The last time Scott entered Stiles' mind, he'd been imprisoned in restraints in Eichen House, so he's expecting a similar welcome this time. Instead, he finds himself curled up comfortably in his own bed, sunlight shining on his face through the gap in the curtains.
He bolts upright, hands running over his body, searching for something out of place. Last time, everything had been wrong. But everything feels normal now. Everything looks normal.
He yanks his door open quickly, thinking that maybe that white room is waiting for him just behind it, but, no. It's just his hallway. And beyond that, the stairs. Still, he moves cautiously, just in case. He's in Stiles' mind, after all—who knows what he'll find?
"Morning, Scott."
His mom's voice nearly gives him a heart attack as he spins around to see her sitting in the living room, nose stuck in a book and steaming cup of tea sitting next to her. "Whoa, sorry," she chuckles. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Oh. Uh, that's okay," he tells her.
"What are you up to today?" she asks, licking her thumb and turning a page.
He's not sure what to make of all of this. It seriously feels like he just woke up at home on a normal day. Did the mind connection not work?
"Um, just looking for Stiles."
She looks up at him from her book with a confused frown. "Stiles Stilinski?"
What other Stiles could he possibly be talking about? "Yeah…?" he says, drawing out the word.
Her expression says she's surprised, but she just makes a little humming noise and goes back to her book. "Okay. Well, let me know if you're going to be back for dinner before I leave for my shift and I'll make you something."
Scott waits to see if she'll say anything else about Stiles, but she just goes back to reading her book. "Okay," he says, still frowning. "See you later then."
"See ya, sweetheart."
That was weird. Why did she act so weird when he mentioned Stiles? Scott shakes his head. Doesn't matter, this isn't real. He needs to quit overanalyzing everything. Needs to find Stiles and figure out how to get them out of here. There's no evil fox spirit holding him captive this time, so it shouldn't be hard, right?
Right.
Scott heads into the kitchen and looks for the keys to his bike, except they're not there. He glances out the window and doesn't see it in the driveway either.
Okay, so regular bike then.
He's not sure where he's supposed to be going, so he decides the logical place to start is at Stiles' house. He kind of expects that something strange will happen on the way over, that he'll jump to the white room again, or end up out in the Preserve by the Nemeton, or even something small like what happened with his mom. But the ride over feels exactly like all the other times he's ridden his bike over there. Like, so mundanely normal.
What the hell did the fairy even do? Stick Stiles in his normal life?
The Jeep is in the driveway when Scott rounds the corner to the house, and he hopes that means Stiles is home. Dropping his bike on the sidewalk, he jogs to the door, but hesitates before he knocks. Because while Scott might not be the most observant person ever, he's knocked on this door hundreds of times before, and it's always been blue.
Now, it's purple.
Okay, purple door, Mom acting weird. Something's going on, but what?
Only one way to find out. Scott knocks on the door.
The Sheriff looks surprised to see him. "Scott?" he says as he opens the door, forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Hi."
There's an awkward pause while Scott waits to be invited in like usual. Instead, the Sheriff just stands there, wearing an expression almost identical to Scott's mom's when he'd told her he was looking for Stiles.
"Is Stiles home?" Scott finally asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His stomach turns nervously.
"Oh, yeah, of course." Now the Sheriff moves aside, motioning for him to come in. "He's in the living room."
Scott smiles and nods his thanks, ducking past quickly and walking though the kitchen to the living room. He freezes in the doorway, relief loosening the tension in his shoulders at the sight of his friend, alive and well, laughing at the video game he's playing. …With a little girl?
Yeah, that's definitely not what he was expecting.
"You think you can defeat Kirby, just because you're big?" Stiles taunts, skillfully smashing buttons on his controller. "Falcon punch me one more time and I'll show you how this pink balloon can kick your ass."
"Bite me," the girl spits back.
"Oh, I will. And I'll steal your powers while I'm at it."
Scott watches the two of them play for a minute longer, completely thrown off by the girl. "Stiles?" he finally says.
Stiles glances back at him, and then does a double take. He's got that same befuddled expression as his dad and Scott's mom. "Scott? What are you doing here?"
"Haha!" the girl shouts, taking advantage of the distraction and tossing Stiles' character off the screen. "Take that, sucker!"
"Hey," Stiles complains, hitting pause and shooting her a withering glare before standing and turning his attention back toward Scott. "What's up? Why are you here?"
Scott can't hold back any longer. Crossing the room in a few long strides, he pulls Stiles into a hug. "Thank God you're okay."
Stiles startles at the hug, like he's been shocked, and pushes Scott back and to hold him at arms' length. "Wait," he says, scanning Scott's eyes hopefully, like he's looking for something. "Scott?"
Grinning, Scott nods. "Yeah, dude. It's me."
"Oh, thank God," Stiles echoes, yanking him back into his arms. Scott happily returns the embrace, holding his best friend tightly. Even if it's all in his head, he doesn't care. It feels real.
"Eww, get a room," the girl scoffs.
"Shut up, dweeb," Stiles grumbles at her.
He suddenly jerks back again, grabbing Scott's shoulders and looking at him wild-eyed. "Hold on. How did you get here?" He looks around frantically. "Is—is there a portal or something? A wormhole? No wait, don't tell me this is like a Freaky Friday situation. Is Darkest Timeline me running around back home?"
Scott frowns, studying his friend's face. "Stiles," he asks slowly, "where do you think we are?"
Glancing over at the girl, who's staring at them like they're crazy, Stiles seems to decide this conversation would be better without an audience. "Come on," he says, grabbing a handful of Scott's shirt and dragging him toward the stairs.
"Does this mean you forfeit?" the girl calls after them. Stiles pointedly ignores her.
"Who is that?" Scott asks as they reach Stiles' room.
Pulling him inside, Stiles shuts the door, turning around and leaning against it. "That?" he asks, thumbing over his shoulder. "Oh, that's nobody. Just my sister."
The crease on Scott's forehead is back. "Sister? But you don't have a—"
"I know that, Scott!" Stiles hisses, flailing his hands impatiently. "But apparently, in this universe I do."
"Dude, what are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?!"
It's becoming obvious that Stiles has no idea what's going on. Scott supposes that isn't all that surprising—Deaton did say the fairy's magic is powerful, and this all feels very real. Not like a dream at all. Taking a breath, Scott shakes his head slowly. "Stiles, this is all in your head, man. None of this is real."
Stiles stares back at him for a long moment, unmoving. No, not entirely unmoving. His fingers are twitching—methodically, one at a time. Counting, in that tic he's picked up, ever since the Nemeton.
"Stiles?" he asks tentatively, trying to break him out of the pattern before it develops into a panic attack.
His friend's voice is broken when he finally speaks, his eyes wide with despair. "This is a dream?"
"It's—" Scott doesn't know where to start. He's not even entirely sure what's happening right now. "What do you remember?"
Stiles deflates, sliding slowly to the floor and propping his arms on his knees so that his hands hang in front of him. "I don't—That's the thing. I don't remember anything weird happening. I remember going to bed last Thursday, and in the morning, I woke up here. At first, I thought I was dreaming again, but…" He looks up at Scott, defeat written all over his face. "I've been here for days, Scott."
Scott sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. It's not subtle, he knows, but right now, he feels like they both need the grounding physical contact. "You don't remember anything about looking into two missing people? Tim Reynolds and Nicholas Brown?"
Stiles' eyes go distant, shaking his head slowly. "No, I…" Tilting his head, he frowns. "Wait. I do know those names. Why do I know those names?"
Scott actually finds it hard to say. Licking his lips, he makes himself press forward. "They were both related to victims from the…" The words stick in his throat. "Tim's fiancé and Nicholas' aunt both died at the hospital."
He feels Stiles tense beside him.
"Tim disappeared on Tuesday. His sister thought… She thought maybe he'd gone out to the woods to kill himself. And then Nicholas ran away on Wednesday. He—his aunt was his only guardian, and he was only fifteen, so he was in foster care, and I guess…"
"Yeah, I remember that," Stiles says, still staring at the spot on the floor as if it holds all the answers. "There was something else… Something weird about it."
"Yeah." Scott taps his fingers against his knees. "Or, I guess you thought there was." He wants to say more about that, ask why Stiles didn't tell anyone about his investigation. Ask why he went into the woods, into danger, without backup.
"How did I forget about that?" Stiles mumbles to himself. He looks back at Scott, amber eyes searching. "There was something about Bluffton Creek, right?"
Scott nods. "You went out there, I guess to look for them."
"Yeah," Stiles says, sitting up straighter. It's like a lightbulb went off and he's putting all the pieces together. "We used to go camping out there when I was little. It's not far from the Nemeton." Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he scrunches up his face in concentration. "They found Tim's kayak out there, and that's where Nicholas' mom OD'ed."
Scott furrows his brow. He'd known Nicholas' mom died when he was younger, but he didn't know how. How had Stiles known?
"I think I found something," Stiles continues, "but I don't remember…"
"It was a fairy," Scott blurts.
Stiles narrows his eyes, the confusion back. "A fairy? Like… As in… Tinkerbell?"
His indignation pulls a half smile out of Scott. "No, dude. Not like Tinkerbell. Like, an ancient, blood-sucking Celtic fae."
"Oh." Stiles's nod morphs into a head shake. "Wait. What?"
Scott sighs. "There was a fairy, a fae, out there. Deaton says there's a ton of different kinds, so we're not entirely sure what this one is, but he said it's probably close to some of these Celtic vampire fairies."
Stiles makes a face. "Oh, gross."
Scott would make a joke at his reaction if he hadn't seen it first hand. "Dude, you have no idea."
"So, what then? How did I end up stuck in dreamland?"
"Stiles, the fairy took you," Scott says emphatically. "She… She had you all strung up in the sewers. You almost died, dude."
Stiles stares at him in shock.
"You might still die," Scott continues. "Deaton says you're still under the fairy's magic, and if we can't figure out how to wake you up, you could still die, Stiles. That's why I'm here, because we need to figure out how to break the fairy's magic."
"Scott, I don't…" Stiles stutters, shaking his head. "How can I help with that? I don't even remember the fairy. I just woke up here and everything was different…"
"How is it different?" Scott asks. "Maybe if we can figure out what it did, why it stuck you in this dream, we can find a way out."
Stiles is still wearing a bewildered expression. "Well, you saw," he says, waving a hand at the door behind him. "I have a sister. And… You and I aren't friends here—well, not really, but I'm working on that." He suddenly frowns. "Actually, you're friends with Greenburg, which is… Totally besides the point because this is all just a dream."
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. "Uh, what else? I mean, what isn't different? I'm best friends with Jackson, which is just as horrible as it sounds. Oh, and I'm dating Lydia, which sounds great, except she's basically turned me into a poster child for Hollister. Don't ask. Um, there's a prostitute living in Derek's loft, and Deaton's animal clinic is a yoga studio, and I now know what being pepper sprayed feels like…"
It's Scott's turn to stare in shock. Even if this is just a dream. Wow. But still, none of that really gives any indication as to what kind of magic the fairy might have used.
"Oh," Stiles adds, looking down, a bashful smile breaking out over his face. "And the big one, I guess. My mom, uh, never got sick. She's still alive."
In a lot of ways, Melissa thinks she has thick skin. She has to, really. Being a single mom of a teenage boy is no joke. Being a single mom of a teenage werewolf? Yeah, she's pretty tough. She's managed to single-handedly navigate all the normal teen stuff—dating and driving and rebellious independence, plus all the added stress of having a son mixed up in the supernatural world. So not only does she get to constantly worry about Scott taking a curve too fast on his motorcycle and ending up in a ditch somewhere, she also gets to deal with the fact that there are literal creatures out there who want him dead.
If that wasn't enough, her job ensures she keeps herself desensitized to all the terrible things that can happen to a person. Not in a heartless way, but Melissa has seen some pretty gruesome things in her twenty years working here, and maintaining a certain distance from it allows her to survive. Because while she cares about her patients, the truth is, if she allowed herself to care too much, she would have broken a long time ago.
That doesn't mean she's always invincible, though. Sometimes, even her armor doesn't hold back all the arrows life throws her way. And today, she's afraid one more hit might just take her down.
"Excuse me?"
Melissa looks up from her charts, shaking off her wandering thoughts and putting on a fake smile as a gray-haired man approaches the counter. "How can I help you?" she asks.
"Hi, I'm Roger Sanders, that's my wife Brenda over there." He points to a woman sitting in the waiting area, who gives a little wave. Her eyes are bloodshot and wet from crying. "We've been fostering Nicholas Brown the last few weeks. I know we aren't allowed to visit or get any specific information because we're not his legal guardians, but, well, he doesn't have anyone, and…" He chokes up a little. "The nurse last night said she was going to keep an eye on him for us."
Melissa remembers seeing them here yesterday, and from the dark circles under Roger's eyes and the familiar pile of coffee cups next to Brenda, it looks like they haven't left. Her throat goes a little tight at the thought. "We've all been taking turns sitting with him," she tells him. "He hasn't been alone."
Roger nods, giving her a sad smile. "Thank you." He pauses, setting a black journal on the counter and resting his hands on top of it, as if there's more to why he came over here. "He's a good kid, you know?" he finally says. "Really bright. Just so tragic what happened to him. Brenda and I, we've fostered a few teens over the years, so we've seen it all, but Nicholas… He's a special kid. I hate to think that a kid like that could be so desperate to end it all."
"What do you mean?" Melissa asks, furrowing her brow. She's not sure how much information would have been shared with Nicholas' foster parents, but they'd been questioned by the police for the investigation, so she assumes they have some idea of what happened. And if that didn't clue them in, the local news had been running the story all morning, and it wasn't hard to figure out who the "unnamed minors" were.
"We thought he just ran away," Roger explains, his voice cracking. "Not unusual, we've had kids run before, especially the older ones. They don't know how to cope, so they take off. But one of Nicholas' friends from school just stopped by a little while ago. He knows us from church, or I don't think he would've come forward, poor thing. Scared to death he was gonna get in trouble."
"Why?" Melissa presses, a sense of foreboding brewing in her gut.
Roger shakes his head, looking down at the journal under his hands. "Nicholas loves to write. Carries this thing everywhere. Devon found it in his backpack Thursday morning." He flips it open to a page near the end, letting Melissa take it from him.
It's a poem, a dark poem, about a woman in the woods. It's actually impressive writing for a fifteen-year-old, hauntingly beautiful, but the imagery isn't very subtle. It has to be about either his mom or his aunt, and talks about how she's calling to him. About how he's going to join her forever. She flips to the next page and sees a short note to Devon, basically saying he's sorry and to take care of the journal for him.
"Oh, God," she mumbles, heart clenching. It's a suicide note.
"Devon said the other boy that was found with Nicholas, the Sheriff's son, had been asking him questions Thursday at school. That he'd shown this to him. And then when he saw the news this morning that a couple kids had been attacked out in the Preserve, he was afraid it was them."
The bottom drops out of Melissa's stomach, Noah's words from earlier about Stiles knowing exactly what he'd been doing when he went out there whispering through her mind.
"I'm going to pass this on to the police, in case it helps with their investigation into what happened out there," Roger continues, "I just wanted you to know. In case…" In case Nicholas ever wakes up.
"Yes, thank you for telling me," she says numbly. She knows she should say more, offer some comfort, but she doesn't have any words. "We'll take good care of him," she chokes out. "I promise."
It's not much, but he must sense it's all she can give him, because he gives her another tight smile and goes back to his seat next to his wife. Melissa watches them for a moment, taking in the way Roger puts his arms around Brenda, how she leans into his shoulder with tears in her eyes. It's incredible how much she can tell they care for Nicholas, even though they hardly know him, and she has to hold back her own tears at the thought that he might never know.
She leaves abruptly, heading back toward Stiles' room with purpose. It's not definitive proof of why the fairy chose the victims she did, but it could be the pattern Noah is looking for. And she doesn't like the implications at all.
Except, Noah isn't in Stiles' room when she gets there. Instead, she finds a very flustered Kira, who whips her head around when Melissa enters, looking guilty as hell. And behind her, Scott, standing over Stiles, hand outstretched, eyes closed, like he's…
"What are you doing?" Melissa barks, and she swears Kira jumps a good two feet in the air. Scott, on the other hand, doesn't react at all.
"Mrs. McCall," Kira stutters, holding up her hands as if begging her not to hurt her. "I can explain—"
Melissa rushes into the room, and, sure enough, now she can see Scott's claws embedded in the back of Stiles' neck. "Scott?" she gasps, memories of the last time he did this flitting through her mind. Of how much she'd hated it then. Of how dangerous Peter had said it was.
"It's okay," Kira says. "He knows what he's doing."
"He damn well better," Melissa bites back, laying a hand on Scott's cheek and studying him closely. He feels slightly colder than usual, but his breaths are slow and even. When she takes his wrist, his pulse is a little fast, but steady under her fingers. Steadier than hers right now, anyway.
She spins back toward Kira. "Shut the door," she orders, suddenly worried another nurse or doctor is going to walk in and see what's going on, and how is she going to explain that? Had her idiot son thought at all before he decided to throw himself into Stiles' mind in the middle of a hospital?
No, of course not.
"Where's the Sheriff?" she asks, checking on Stiles next. She frowns as she notes his pulse has slowed since the last time she took it.
"He went to get some food," the girl says, her eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
Probably a good thing, because he's going to be pissed when he sees this, and him being pissed and hungry would be even worse. She can't be sure what all he heard about it the last time Scott did this, but she doubts they told him much. And hearing about it is entirely different than seeing it firsthand.
Melissa pulls the curtain around Stiles' bed as a second line of security. Thankfully, she's the nurse assigned to Stiles this shift, so she has some control over who comes in here, but he's scheduled for some tests later this afternoon and they're definitely going to notice his new werewolf accessory. Or if anything crazy happens, like another version of himself comes crawling up out of the floor. That's going to be a little hard to explain.
Oh, God. She really hopes that doesn't happen again. She still doesn't think she's recovered from the first time.
"Dammit, Scott," she mutters. At least the anger is outweighing everything else right now, or she might actually have a nervous breakdown just from imagining all of the things that could go wrong here. But there's no time for that, because once again, she's stuck with damage control over something her impulsive, idiotic, heroic son had done.
It's a good thing she's got that armor, because when this is all over, she's going to kill Scott.
Thanks to all who have reviewed! I'm so happy people are enjoying this story. :)
