"That wasn't my fault, dad!" a boy screamed from the living room in the Stilinski household. Following the voice, the teenagers came upon a young boy, bearing incredible resemblances to their missing friend.
Coming across a young boy sitting in a waiting room chair, Scott slowed. He leaned down and looked at the boy's face, blinking in surprise as he said, "Stiles?"
"Um, Scott? I don't think that's Stiles," Malia said.
"No, it's definitely him. But a younger version. He looks around ten or eleven."
"It is!" Mr. Stilinski yelled, his voice slurred from too much alcohol. "Claudia always had everything under control. She always knew what to do; how to take care of us. But now she's dead, and I have to take care of this stupid kid by myself." Stiles backed toward a corner, his shaky breaths and watery eyes never leaving his fathers.
"I never signed up to raise one hyperactive little bastard on my own. It's all you, Stiles. You killed your mother!"
Shaking from rage and intoxication, he muttered, "I can't even look at you." The sheriff took another swig from an almost empty bottle of whiskey, and stumbled back into the bedroom.
"I didn't know that the Sheriff drank," Malia said quietly, overcoming the shock at seeing a man she'd admired reduced so low.
"He doesn't. Not anymore," Scott said tersely.
Stiles collapsed in the corner, shakily bringing his hands up next to his head. He slowly rocked back and forth, quietly repeating, "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault."
Lydia fought the urge to go and comfort the boy. Instead, she said, "We're running out of time."
The sudden aroma of medical supplies and the sound of heart monitors quickly alerted Scott to their location. Walking through the familiar halls of the hospital, the five teenagers quietly looked for their friend.
"Is that Stiles?" Kira asked.
"Yeah," Scott replied. "I think he's around eight . . . oh no."
Suddenly, Scott rushed down the hallway. Struggling to keep up with the boy, the pack tried to understand what made him rush off.
Scott came to a stop in front of room 104. "Who's in there?" Kira whispered.
Without responding, Scott slowly opened the door. The rest of the group followed; however, Lydia paused as she read the name of the patient: Claudia Stilinski.
Upon entering the room, the teenagers noticed a beautiful woman lying on the hospital bed. Sitting next to her was a teenage boy, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. The boy let out a sigh and looked up.
"Stiles," Lydia breathed a sigh of relief and she walked closer to him.
"I'd forgotten what she looked like," Stiles said somberly. "I mean, I always had vague memories of her hair and her eyes, but I'd forgotten how beautiful she was."
"She wouldn't want you to stay here, Stiles," Lydia said softly.
"But what if I want to stay?" Stiles asked, looking up at her. "Everything is so simple here. Everything makes sense."
"Stiles," Scott approached his friend. "Life isn't meant to be simple. You can't just spend the rest of your days stuck in the past. You need to move forward."
Stiles shook his head, looking down as he squinted his eyes in frustration.
"If not for yourself, or for the pack, then for your dad. He already lost his wife, do you want him to lose his son as well?" Scott knew it was a low blow, but if it would convince Stiles to wake up he was willing to risk it.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles slowly lifted his head and looked at Scott for the first time. His eyes showed his internal conflict, but slowly he began to rise from the chair.
Giving one last look to his mother, Stiles turned to the pack and said, "So how do I wake up?"
Lydia squinted her eyes in concentration and said, "Maybe you should just leave the room. That's how we navigated your dreamscape to find you."
"Wait, you saw my memories?" Stiles asked.
Scott nodded and said, "That reminds me: you, my dad, and I should really have a conversation sometime soon."
Eyes widening in realization, Stiles gave a halfhearted laugh and said, "Well, I guess we should get going."
Slowly walking toward the door, Stiles hesitantly turned the handle. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold.
And then he woke up.
Thank you guys so much for reading this! Seeing all your comments motivated me so much. I'm so glad so many of you enjoyed reading my story.