesn't make it any easier that my son is lying in a hospital bed, unable to move and looking like he went through a meat grinder. Just, have a little more delicacy, please."

"Of course, sir, I'm sorry for my crudeness. As a doctor this is one of the worst conditions I've ever seen anybody outside of a car wreck under the age of 25 and even for me it's difficult, I ended up being harsh, my apologies."

Noah blows out a breath, "I know what you mean. I'm the Sheriff of our little town and I've seen quite a lot of shit over the years but this…this is just too much. He's my son. I should've been able to protect him. I should've found him sooner."

Stiles' heart aches at the overwhelming amount of guilt and sadness and self-loathing in those sentences and he wants to cry, but he can't. The nurses, who had been fiddling with his chart, monitors, and various wires, had fixed the dosage on his morphine and he was soon sliding back under before he could tell his father that it wasn't his fault at all.

There's still fear bubbling within him every time he comes to. The fear that's simmered under his skin, in his chest, and in his mind for months. The fear of being hurt more than he can stand. The fear that the information that he's given up will be used against the people he loves the most. The fear that he really will forget who he is.

But there's still hope. He doesn't know how but through those months he's held on desperately, fearfully to some form of hope that maybe he'll be saved, maybe they won't kill him, maybe they'll let him go, maybe, maybe, maybe…

Maybe he'll survive.

"His condition has improved rapidly, but I'd like to keep him here until all of his open wounds have scarred over and he's had time to wake up and see one of our psychologists."

"How long do you think that'll be? I can't stay in Utah for much longer, my paid leave is almost up." His father's voice floats to him and he basks in it, still more than a little afraid to hope that this is real.

"I can't say for certain. His internal injuries are already almost completely healed and the swelling on his face and other more severely injured areas has gone down considerably. Right now, I'm most worried about his necessary bodily functions and his ability to move as well as his mental health."

"Would you be able to transfer him to the hospital in Beacon Hills? His best friend's mother is a nurse there and has known him all his life so he'll be in good hands."

"At this stage in his healing I'm not sure if a long transfer would be good on his condition, but I could look into it. For trauma victims, it's good to be in a familiar place where they can relax so they can recover. You'll also want to check with the city police here to see if they'll allow you to take the victim home since they haven't had a chance to question him at all."

Fear grabs his body. No, he can't answer anything, he has no answers. There's nothing he can tell you. Nothing! Please!

The heart monitor grabs their attention and the doctor and his father rush to his side.

"Stiles, kiddo, I need you to breathe. You're ok, you're safe, you don't have to worry about anything. I'm here, I'm right here, no one's going to hurt you, I promise."

"We need to administer a stronger dose. He keeps waking up."

The heart monitor goes even crazier and Stiles struggles to breathe, his right eye narrowing in on the doctor as he moves towards his IV.

"No, he doesn't need that. Stiles, son, are you in pain? I need you to focus on me, listen to my voice, breathe with me. Look at me kiddo, focus on me."

Stiles' eye focuses on him, on his father's face, and it feels like forever since he's seen him. There's more grey in his hair and lines around his eyes which are surrounded by bruised looking skin. He looks tired but also calm, firm, real. He looks real. Stiles watches his father breathe and he subconsciously starts breathing with him in a habitual rhythm. As he stares at his father his panic levels subside enough that the heart monitor starts losing the fast, uneven beeps and starts giving off the slower, calmer beeps.

"Good job kiddo, you're doing great. Let me tell you kid, I'm really glad to see you awake. You with me now bud?"

Stiles slowly nods, his eyes shifting back to the doctor to make sure he knows exactly where he is and what he's doing to him. The doctor takes a step back and gives him a small, tight smile.

"How're you feeling today?" his father asks, grabbing his attention again.

Stiles stares at him for a bit, not sure how to answer the question.

"How about, do you feel like you're in pain at all? Even a headache?"

Stiles lets his eyes wander down his covered body, taking stock of what he can and can't feel before giving a small shake of the head. Nothing really hurts, it's more like a tired ache that never really goes away that thrums through his broken body.

"Ok, that's good, really good. Now, I wanted to ask you, since this involves you too, would you like to go back home or stay here until you're healed a bit more?"

Home. Home. He wants to go home. He wants to go home.

"Home. Home, wanna go home. Please." His broken whistle of a whisper makes him flinch but he keeps going, begging to be taken home.

He needs to feel the comfort of his own bed, the familiarity of his own room, and the scent of his family surrounding him. He needs to see his friends and the place where he belongs. Well, he really wants it. He doesn't know if the others will want him around once they know what he's done.

"Ok kiddo, I'll get you home as soon as I can. Let me talk it over with your doctor and we'll arrange for you to get transferred back to Beacon, alright?"

Stiles opens his mouth, "How long?"

His dad frowns, "How long, what?"

"Been in hospital."

"A little over a month now." The doctor says instead of his dad.

"Pack?"

His father nods before looking at the doctor. "Can you give us a minute, please? I'm not going to be asking him anything or bringing anything up, I just need to talk."

The doctor frowns but nods. "I'll be in the hall if you need me."

A/N: Again with the whole "not a medical professional" spiel, however, I did do a little bit of research and the way that Stiles speaks, or when he tries to speak, he sounds like that because his vocal cords are paralyzed which can happen when they've been over stressed, in this case because he was screaming so much. Paralysis can become permanent which is the version I've gone for. However, I didn't do a TON of research so there may still be inaccuracies, so please forgive those. Again, this is just for the sake of the story. Thanks.