I am pleasantly surprised by the reviews, favorites, and follows for this story! Hopefully chapter two will not disappoint!
When Stiles faded back into consciousness, he found himself surrounded by panicked voices. The hard floor beneath him, the searing agony that encompassed his left arm, and Scott's furious shouting helped him quickly deduce that he was not in his bedroom.
A hand clamped down on his left arm and Stiles had to choke down the bile that rushed into his throat at the pain. Luckily, it was Scott's hand gripping him and the pain began to recede ever so slightly.
As his consciousness began to morph into awareness, Stiles began to pick out some of the words flying around his head.
"And what are you going to tell them at the hospital? It looks like his arm got ripped off by machinery!" a voice said...Boyd? When did Boyd get there?
"How is that your priority? We will think of a goddamn excuse on the way," Scott snarled, "CALL 911."
"Scott, Scott, I called them already," Isaac murmured, "They're on the way."
Stiles could make out Erica's voice but she was speaking too quickly and crying (crying? what was she crying for?) for him to understand. He picked out words like "so sorry" and "didn't mean to," so when he wasn't devoting most of his energy to not puking in the hallway, he would probably remember the sentiment.
Stiles whimpered when his arm was jostled, snapping Scott's attention back to his fallen friend.
"Stiles? Hey, Stiles, can you open your eyes?" Scott said, his voice quickly softening as he directed his gaze to Stiles. Stiles managed to crack an eye open and saw a terrified Scott and a very grey-faced Isaac floating in his line of vision. Their faces quickly blurred as tears leaked out of his eyes. He was worried that if he said anything he would lose his lunch on the floor, so he settled for biting his lip and trying to stop crying.
"Help is on the way, Stiles," Isaac said. Stiles didn't exactly think they were friends, but it distantly occurred to him that the last time he had seen Isaac look this panicked was after his first full moon in a jail cell.
That was probably something that should worry him, but the werewolf pain numbing wasn't making him as numb as he'd like to be. Meanwhile Scott had started to look a little green himself.
This was bad. This was really bad. He could feel it.
And not just a gut feeling.
He could literally still feel it despite supernatural pain-draining abilities.
Stiles took this opportunity to try to peek at his arm to see what the problem was, when he had the terrifying thought that maybe it wasn't even attached? Hadn't Boyd said it had been ripped off or something...?
He couldn't muster the strength to lift his head, so he settled for trying to ask Scott if his arm was still attached. His first attempt came out as a garbled moan that had Scott and Isaac looking at each other in confusion, but eventually he managed to get out most of the words in a mostly intelligible fashion.
Scott quickly nodded and said, "Yeah, Stiles, yeah. Jeez, of course it's still attached. Yeah. It's attached...it's just..." Scott looked to Isaac as he searched for the right word to describe Stiles' limb. Finally he settled on a simple "...Broken."
Stiles could sense how great an understatement that was, but calling Scott on it was not his top priority at the moment.
Stiles realized that either class had ended or they had made such a commotion that they were drawing a crowd. Coach Finnstock was kneeling beside his head and shouting for someone to get the school nurse - which, truthfully what the hell could she do in this situation - while Mr. Harris was trying to keep students from crowding too close. Stiles heard Allison gasp and Lydia shout his name. Honestly, if he were of a sound mind right now he'd probably feel a little touched at all this concern from the teacher who hated him and the coach who still didn't know his name, not to mention the girl he'd been pining after his whole life.
But he wasn't entirely convinced that his arm was going to stay attached through the day, so he'd have to think on that later.
He was in such a thick cloud of pain, he probably wouldn't have realized that he was being shifted onto a gurney except that the medical professionals assisting him didn't realize he had his very own supernatural morphine drip that they had forced away from him. He let out a choked sob before trying to shout Scott's name.
He might have imagined it, but Stiles was pretty sure he saw Scott actually growl at a paramedic who tried to prevent him from returning to Stiles' side.
Before he knew it, he was being loaded into an ambulance.
As he was put into the vehicle, he caught a glimpse of Derek's car tearing into the school's parking lot and coming to a screaming halt. As he was fading out of consciousness, he saw Derek storm out of his car and sprint at near werewolf speed towards the ambulance with furious, burning red eyes.
Luckily for Stiles, the doors shut before Derek could reach the ambulance. Stiles' last thought before he drifted into oblivion was that he should probably be worried about that reaction from the alpha.
*TW*TW*TW*
The next time Stiles awoke, he was aware of the fact that he was in a lot less pain. A lot less pain, like almost concerning that he couldn't feel his arm?
He jolted up at the thought that he no longer had a left arm.
"Stiles!"
He did have his left arm.
The jolting upwards made that abundantly clear as the limb screamed in pain.
Stiles was so overwhelmed with relief that he let out a dry sob and then started coughing at the dryness in his throat. Before he even knew what was happening, a straw appeared in front of his face. As Stile's started drinking - which, good god, does water always taste this good? - he followed the arm holding the glass of water and found it was attached to his father.
"You gave everyone quite a scare, son," his dad murmured affectionately, the relief he feels that Stiles is finally awake (and seemingly coherent) is palpable. Stiles certainly didn't miss the pinched look of extreme worry mixed with total exhaustion on his father's face. The Sheriff ran his hand through Stiles' short hair as he set the nearly empty glass of water on the bedside table. "I mean, people really came out of the woodwork for you on this one, kiddo. Friends I don't even recognize," he paused and leaned in conspiratorially, "Lydia came to check on you."
Stiles favored his dad with a small smile, knowing that her visit to the hospital had been the gesture of a concerned friend and nothing more. But it was still nice to know.
"So, what," Stiles began before clearing his throat again. Man, they must have knocked him out for awhile, his mouth still felt like sandpaper. "What's the prognosis? What...what even happened?"
The Sheriff frowned at that, before responding, "I was hoping you could shed a little light on that myself, Stiles. Scott said you fell down a staircase at the school?"
Stiles had to stifle a groan at the excuse Scott had come up with. Great. He would much prefer being a nobody at the high school than a somebody who was known for falling down a staircase and messing up his arm. He was never going to live this one down.
"The doctors say you lucked out with basically no damage to your head. Tiny bump on the back, but they weren't even worried about a concussion. What they don't understand is how a flight of stairs managed to damage your arm so badly. There...there was a lot of damage, Stiles. However you managed to land, it popped your shoulder out of joint and then somehow also fractured the bones beneath your elbow."
Ah, right. Where Erica had gripped his arm. Things were starting to come back to him.
"I mean, Stiles, they said it looked more like your arm got caught in heavy duty machinery...I mean they're still talking about what an odd case this is."
"Still?"
"It's been a few days, kiddo," John said quietly, and there was that pinched look again. "You've woken up here and there but the surgery was a tough one and they kept you pretty heavily sedated."
Stiles supposed it was a good thing that the break in his arm combined with the dislocation in his shoulder was so bad that the doctors had just accepted it was a rare occurrence from a fall down the stairs. No one would possibly expect any person could've done this to Stiles. The staircase would explain away some of the bruising too, god forbid any of this put suspicion on his dad.
"They, uh...they don't think there'll be any...well they're hopeful that there'll be no lasting damage," his dad says with a small smile that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "It's going to be a long road. Physical therapy and all that. But they're hopeful."
Stiles can feel his eyes growing hot and his stomach clenching with tension at the thought of hospital bills.
"Dad, I'm-"
John, ever the mind reader when it comes to his son (well...a mind reader for the non-supernatural aspects of his son's life), soothed, "Stiles, accidents happen. We're gonna be just fine. You're going to be okay...I...I wouldn't dream of putting a price tag on that."
Stiles allows a shaky smile in his father's direction and can feel his eyes starting to actually grow a little wet at his father's words. Stiles figures he can blame the heavy drugs he's on later, and quietly adds, "I love you, Dad."
That unpleasant tension that had been sitting in the Sheriff's furrowed brow smoothes out into a real smile as he whispers, "I've grown quite fond of you as well, kiddo."
Stiles, now fully spent - seriously, he was not one for emotional moments this had been a trying day(s?...he'd worry about that later) - was ready for more sleep.
His father sensed this and said, "Get some rest, son. I'll be here when you wake up." As Stiles closed his eyes, he felt his father's hand rub his good arm soothingly.
Stiles loved having Scott around as his own personal numbing machine. It had come in handy on more than one occasion, and although he tried not to abuse the power, he was grateful to have a friend so willing to ease his suffering at his own expense. Scott was his best friend, and he loved him like a brother.
But, god, he wouldn't trade the feeling of his father's warm, calloused hands settling him back to sleep for all of the pain-draining werewolf hands in Beacon Hills.
Still kind of a short chapter, I know, but I didn't want to cram too much into it at once. There are only so many people worried about Stiles that you can fit into one chapter I suppose. I was going to get into some of the guilty werewolf feelings this time around, but it always bugs me when I see a fanfic where the Sheriff isn't right there when Stiles wakes up. I just can't imagine a scenario where that would happen (and vice versa). But next up I'll be writing about some of the pack reactions.
Apologies for kind of just glancing past anything remotely medical. I did a bit of looking into things, but it's not like I'm suddenly a doctor. Obviously you can break your arm (and more) falling down the stairs, so I was approaching this more that the angle of the break combined with the dislocation was unusual, especially because she had pulled his arm backwards and out of joint. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!