Sorry about another long delay. This chapter kicked my butt. Hopefully it's not as bad as I think it is...


Noah watches his son's face closely as he holds the gauze to the back of his neck, where the cuts from Scott's claws are still sluggishly bleeding. "Come on, Stiles," he urges quietly, petting the short hair behind his ear with his thumb. "Open your eyes. You can do it."

Melissa is still fussing over Scott, who is weakly fighting her, trying to get up out of the chair she managed to get him into after he passed out. "Mom, I'm fine," he argues, batting at her hands. "Let me go."

"You're about five shades of white right now, honey," she tells him firmly. "If you get out of that chair, I promise I'll be scraping you up off the floor again."

"I need to go back in, see why he didn't come through," Scott says, sounding nearly panicked. "He was right there. He should've come through. He promised…"

Deaton steps forward to hold out a halting hand as Scott squirms restlessly. "Scott, both you and Stiles are much too weak right now," he says, not unkindly. "If you tried to go in his mind again, it would likely kill both of you."

Noah tightens his other hand around Stiles', biting back the fear as he glances up at the monitors. Deaton's right—his son's heart is beating too slow. The pauses between each breath feel like they're getting longer. His skin feels like ice.

They're losing him.

"Stiles, son, wake up," he begs again. "Please don't leave me."

As if in response, Stiles' hand spasms in his. Noah's eyes snap to his face hopefully; waiting, anticipating. "Stiles?"

Another spasm, and then suddenly Stiles' entire body goes rigid, just before the monitors start screeching.

"Stiles!" Scott yelps, pushing past his mom as the boy on the bed starts seizing.

Time seems to slow down as a medical team swarms into the room, pulling Noah away from the bed, stealing Stiles' hand from his as they calmly shout words he can't begin to comprehend right now. Noah presses himself against the wall, out of the way, his eyes never leaving Stiles' face as it contorts with the muscle spasms. The convulsions go on and on, the minutes dragging into what feels like hours. Noah doesn't breathe the entire time, watching helplessly until the tremors finally taper and die and Stiles' body goes limp once again.

He's never been a big believer in miracles. Not because he's too proud to admit there are things in the world he can't explain—hell, for the last few months he's been introduced to all kinds of weird stuff that goes against the laws of physics. But even before he watched his wife wither away, watched every piece of her that he loved slowly disappear, he'd always ascribed to the belief that there's a certain logic to how things work. Even if that logic is that everything that happens is random.

But as the doctor rolls Stiles onto his back and starts checking his vitals, Noah swears he witnesses an honest-to-God miracle. Because Stiles opens his eyes.

"Stiles?" Noah chokes, pressing forward again.

His son blinks lazily, eyes sliding toward his voice, looking for him. "Dad?" The word is so soft, he can barely make it out over the chatter of the doctor and nurses, but Noah sees his lips move, knows what he said.

It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

He manages to get to his son's bedside, to take his hand, and Stiles finally finds him.

"Hey, kid," Noah says, vision going blurry.

The doctor is trying to get Stiles' attention, asking him questions and shining a little light in his eyes, but Stiles is too busy studying Noah's face to pay any attention to her. Noah can see the question forming behind his eyes as they begin their roaming search again.

"Scott?" he rasps when he spots his friend leaning on his mom near the doorway.

Scott must know exactly what he wants, because he smiles and nods. "You did it, Stiles." His dark eyes glitter, and the smile tightens, sours around the corners of his mouth. "She's not here."

Stiles closes his eyes, a tear sneaking out as he does. Noah reaches to wipe it away, and Stiles presses his cheek into his hand.

"Stiles?" the doctor tries again. "I'm Doctor Ziebert. I need to ask you a few questions, see how you're doing, okay? Your dad can stay right here if you want him to, but I'm going to have to ask everyone else to leave."

Stiles nods, tightening his hold on Noah's hand and blinking tiredly as the nurses usher the others out of the room.

As the doctor begins her questions, Noah keeps one hand against his son's face and the other firmly wrapped around his hand, determined to never let him go again. Stiles doesn't seem to mind. He holds on just as tightly.


Stiles is secretly grateful that Melissa is being so strict about who she's letting in his room right now. She didn't even ask if he wanted to see anyone else, even though he's been told they're all out there in the waiting room, chomping at the bit to see that he's okay. It's not that he doesn't want to see them, but maybe Melissa senses that the idea of it is a bit overwhelming because she doesn't even suggest it.

Usually he's all for her willingness to bend the rules about visitation, but for once, he's glad she's suddenly sticking to the hospital policy of family only.

Well, mostly. She does let Scott come back in, after the doctors finally leave. But that's it.

Honestly, the three of them hovering over him is plenty.

"Come on, Dad," he argues, trying his best to not sound as weak as he feels. "I'm okay now. Please just let me see him."

"Pretty funny definition of okay you've got there," his dad retorts. "Stiles, you were unconscious for three days. You just had a seizure. You need to stay in this bed and rest."

Stiles waves a hand, as if his dad is making his point for him. "Like you said, I slept for three days. How much more rested can I get?"

"Stiles, that's not—"

"I just," Stiles interrupts. "I need to see him, Dad. I have to try and help him, okay?"

"What are you even going to do, son?" Stiles hates how soft his dad's voice is.

It's a valid question, one Stiles can't answer, but he can't think too much about that right now. Just like he couldn't think too much about walking through that doorway. If he stops and thinks, this is all going to fall apart real fast.

"Please." Stiles tries to somehow channel how important this is into his tone. He considers coming clean, telling his dad that right now, the hope of somehow saving Nicholas is the only thing keeping him going. That if he doesn't try to do something, and Nicholas dies, he's pretty sure that will squash the last little bit of will he has left to keep on living. But he can't do it, can't break his dad's heart like that. "Just let me see him," he begs again.

Something must get through, because his dad sighs in that way he does when he's about to relent and looks up at Melissa as if asking her what she thinks.

"Well, you're definitely not a hundred percent yet, sweetie," she says, "but your stats are looking a hell of a lot better than they were an hour ago. How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, throwing a glance toward Scott, but not quite meeting his eyes. The migraine from his dream had only gotten worse when he'd woken up, but between the pills they'd given him and Scott sneakily draining a good chunk of it, he actually doesn't feel too terrible now. Other than being ridiculously tired. But he knows it won't last, and if anyone's going to tell on him, it'll be Scott.

"I'm fine," he says, and thankfully Scott doesn't call him out.

His dad sighs again before nodding reluctantly. "Okay," he says. "If you need to see him, I suppose it won't hurt. But, Stiles, you have to understand that that thing had him a lot longer than it had you, and we almost lost you. Nicholas is already on life support. It might already be too late…"

Stiles can't get out a response to that, so he just nods back.

Melissa goes to find him a wheelchair, which he would usually object to, but he's not under any illusions that he won't make it all the way across the hospital to Nicholas' room without it. As soon as she leaves, though, the tension between him and Scott feels like it doubles. Like she was somehow deflecting some of it.

Maybe it was just that Stiles knew Scott wouldn't try to bring up what happened in his mind in front of his mom. But now that she isn't here…

Stiles slides down into the bed a little further, picking at some fuzz on the hospital blanket. "Dad, can I…?" He bites his lip. "Can I talk to Scott for a minute?"

For a moment, it looks like his dad is going to say no, and Stiles nearly panics thinking that maybe it's because Scott already told him everything. That he somehow knows all about how Stiles let them all down again, and he's disappointed and angry and never going to let Stiles out of his sight ever again because he's broken every last bit of trust that ever existed between them.

But then he gets up, dropping a kiss in Stiles' hair and promising he'll be right outside the door if he needs him.

The tension becomes suffocating once his dad leaves, because Scott still isn't saying anything. Has hardly said a word since Stiles woke up. Stiles finds he can't even look at him, but knows he can't leave this alone. He has to say something, and he has to do it now.

"Scott," he starts, his voice sounding harsh in the quiet of the room. "You're not gonna…" He flicks his eyes over to his friend, sitting so still next to him, and swallows against the dryness in his throat. "You're not gonna tell them, are you?"

Scott remains silent for what feels like an eternity. "Are you?"

He can't find an answer.

"They need to know, Stiles," Scott says gently.

Tears prick at the backs of his eyes, and he bites them back. And there it is. The consequence of coming through that door. No turning back now. No more hiding.

This is the choice he made, and now he's going to have to live with it.

"Don't—" He clears his throat when his voice breaks. "Don't go into Nicholas' mind, okay? You—You barely made it back from mine, and if my dad's right…"

"Stiles—"

"No, I'm serious, Scott," Stiles says, his heart thumping faster as the words squeak out in a rush. "I know you. You always think you can save everyone, even when it's hopeless. But—but if you go in there, I just know… Please, just promise me you won't, because I can't—"

"Hey." A warm hand closes over his, stilling his nervous destruction of the blanket.

Scott waits until Stiles finally looks at him. "I won't, okay? I promise. I'm not gonna leave you." Smirking, he adds, "Besides, I don't think my mom will let me anywhere near him anyway."

The attempted humor does nothing to penetrate the darkness surrounding him.

"There's always hope, Stiles," Scott reminds him, squeezing his hand tightly. "Even when it seems impossible. This isn't over yet."

Melissa comes back in with the wheelchair, and Stiles is grateful for the interruption. Because while he so desperately wants to believe Scott's words, he just doesn't know if he can right now.


Melissa had explained Nicholas' condition to Stiles on the way to his room, but it's still jarring to see him buried under all those machines. It reminds him of when he would visit his mom, when she started getting worse and she had to have all the IVs (and eventually the restraints, which he hated the most). He wouldn't say he has a fear of hospitals, per say, but seeing someone so sick, so close to death, it hollows out his stomach and sends a chill down his spine.

There's another nurse sitting at his bedside when they get there. Melissa pulls her aside and talks to her in hushed tones for a minute, until she flashes a sad smile at Stiles and leaves.

And then there's nothing between him and Nicholas.

"Just a few minutes, okay, kiddo?" his dad tells him quietly, pushing him up to the side of the bed. Scott and Melissa are behind them, and he steps back with them to give Stiles some space.

Space to do what, though? Now that he's here, Stiles has no idea what he thought he was going to do. He's only talked to Nicholas once, briefly, and that had hardly been a conversation. Even if he did know this kid, it's not like Nicholas can hear him, with the ventilator hissing and the monitors beeping, a constant reminder that he's too far gone to even breathe on his own right now.

This is a bad idea. It's like rubbing salt in the wound. Once again, he's the one that gets to pull through, to survive despite all the odds being against him, while everyone else dies.

He suddenly doesn't want to be here anymore, and he turns with the intention of telling them this. But Scott catches his eye before he can, and the look on his face stops him short. He knows that look well, it's the one Scott's given him a hundred times before. That anticipation, that unwavering faith that Stiles is about to solve whatever problem they've found themselves in.

You're the one who figures it out. You always figure it out.

Lydia has said that to him more than once, and he used to believe it. Used to plow ahead with that reckless optimism that somehow, someway it would work out. Because for so long it always had. Maybe not perfectly, but they'd always managed to scrape by—to beat the baddies and come home at the end of the day, more or less in one piece.

But that just isn't the case anymore, is it? Because with the nogitsune, he'd done nothing to figure it out. He'd been helpless, trapped, a damsel in distress waiting for his friends to risk themselves to come and rescue him. In the end, they'd been the ones to pay the price to set him free.

Except it's like Scott didn't get that memo. Just like in his dream, just like with the nogitsune, Scott really hasn't given up hope. He still believes they're going to beat this.

He still believes in Stiles.

After everything, he hasn't given up. Which means Stiles can't either.

Turning back to Nicholas, he reaches out a trembling hand to take the limp one on the bed. Nicholas is impossibly cold, and Stiles finds himself wrapping his other hand around the frozen fingers as well, trying to transfer the tiny bit of warmth he can offer.

"Hey, Nicholas," he starts awkwardly. "It's, uh, Stiles. You know, that weird kid that you wouldn't talk to the other day before school? I'm totally not offended, by the way. I get it. I just, uh, kinda hoped maybe I could talk to you now. I mean, I guess you can't really say no or run away this time, so you're stuck with me, but… I just kinda hope you listen. If you can even hear me."

He's acutely aware of the people standing behind him, knows that they're listening to everything he says, but Stiles makes himself press forward. This isn't about him right now. "Look, this is gonna be kind of hard to explain, but wherever you are right now, whatever great version of your life you think you're living, it's not real. You're dreaming. But I think you probably already know that. At least, I did. The thing is, if you stay there, if you don't wake up, you're gonna die, Nicholas.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. Who cares, right? You were gonna kill yourself anyway." Stiles' throat closes for a second, and he has to take a breath before he can continue. "Like, what's the point of coming back to all of this, right? If you wake up, you're just gonna have to deal with the heartbreak all over again."

Stiles shifts, wincing a little as the headache from before starts back in behind his eyes. "I get it, man. Life kinda sucks. It's not fair, you know? Seems like all the bad crap always happens to you, while everyone else just gets to live normal, happy lives." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

"I don't know what I'm trying to say here. I'm not gonna lie and pretend that everything's gonna be great someday, because more than likely, it won't. But… My buddy reminded me that it's not always gonna suck, either. I know it's hard to believe, but he does and he's pretty smart, you know? I trust him when he says things won't always be bad. There will be good stuff, someday. And if you give up now, if you… You might miss out on something really special, you know?

Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, Stiles sighs again. He can't find the right words to explain this. "I guess, what I'm trying to say is, give it a chance, man. Because I know it feels like you're alone, but you're not. I mean, I'm here. And your friend, Devon, right? He was really worried about you. And, and… I don't know." A tear skips down his face.

"Just… Please. Don't die," he whispers, voice cracking with desperation.

There's no response, of course, other than the rhythmic hiss of the machine, and Stiles closes his eyes as the pulsing pain in his head grows.

Colorful spots dance in the darkness behind his eyelids, blending and morphing into images. It's nothing new—he sees them every time he closes his eyes—but this time it's not Allison's face or masked creatures or steel fangs haunting his visions.

It's a creek, running through mossy boulders and branches, twisting this way and that. The quiet sound of the clear water rushes in his ears, drowning out the noises of the hospital. And he can hear birds now, too. Can smell the pine needles littering the ground. Sunlight bleeds down from above, erasing the darkness to leave only the serene scene of the forest before him. He recognizes this place. It's the same place he found the fairy, the same place he and Scott went in his dream. That little bend in the creek that seemed to call to him, to draw him in.

He's confused for a minute, wondering why his mind decided to conjure up this particular image in such sharp detail, but then he sees him, standing on the other side of the creek a few hundred feet away.

Nicholas.

He's far enough away that it's hard to see his face, but the sun shines off his eyes, and Stiles can tell he's crying. He tries to step forward, closer to him, but his body is too far away, somewhere back in a hospital room. He finds he can't speak anymore either. So he does the only thing he can—he reaches out toward the boy across the creek.

Nicholas wavers, tears spilling freely down his cheeks, and then takes a step toward him.

He doesn't really know what's happening, or how it's happening, but Stiles suddenly realizes that if he's somehow slipped into Nicholas' mind, they need a way out. A door, like he made in his dream. He's somehow come this far, and he's not going to let Nicholas die now.

Concentrating sends another spike of pain through his brain, but Stiles grits his teeth in determination. He did this before, surely he can do it again. All he has to do is…

With a swoop of dizziness, he sees it, the outline of it growing up out of the ground like vines before coming together and filling in the rest of the shape. He blinks at it in disbelief, but when he touches the rough wood of the door, it's solid beneath his fingertips. The metal doorknob is cool against his palm.

Turning the knob feels like he's cranking a vice around his brain and squishing it out of his head. Actually, he might be doing just that, because there's a metallic taste in his mouth, like blood, and he distantly feels something wet on his lips. The sounds of the forest are beginning to fade, and he can hear someone far off calling his name. Can feel the ghost of a touch on his face. He brushes them aside, focuses on the door, on pressing it open…

Nicholas is right beside him now. His dark eyes are wide with fear as they outline the door before finally landing on Stiles. Stiles wants to tell him it will be okay, but his mouth still doesn't work, so instead he offers a small smile as he holds out his hand.

Nicholas hesitates, glances back at the world behind him, and Stiles is afraid he's going to turn back. But then he looks at Stiles again and takes his hand.

They walk through the door together.

"Stiles? Stiles, open your eyes!"

Sound and light hit him like a freight train, and Stiles fights against the weight holding his eyelids closed, managing to crank them open enough to see his dad's worried face in front of him. "Melissa, what's happening?" His voice pounds through Stiles' skull.

"I don't know." And suddenly Melissa is there, too, just over to the side, between him and the boy on the bed. "Nicholas, honey, can you hear me? You're ok, sweetie." She looks over her shoulder, forehead pinched, and Stiles can just see past her. Can see Nicholas's eyes open, panicked as he tries to reach for the tube in his throat.

"Get me a doctor!" she barks at someone he can't see. Nicholas sees him, too, dark eyes meeting his through the chaos surrounding them.

"I did it," Stiles murmurs in shock.

And then another wave of pain slams into him, pushing him down, down, down into darkness.


Good news, the next chapter is already finished! I'll try to get it up in the next couple days. And then there's just one more part that needs some work at the end. We're almost there!