SUMMARY: Usually Stiles is pretty good at math. This time, though, things just won't add up.

The panic attack is close, just hovering at the edge of Stiles' consciousness, waiting to pounce.

It's all ... everything is just a little much.

Getting shot - and not even remembering who shot him, so he can't go and beat that person to a pulp because amnesia, and confusion, and headaches ow fuck! - and being laid out in hospital and not knowing how, or why; and now his dad telling him Derek isn't gone, while Scott had told him he was gone ...

A person can only take so much.

"Breathe, Stiles."

His father's warm hand, resting against his back, manages to stave off the attack before it has a chance to get a good grip on him. Get a grip; hah! Stiles would love to get a grip, but everything seems to slip through his fingers before he gets the chance to grab it and take a look.

The headache's not helping either.

"You alright?"

Stiles opens his eyes, blinking through the panic and pain induced haze before being able to properly focus on the man sitting on the edge of his bed. He nods. Carefully.

"Think so, yeah."

Sighing, the sheriff reaches for the paper cup with water on the side stand, then hands it to his son. Stiles watches him over the edge of the cup, sees how he runs his hand over his face before looking back up at him. Scraping his throat, Stiles hands back the cup.

"Right. Dad. You need to tell me everything. Like, right from the start, because obviously, very obviously, Scott hasn't got all the facts. Which, yeah, as usual. And I need to know. All the facts, I mean. So, please?"

His dad opens his mouth, and Stiles just knows he's going to refuse, is going to throw up his son's current condition as an excuse to not tell him anything, and Stiles isn't having any of it.

"You need to tell me, Dad, everything from the beginning. Because right now I feel like I'm going crazy and that, well, that's not a good feeling!"

He doesn't mention the extreme anxiety coursing through his veins because, you know, Derek! Fixing a determined look on his father, he mentally tries to will his dad into complying, to share whatever he knows with his son, because said son is just losing it.

Apparently, it works.

After the thirty minutes or so it takes the sheriff to fill his son in on the details - and that's all the details, because any attempt to leave things out have been skillfully intercepted and thwarted - Stiles is exhausted. He's closed his eyes about ten minutes ago - and somebody should really inform hospital management that those glaring overhead lights are basically an extreme torture method for those patients experiencing migraines - while listening to his father's voice sum up the facts.

"And this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, son."

Stiles throws his father a bleary look, then snorts.

"I much prefer being exhausted to going crazy, thank you very much. It's been two weeks, Dad! Have you ever seen me in bed for half a month and do nothing?!"

His father frowns.

"Well, yeah. There was the time when you were four and jumped off the slide because you thought you were Batman and broke your leg in three places."

Stiles holds up a hand.

"So not the point! And it seemed like a good idea at the time and at least I managed to establish I was wrong about thinking I could fly, OK?"

They sigh, simultaneously.

"So, let's see if I managed to understand all of this. And just FYI: yes, I'm still hella confused!"

Stiles holds up a finger.

"One: I was going to the store to buy you some veggies in the early afternoon on Saturday - and don't even think about starting to use this as an excuse to back out of healthy eating, mister! - and I never got back. So that's when I got grabbed, apparently."

His father nods, and Stiles holds up a second finger.

"Two: you and everybody else turned Beacon Hills upside-down and inside-out for a week - and seriously? I was gone for a whole week?! - but only found me because of the 'shots fired' report at the warehouse."

This gets another nod, and Stiles frowns.

"What I don't get is the fact you said you checked out all the empty buildings, including that particular warehouse. So where was I that previous week?"

His father sighs.

"I don't know, Stiles. If we knew that..."

Stiles nods.

"... we'd solve the whole mystery. Right. So, three." He hold up another finger. "Apparently, the people who captured me were not all that impressed by my amiable personality because, aside from the hole in the head, I had several other injuries that were in different stages of healing."

The previously resigned look on the sheriff's face turns into something volatile.

"You were tortured, Stiles!" The man points at various parts of his son's body while sounding off the injuries. "Four broken fingers. Two cracked ribs. One broken rib. A fractured lower jaw and two loose molars. And the bruises and contusions all over your body were almost too numerous to count. Whoever did this..."

"...was after information, I guess. Well, it does explain the whole having been run over by a bus feeling I've been experiencing."

Stiles frowns while he flexes his nearly healed fingers, then looks at his father.

"Do you ... do you think I told them? You know, whatever they were after?"

The sheriff sighs again, then shakes his head.

"I don't know what to tell you, kid. It's only been two months since I know about this whole 'claws and fangs' thing, and I prefer to stay out of your funny business as much as possible. So excuse me for not being an expert on matters yet."

He stares at his son, and the sight of his only child still covered in fading bruises, one side of his head sporting a white bandage - and looking so utterly dejected that a sharp pain lances through his chest - rekindles the urge to go out and hunt down and murder the sons-of-bitches who dared hurt his kid. All in good time, though.

For now, he needs to stay calm.

For Stiles.

"If it makes you feel any better, I did talk to Chris Argent, and he doesn't think so. I mean, that man is about as forthcoming with information as a seventy year old virgin willing to give up her virtue," and he smiles as Stiles snorts at the obvious mental image his words generate, "but he doesn't think you've given those hunters - and Argent's pretty certain that's what we're dealing with, by the way - what they wanted. Otherwise," and he swallows thickly, "otherwise we wouldn't have found you alive. Argent says these types move at the edge and will do anything to prevent from being caught. Including leaving no witnesses. So no, son, you probably didn't give them anything."

Stiles nods at the words. It makes sense, no matter how harsh it sounds. If he'd talked, had given them the information they wanted, he'd no longer be of any use. He would've been discarded; killed. Which, oh boy, does not paint a pretty picture.

"That means they could come after me again, right? Should come after me again, actually, but ... that hasn't happened, right?"

He watches his father shake his head.

"No, nothing has happened these past two weeks that would signal they tried again. Argent promised me he'd give me an immediate heads-up if anything happened which would indicate you'd be in any danger again. So either they found another way to get what they wanted, or they've given up."

Yeah, no. Stiles doesn't think that particular scenario sounds very realistic. At all, actually. If the hunters went through this much trouble to get at him, risked being torn limb from limb by kidnapping and then torturing somebody who's not only a pack's much-treasured human, but also happens to be the son of the local sheriff, then they won't just give up.

"It's possible we're missing something here, Dad. Maybe it's not just about information and they wanted something else. Maybe I did give them what they wanted, because honestly? I don't think they'd just give up like that."

The sheriff's stills at his son's words, words which are almost identical to what Argent told him just a few days ago. "We looked everywhere, Sheriff, and even though we found evidence that they definitely were here, those guys are now gone. Just up and left town. Almost as if they got what they wanted and got out while the going was good." The man's next words had chilled him. "But keep in mind that this might not be about gathering information, and Stiles not being dead could mean they still need him for something. And it's still possible that they come back for him again."

The sheriff's thoughts are interrupted by his son's next words.

"So, OK. We obviously don't know if I was helpful to those guys or not. Or even know what they wanted, but never mind. Not going to think about them coming back. Which brings us to the next point." He holds up four fingers. "Derek Hale. Scott told me they haven't seen him or heard from him for two weeks now. Like, right from the time I was found. But you," and he points a finger at his dad, "you just told me you have seen him, what, three times these last few weeks?!"

His father nods.

"Yes. Like I told you, Stiles, I've seen Hale once over two weeks ago, which was before we found you, and twice these past two weeks. The last time was only yesterday." The sheriff frowns. "That first time was basically just a glimpse, because I saw him at the edge of the Preserve. I was going to ask him whether he'd seen you, but as soon as I stopped the car he disappeared into the tree line." He shakes his head. "I know that man is as elusive as they come and hard to get a hold of; God knows I stopped at that house often enough to find out whether he'd seen you, or knew where you were. Also because, you know ..."

Stiles glares at his father.

"You thought he might have been involved. Jesus, Dad! You know by now he's not a criminal, right?!"

The sheriff actually manages to look guilty, and Stiles admits to feeling slightly vindictive and even glad at his father's obvious discomfort. OK, so the man still doesn't know about his son having this thing with the former murder suspect - and that's something Stiles counts as one of the few blessings he has - but he has been around Derek now for several months, and he should just know ...

"So sue me, kid! I was pretty desperate, OK?" The man rubs his chin, eyes staring at the ground. "I didn't know whether you were dead, or whether you were busy with some of this supernatural stuff, and the fact that Hale was out there while you had disappeared just, well ... I just wanted to go over every option. And yes, that included the one where Hale was involved."

Stiles huffs.

"Anyway," the sheriff smoothly continues, preemptively stopping his son from going on another verbal rampage. "I caught up with him the second time about a week later, at the gas station. He looked like death warmed over. Pale, sweaty ... just bad. When I told him we'd found you and what condition you were in, I swear he nearly fainted. Told me he was happy you were still alive, and that he'd been trying to find you as well but didn't have a clue where to start, where to look. It was pretty obvious he'd been extremely worried about you, and any thoughts I might have had..." He holds up a hand when Stiles' mouth opens, effectively shutting it with the gesture. "Any thoughts I might have justifiably had regarding Hale's possible involvement in your disappearance, simply vanished."

The sheriff stares down his son, noticing how hard he has to control himself so he won't launch into another tirade.

"When I saw him yesterday at the convenience store, he just nodded at me before going out the door. Still looked like shit, I could see that much before he basically fled through the door. Anyway, whatever Scott thinks he knows - and that reminds me that I'll have to talk to that young man about withholding information - it's wrong. Hale hasn't disappeared; he's been right here."

There's a hurricane raging through Stiles' mind, torturing his already painful brain. So much of what his dad just told him just doesn't add up.

Just feels wrong!

Like whatever is going on with Derek, who, according to his father, might be in a seriously bad place health-wise. Derek who hasn't been seen or spoken to by Scott, and even though those two haven't turned into BFFs overnight, they have been on speaking terms lately. Even managed to actually team up when combating whatever otherworldly danger threatened Beacon Hills the past year.

Derek, who hasn't come to see Stiles even once these past weeks. And what the hell is up with that?!

"We need to talk to Scott, Dad. And Chris Argent, if possible. But more importantly, we need to talk to Derek!"

Actually, Stiles is the one who needs to talk to Derek.

Needs to see how the wolf is doing. Needs to see him and talk to him and touch him and ...

Stiles just needs Derek.

"Alright, kid. I'll set up a meeting. You just get some rest now, OK?"

Rest. Yeah, no. Stiles doesn't think he'll be able to rest, at least not until he knows what the hell is going on.

Not until he sees Derek.