Stiles was drifting, in and out of limbo.
He remembered someone in the woods hoisting him up and semi-carefully guiding him over the road and he can clearly recall the feeling of laying in the backseat of a rather cold car simply because he was currently laying in the backseat of a really cold car. It wasn't so bad really, the cold somewhat helped to stave off the rest of his attack and it cleared his senses. He could hear the driver talking and the words slurred coming into his ears,"No I don't know whats wrong him..." a pause a huff and a sudden wave of nausea, "Scott is the alpha now, he should be taking care of him..." bitterness that made him sicker, "Just meet there...I won't be held responsible for him..." and then the feeling like the world finally lost its grip on gravity was to strong for Stiles so he closed his eyes and tried to block out the feeling with low whimpers.
Every few minutes he would doze off then come to. The ride was silent after that confusing conversation( confusing because Stiles didn't know who was talking or what it was about because coherent thoughts weren't happening) the windows were tinted, but he could see the downtown Beacon Hills building complexes. At the moment his mind was still to fuddled to understand that he was in some strangers car possibly being kidnapped. What it did understand was that the walls weren't closing in on him and that wow car rides are a great time to comatose...
His mammas voice came out like a song through a record...Her gently hands shushing him and petting his head calmly. She still smelt like medicine and vanilla cupcakes. "Stiles...sweet little bird... It's alright. I'm here now..." she smiled and shushed his complaints. She gently set a wet rag over his eyes...
When he came to again it was back. The fever that crept up his spine and made him tremor. Fighting to keep conscious and fighting to not throw up were seriously contradicting themselves. Not sure when they had stopped or when he was manhandled out of the car, he could only recognize the hazy orange light that usually came with apartment parking garages. Whoever was dragging him around at least seemed to care some as, oh hey second pair of hands were grabbing him and hoisting an arm around broad shoulders. They maneuvered him into an elevator. He groaned as the bright light pierced his eyes and sent him swaying. Soft fabric went over his head in an attempt to calm him. It didn't really connect that he knew the smell on the fabric. Not when he was being lead into a warm hallway. He didn't remember to much after that once he collapsed against the warmer body tending to him...
Saturday morning was especially reserved for cartoons and leftover breakfast. While Papa Stilinski was at work his mamma would sit down with him and sip of her coffee, laughing at the coyote and the roadrunner right alongside him. Since he was sick she let him eat pizza, she always let him eat pizza when he was sick. It was a matter of fact that his dad would grab some curly fries before he came home also. Sometime between the odd changing of toons and continuous hum of the room Stiles figure out it was a dream. But no one could accuse him of being selfish when he let his consciousness slip back so he could cuddle up to the ghost of his mother. But he didn't get away with it for long...
He didn't remember waking up from that wonderful lapse of reality, but he did and knew so because yet again he was violently throwing up. He was buzzing again, the outside noises muddling in and caging him again. At least the room was dark, and cold. Two bonuses in one go what luck...oh yeah there goes more of his lunch...His skin had a thin seen of cold sweat and his hair felt to damp against his forehead. Usually he could find humor in this situation but not even a clown would be smiling. He groaned lowly and lay back taking in the white ceiling. There was a fan spinning and looking at it made him feel worse. He turned his head and the movements made his groan again. It was a fever, that's what had been bothering him. But coupled with the hypersensitivity it felt like death slapping him a round again, yeah...again. He didn't have much time to contemplate that seeing that again he was blacking out.
Stiles woke up in a cold room, sometime in the night. It was and wasn't his room...the same blue walls but different posters and furniture. He remembers how much he loves those toys that he had scattered on the floor. He just woke up from a bad dream and he didn't know where his favourite stuffed bear was so softly he slides off his bed and pads over to his door peaking around it. His nightlight didn't reach out into the hall, and the shadows scared him. "Mommy..." he put on a brave face and walked along the hall to his mother and father's room. He opened their door and shuddered, "Daddy...Mommy..." they were still sound asleep. He pouts and pads over crawling onto the bed and sliding in between them snuggling up to his mom. It didn't matter they were still sleeping, he felt safe...
Soft music drifted into his sensations. A low melody that scratched in a way only an old record could. The song was old and the voice probably dead, but it was comforting for some odd reason. Stiles was slow to open his eyes and take a census on his sense. He was warm...but that was because of the mound of feather comforter tucked around him. It was the same dark room but the windows now let in the soft mid morning light. So the last time he had awaken it was dark outside, which didn't actually help him decide how long he had been out. He rose up gently and winced at the bruises on his arm..hand prints actually. He could vaguely remember waking up once and thrashing about wildly frightened by some nightmare... he rubbed his arm and looked around spotting the prime candidate for the was an old black phonograph that stood out stark to the relatively modern room.
Upon closer inspection though, once he managed to stumble over with one of the comforters draped around him, he discovered it wasn't black but charred, a badly burned but carefully restored functioning phonograph. He looked around and took careful mind notes of his surroundings. The room had dark wood floors and bark brown walls. The drapes and comforters were a gentle forestry green. The rugs were stark white on the floor and the decorations or such things were all modern bookcases and glass table with a rolling chair beneath. The bookcase had everything ranging from Faulkner to Dickens, and then to some seriously deep theoretical books on The Neurological Study Concerning Trauma Patients. And does this all makes sense now because beside the bed table is a an old burnt photo of a younger Peter Hale and Stiles assumed was Natalia Hale. So he was currently in Peter's room, which was disturbing in itself but more so not knowing how long he had been there.
The door had been left cracked and the walk down the multi doored hall was just long enough to make Stiles nervous on what he might find. But it was quiet and totally not strung up with bodies like Stiles had dramatized. The main room was connected to a kitchen by a small wall and bar, and the living room was just as modern as the bedroom. The floor was the same but the walls were lighter brown and tan golds. The couch was white like the rugs but it was more eggshell. Stiles took a seat and curled up wrapping himself in the comforter. He would wait for answers that would come, until then he thought up his questions.
First, what happened to him. Second, how long was he out, and third important one, who had helped him into the apartments because that was a two person manhandling. He also wondered if his Dad of Scott knew that he was gone. He didn't have to wait to long for someone to show up, and the sharp click of the door unlocking caught his attention quick. He heard a soft sigh and papers hit a side table before the pause.
"So, your finally awake." Peter for once didn't sound like the world owed his it attention, instead he sounded like a tired man who just wanted coffee. Stiles shrugged, "Awake...maybe not alive..." he peeked over the couch, "I assume that since I'm seeing Satan himself then..."
Peter huffed,"Ha ha very funny, not your best though." Peter made his way into his kitchen an started to set up some coffee. Stiles shrugged again and sank back into the warmth he had encompassed himself into. Peter came back a while later and set two cups down, one for himself and one in front of Stiles on a decorative coaster. Stiles eyed it for a minute and Peter sneered,"I didn't poison it. Just to assure you."
Stiles shook his head and reached out gently,"I don't drink coffee a lot...not very good for my ADD." he sipped at the vanilla flavoured beverage gingerly. Peter nods and sits back in the tense but acceptable silence. Stiles eyed him before stating his first question, "Curious to know if you might have figured out why I was passing out in the middle of the woods. Also, where you following me?"
Peter quirked an eyebrow,"Deaton is still checking the books to see if you may have been poisoned...and you called me remember." he stated it matter of fact.
Stiles paused,"I called you? I don't remember that... I mean yeah I don't really remember a lot but still, mind catching me up?" he sat up straighter. Peter nods, "I was at home and you called me, rambling on about being attacked and that your legs wouldn't work...some other terrifying things about seeing people hanging from trees." he blinked quizzically at Stiles.
Stiles froze up and his throat tightened he could feel his skin go cold. Peter sat up quickly,"Stiles?"
Stiles shook his head,"It wasn't you chasing me through the woods...across the road..." Peter shook his head and Stiles leaned back his nervous fidget kicking in.
Peter nods slowly,"You were followed then..by something.." he pause thinking,"About three days ago actually. You kept going in and out with a fever and chills." Peter looked at his arms curiously,"Woke up screaming a few times..." Stiles rubbed at his sore arm. Peter shook his head,"Well now that you can move without throwing up food you haven't eaten, your father has been interrogated Derek and Scott as to your whereabouts." Stiles eyes shpt up,"My dad didn't know? Crap...yeah I have t get home.." he groaned and slumped,"I think I left my jeep.." Peter interrupted him, "Scott took care of it. He came in here demanding my head on a stick for bringing you to him first...had to us the whole 'he is dying at this moment' technique to calm him."
Stiles flinched lightly, he felt awful for putting Scott through that again. Peter stood up and walked towards the hall,"Your clothes were covered in dirt and other sorts of things, and I have enough to just let you keep those." with that he slipped into one of the rooms. Stiles had only shortly wondered why he was wearing a pair of dark grey sweats and a thin short sleeved plain t-shirt. "I'm astonished you have normal shirts to be honest." he could hear Peter scoff and barely missed the bag of clothes fly at his head. "Your dad made it clear he'd shoot me and Derek if you didn't get back to his house the second you manage to start feeling well enough to. And I'm pretty sure Chris gave him bullets before he left"
Sties laughed lightly and pulled out the battered red hoodie, it had been freshly cleaned and maybe even still felt warm. He barely hesitated before pulling it over his head and pulling on his sneakers. Mentally taking note that Derek was the second semi-kidnapper semi-rescuer.
The ride was shorter now that he was in the moment and not lagging with three second delay. And after a quick for food that Stiles was absolutely willing to kill for, they pulled up to the Stilinski house hold. Scott's new bike was sitting out front and it briefly filled Stiles with the worst kind of feelings. When Ethan had left he had passed Aiden's bike over to Scott, said that someone needed to look after it. Peter sensing the tension clear his throat and leaned back"Better hurry and make something up, he's been here the whole time."
Stiles nodded and slid out of the car,"Thanks I guess..for keeping me alive..." he quickly forced the words out and Peer waved a hand,"Done it before, probably be forced to do it again." Stiles huffed an closed the door before turning for the house. The car puled out shortly after and left him alone to face the brutal loving thing he called family.