A/N: It gets better after this, I promise.
It's warm and Stiles feels light and fuzzy, like lazy summer afternoons he and his dad spent home. He can almost smell the freshly mowed grass and hear the sprinklers running in the front yard. He thinks he could stay like this forever, eyes closed and skin absorbing the warm heat of the sun.
When he opens his eyes, the illusion breaks. He's greeted by the familiar chill of the ship and a soft rhythmic beeping to his right. He stares upwards, trying to remember where he is and why he isn't home anymore, and how, even in this haze, sharp pain pulses in his lower back. It all comes back by the time Doctor Reyes walks in. She smiles at him, though her eyes retain the usual sharpness, and fiddles with the machinery. "Nice to see you back, Stilinski." She doesn't look up from the IV when she speaks, and when she presses a button, the warmth fills him again.
"Wouldn't normally use these." She turns to him. "A bit outdated, but we're low on resources and the Wranglers needed most of our better stuff after that last outage."
Stiles squints, picks at the band on his wrist and clears his throat. "What about Scott?"
"Oh, well… He, uh…" She swallows and opens her mouth a few times before finding the words. "He didn't need any of that. So… just get some rest. We'll be docking at Aritr soon, so someone will be up to talk to you in a couple of hours. Run over some… stuff." She breathes out through her nose and looks back at one of the monitor screens. "Hopefully they'll give me some new equipment to work with or Danvil is getting my fist in his overly large nose." That last part is an actual growl. Then a switch flips and it's back to beautiful, charming Erica Reyes. Stiles thinks they could have a thing if he ever gets over Lydia. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'll have some food brought up, but no stress if you can't stomach it. I will have you know, it's a little better than standard fare, so…"
She leaves in a hurry after that, never really giving Stiles a chance to get a word in. He can't help the gut feeling that something's definitely wrong, but there's not really anything he can do from here. He settles in and lets the painkillers kick in and wash over him in waves. The food comes an hour later, brought in by Isaac who doesn't help Stiles' worry with the clear fear in his eyes. He shakes his head when Stiles slurs a question and promptly runs off. Stiles picks at the food, but it just makes his stomach turn and he lays back to wait.
The ships shudders about two hours later and it's fairly obvious they've landed at the outpost in Aritr when the lights brighten and everything hums to full power below them. That means repairs are already underway, and hopefully the shipments will be coming in within the half hour. He tries to sit up, fails miserably, and then burrows deeper in the pillows. As far as outposts go, Atrir is fairly large. They're equipped for larger vessels and are more reliable when it comes to filling shipping requests. Stiles has always liked exploring the warehouses, though he's pretty sure since the last time he and Scott were let loose on it, there have been some new restrictions added. Most of them are their fault, although Stiles is adamant they were all accidents and Scott got them out of most of the punishment with that sad puppy eyes thing he does. Fun times. He doesn't think he or Scott will be in the condition to cause chaos this time anyways, since he's laid up in the medical quarters and he's pretty sure Scott is too.
Erica comes in again, though she knocks on the door and leans against the open doorway. "How's it goin', science boy?"
Stiles manages to smile back. "Not too shabby." His voice is horrible. "Still sore. Food was… okay."
"Just okay?" She frowns.
"You got my hopes up."
This is the point where she'd normally give him a playful shove, but he guesses it's different when he's under her care. "That's why I have a medical license, not a food critiquing license."
"Is that even a thing?"
"You bet your ass it is, sweetheart." She crosses her arms. "But really, how is your back feeling?"
"It hurts to sit up," Stiles says, sighing.
"Well, it's gonna hurt for a while, kid. You're lucky you can still feel your toes." Erica gestures behind her and burly officer Vernon Boyd steps past her and into the room. "We're going to move you into one of the rooms in the outpost while we're docked. They've got better equipment, and it'll be easier to get you on your feet. Besides," she glances at Boyd, "there's someone who needs to talk to you."
"How long are we docked?" Stiles starts to try to sit up again, despite the sharp pain in his lower spine.
"Relax," Erica says flippantly. "We're not leaving you behind. You're the head of maintenance for the ship. Besides, we'd be leaving a lot of other members behind if we didn't stop. We're already a skeleton crew as it is." There's a dark note in her voice. Boyd huffs.
They load him on a gurney and Boyd and Erica wheel him through a, not surprisingly empty ship. "You were the last patient in the medical bay to be hauled off," she explains.
"I really feel the love," Stiles replies, and both of his companions chuckle.
The room he gets is a lot bigger and much more… white-washed. He's not sure if he likes it. He almost prefers the rusted browns of the Triskelion's medical bay. They have Stiles hooked up and settled within minutes and Erica tells him to stay put before ushering Boyd out and leaving him alone. He dozes, tries to get back to that warm, happy place before he woke up. It doesn't really work, but it's better than staring at the ceiling and getting fidgety. The sound of voices outside rouses him.
They're hushed, but in the way people do when they're trying to argue quietly. He catches a few words here and there, his name once, McCall, B03… He doesn't get anything of substance. Just as he's considering trying to move closer, the door hisses open and a very angry-looking man storms in. Whoever he was talking to steps out of view before Stiles can get a better look, so he refocuses on the man before him. While he doesn't quite remember the face, he does recognize the insignia on the man's jacket.
"Captain," he greets, voice wavering. His kind doesn't usually get these kinds of visits, unless they're Stiles' dad, who's a different story entirely.
The man's face softens. "Mr. Stilinski, I'm Chris Argent with the Republic of Ilodelos." He reaches out and as Stiles shakes his hand he remembers where he's heard the name before. It must show on his face, because the captain smiles a little and says, "You work with my daughter. I believe your name has come up before."
"All good things, I hope," Stiles rasps.
Argent gives a single jerky nod. "How are you feeling, son?"
Stiles hesitates. "Better, much better, but…" He doesn't think high-ranking officials have the time to go about asking how maintenance workers are feeling, even ones that took part in the fallout between his daughter and her now ex-boyfriend.
Chris Argent clears his throat and looks down at his hand, expression reminiscent of Erica's right after Stiles had woke up. The man moves slowly, pulls over a chair, and sinks into it like it's the last place he'd like to be at the moment. Stiles tries to steady his breathing. Nothing is wrong, just a friendly conversation. It's fine.
"I'll… I'll admit I wasn't the first pick for this, and I hate to… I'm sorry if this ruins your opinion of me." And if that doesn't scare Stiles enough, Captain Argent looks up and his eyes are dark and humorless.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," he starts, and Stiles knows this tone. He's heard it before, years ago. He doesn't want the captain to finish. Stiles starts shaking his head before Argent can't get another word out.
"Please don't, please," is just about all he manages before the room grows blurry around him and the prick of tears fills his eyes.
Argent looks torn, but his face hardens again to a less aggressive version of the one when he first entered the room and he presses on. "Scott McCall was pronounced dead before he left the biome." The words cut through whatever walls Stiles had managed to throw up after the accident in seconds. He feels...
Stiles shakes his head harder, wills the words away. It's not true. It's not. Scott is in the next room over and he's okay.
"Allison told me you were his closest friend, that you would need to know first." Argent's voice barely shakes. "I'm here to answer any questions you may have and help you any way I can, but I need you to stay with me, okay?"
Stiles' head feels light, the same way he does before a panic attack, but he know this is worse. It's not something his breathing techniques will help with. It's not that easy. Thinking only makes it worse, but he can't stop. Can't stop running those last seconds of consciousness over and over in his head.
"Mr. Stilinski?"
He closes his eyes, and takes a few shaky breaths. "He was okay… He didn't..."
"You remember what happened?"
Stiles nods but doesn't open his eyes. This isn't happening.
"When the second outage occurred in the ship, communications went down and almost all biomes malfunctioned." Stiles knows this. He was there. "Some of the falling debris punctured Mr. McCall's suit and exposed him to the toxic environment as well as the reduced oxygen levels of the biome. Coupled with a medical history of asthma, it caused him to lose consciousness. He was legally declared dead by the time the crew restored the power and deployed a rescue team." Argent's voice moves slow and soothing over the words, as if he were reading a bedtime story or calming an animal rather than delivering horrible news. Stiles chokes on a breath and his knuckles are white where his fists bunche around the sheets.
"He's not… he isn't…" He doesn't manage to force the words out and they give way to near hysterical breathing.
Captain Argent reaches out and grips his shoulder, which should be more comforting, but isn't. "He didn't suffer, Stiles. I promise he didn't suffer. He slipped away before he could feel any pain."
But all Stiles can think of is the blood on Scott's face and the shards of glass, the grim acceptance and the light leaving Scott's eyes, a memory hazy in Stiles' panic. He feels like throwing up, because suddenly it hits him. His best friend in the whole world is dead. He's a kid again, getting the news for the first time, and it stills hurts just as much as it did before.
He's half aware of the frantic beeping next to him as his heartbeat races and he gives into the throes panic and pain and shock, because his brain still hasn't caught up yet and his body is ploughing through all of these feeling that haven't surfaced since Mom died. His hands hurt where he's got a death grip on the bed and he pulls in a big breath and holds it, still shaking. He kind of wants to pass out. Wants to go back to the warm place before he woke up, before Argent came into the room, before…
Argent hesitates, hand still on his shoulder, before moving to sit at the edge of the bed. "It's okay, son," his voice cuts through Stiles' desperation. "You don't have to be brave right now."
Stiles lets go.