A/N:I conceived and started writing this story before the start of Season 4, so it is of course AU from the events of the S4 timeline. Most of it isn't too AU, but this chapter becomes so because in my story Derek was either never kidnapped or is already back, Isaac didn't leave and Chris either didn't leave or is already back. Likewise, no Malia or Liam because I knew little to nothing about their characters when this started. None of these factors play a very large role in the story since we don't actually see all of them, but it's worth mentioning so there's no confusion.

Perhaps more on edge than he might have realized, Stiles literally jumped at the sudden sound from behind the closed door beside him, despite how soft it actually was. Reacting without thinking, he threw open the door and hurried into the room, looking for the source of the problem.

He found himself in room that looked like most of the other rooms in the hospital, except for the larger than usual bevy of machines clustered around the bed. There was a woman lying there. She had dark black hair and an almost alarming number of tubes snaking about her body. She looked quite exhausted and drawn, but her dark eyes were open and bright with either alertness or pain.

For just a moment, Stiles saw a different woman, in a different hospital bed – one whose eyes were shut, never to open again no matter how he held her hand and pleaded with her to wake. He shook the painful old memory off quickly and ascertained that the sound he'd heard had not, in fact, been a harbinger of some new life threatening disaster. It had probably been caused by the woman accidentally knocking over one of those little metal, kidney-shaped dishes that medical institutions seemed so fond of using for everything. The dish was lying overturned on the floor beside the bed, along with a camelbak water thermos, which, Stiles realized as he automatically stooped to retrieve both articles, was probably what the woman had been trying to reach when the accident occurred. There was a shiny slick of water sprayed across the floor that had probably been made on impact judging by its shape, although the thermos wasn't leaking much now, despite lying on its side.

"Are you okay? Is everything all right?" he asked with concern as he set the dish back on the bedside tray, holding the wet thermos bottle uncertainly. His voice came out scratchier than he'd expected. He was vaguely aware of the door swinging back on its own momentum and clicking quietly shut behind him.

"Water," the woman murmured; her voice steady but very soft. She gestured her hand weakly in the direction of the bottle he was holding, confirming his suspicion.

Stiles fumbled with the bottle for a moment before he figured out that a portion of the lid actually became a straw when you slid it all the way back into place, unsealing the bottle and making a handy apparatus for drinking while lying down. He wasn't sure if this was standard hospital issue, or if a family member had left it for her, but it seemed a pretty ingenious idea to him.

He handed her the bottle carefully, then ended up helping the woman hold it steady so she could drink when her own grip proved too tremulous. Moving closer to the bed, Stiles felt the water on the ground seep into his socks as he accidentally tracked through it. Carefully supporting the weight of the thermos, he watched the woman as she swallowed gratefully. He was relieved to find that she looked very little like the person he'd seen in his dream. So, sometimes dreams were just dreams then. He almost smiled.

"Thank you, but you're not a nurse," Diana Wells said after he'd set the water back on the bedside tray, her gaze fixing astutely on his very visible injuries. Even in the dim illumination of the room's nightlight the dark bruising on his face was apparent. White pads and tape bandages stood out starkly against one temple and gauze carefully wrapped his neck and both wrists. His fingers were bruised and scraped raw from his many attempts to claw his way free; the scratches dark against his pale skin beneath the dull sheen of dried liquid bandage coating them. He looked like a mess and he knew it.

"You're a patient?" she prompted quizzically, looking him over as she licked her dry, cracked lips wearily. The stupid powder blue hospital gown he was wearing probably would have given it away even if the injuries hadn't.

Stiles saw her gaze settle on his hands and dropped them self-consciously out of sight. He knew they should have been wrapped up more thoroughly, just like his scalp wounds, and the reason they weren't was embarrassing. In the ER, things hadn't gone so well when the doctor treating him had initially tried to apply the dressings. Shaken and disorientated once all adrenaline had deserted him, Stiles had completely freaked out when they attempted to wind bandages around his head and hands, clawing at the gauze to get it away from him, much to the poor young doctor's complete confusion. Fortunately, Mrs. McCall had been there. She had understood the problem at once and been quick to suggest alternatives. Stiles appreciated that deeply, although he felt stupid that it had been necessary. He knew it was pointless to react so badly to something that was totally benign on its own merits, but that didn't seem to matter. No amount of self-ridicule could change the fact that the idea of looking down and seeing his fingers grown thick with layers of gauze or feeling the familiar, scratchy pressure of bandages around his head filled him with horror. Maybe one day it wouldn't, but today wasn't that day.

Stiles didn't realize he'd hesitated a little too long in answering for it to seem natural until the woman frowned at him thoughtfully. "Do I ... know you?"

His relief faded abruptly at those words, replaced by a strong, sudden desire to bolt. He took a quick step backward, his voice momentarily frozen by the complete and utter awkwardness of the situation he'd gotten himself into. He should never have come in here. It was entirely possible that Mrs. Wells had seen the nogitsune in his form, same as Cody. Even if she hadn't; he was still going to be the reason her son would probably end up getting sent to juvie or worse. What on earth could he possibly say to this woman who had every right to hate him? Stiles was by nature usually pretty thick-skinned about what people outside his inner circle thought about him and under normal circumstances he might not have cared very much. However, recent experiences had taken their toll and he suddenly found he wasn't physically or emotionally ready to handle any more approbation right now.

"No! I ... uh, I mean no, I'm not and yes I am and no you don't," he said in a fairly unhelpful rush, finally ungluing his mouth. He mustn't have been hiding his feelings at all well, because woman's expression shifted from curious to concerned as she took in his change in demeanor and sudden withdrawal.

"I was just, um... passing by and I heard you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay, which you are, so I'll just be going now..." Stiles pressed on, edging back towards the door behind him.

"You were just passing by at -" the woman glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting as if her vision weren't terribly clear. "3am in the morning?" Despite her infirmity, she gave him a distinctly incredulous look of the type honed by those involved in raising teenagers.

Stiles shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, was looking for a vending machine. The food here sucks, you know," he said lightly. "So, anyway, like I said, I'll just go..." he over-gestured in something close to a flail before quickly turning and grabbing for the door handle. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance between himself and the door and his hand closed on empty air. Unbalanced, he stumbled forward a step, his wet socks sliding on the tile floor. Lurching forward, he only just caught himself against the door, falling un-gracefully to one knee but managing to not go down completely.

It wasn't a serious spill, but the floor was hard and pain shot up his thigh from the impact. Stiles automatically rolled sideways to sit on the floor with his back against the door in order to rub his smarting kneecap, but that was a mistake because his back and rear were still far from all right with him putting any pressure on the healing injuries, meds or no.

He inhaled sharply, pained tears rising unbidden to his eyes and quickly rolled back to his knees instead. He pulled himself somewhat stiffly back up the door with a grimace and a wince. Glancing over his shoulder as he held onto the door for support for a moment, he found Mrs. Wells leaning her head forward and watching him in keen concern. He realized with an unhappy flush that the stupid, back-fastening hospital gown had shifted open some along it's back seam due to his abrupt movements, revealing his bruised, welted flesh and the large swaths of gauze which covered the worst of the cuts. The gown wasn't as totally useless as those awful paper ones they used for exams, it was cloth and generally kept him perfectly decent, but it was still thin protection against observant eyes. He turned around quickly, putting his back to the door and trying to tug the gown back into place.

He could see in the woman's eyes that she'd seen the bandages and injuries both. There was a soft glitter of horror and compassion in her gaze that he couldn't bring himself to meet.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly, her hand straying towards the call button beside her.

"Fine! I'm fine! Just, you know, really graceful," Stiles assured a little too quickly. The last thing he wanted her to do was call the duty nurse.

"Are you sure? You're bleeding," Mrs. Well's voice was still quiet.

Stiles' eyebrows shot up and he instinctively felt behind him, as if that would be able to tell him anything. He stopped when he realized that wasn't helping and just shrugged a little instead, as much as he could without it hurting too badly. "Probably old, from earlier. I'm okay, really. Please don't call anybody."

The woman on the bed looked like she was about to say something more, but when she opened her mouth she coughed instead, wincing at the motion.

Firmly on his feet on once more, Stiles was preparing to make good on his escape, only Mrs. Wells didn't stop coughing. Her face creased with agony as the convulsions shook her. He hesitated uncertainly hands fluttering at his sides as he tried to figure out what to do. Was this normal, or did she need help? His instinct to retreat was momentarily checked by the stronger impulse to be sure the woman wasn't in danger.

"Hand me ... the water ... again?" Mrs. Wells choked out after a moment, her hand pressed to her chest as she obviously tried to calm the hacking spasms which obviously caused her significant pain.

Stiles hurried to do so, supporting the thermos for her once more so she could get little sips around her coughing until the fit finally subsided. The woman's face was flushed and her breathing labored.

Stiles' fingers played anxiously against the water bottle as he stood by; holding it and waiting in case she needed more. "Sorry," he murmured. "Didn't mean to, like, make you over excited or anything."

She shook her head minutely. "You didn't. Been... happening all night. I was intubated yesterday, throat hurts," she murmured. "Chest hurts, everything hurts," she added with a weak, wry hint of a commiserating grin. "You want to sleep but you can't. There's nothing on TV but infomercials and nothing to do but worry about things you can't do anything about... being in the hospital sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed with a rueful little return smile. "It does." The older woman opened her mouth again in signal and he obligingly placed the straw between her lips and let her drink some more. When she was done she sighed and settled back, obviously done for the moment. Stiles sized up the bedside table, trying to decide the best place to leave the bottle where she could reach it next time.

"Do you have to go right away?" she whispered hoarsely as if reading what he was about in his eyes. "Why not stay a little, talk with me? I promise if anybody finds us, I'll tell them it was my fault and you were just trying to help me. You won't get in trouble," she coaxed as if accurately having guessed at least part of his concern.

Stiles eyed her warily. By now he had decided that she mustn't recognize him after all, but she seemed so weak and exhausted, he had to wonder how much she actually wanted company right now. He certainly could understand the boredom of being completely bed-bound like this, but he also more than half-way suspected that despite what she said, the older woman wanted him to stay for his sake as much as hers. He could see it in her face, that look like his dad got when he was suggesting something he allegedly wanted to do because he thought it was something that would be good for Stiles. Implausibly, she was worried about him - this strange, visibly injured, visibly traumatized teenager who had wandered into her hospital room in the dead of the night.

He could easily understand why someone like Cody would do well under her care. That thought only served to make him feel awful all over again, however.

"I really don't think I should," Stiles whispered, passing the water bottle back and forth from one hand to the other with agitated rapidity. He knew he should just leave and wasn't sure why he didn't, other than the strong wish not to distress the woman and endanger her recovery any further than he possibly already had.

"I admit I'm probably not riveting company right now," the older woman said wryly, her voice still as painfully weak as sunlight filtered through heavy clouds. "But it helps to talk, sometimes, when you're in pain. I don't know about you, but the meds don't really cover it all for me," she added. Stiles got the vague feeling she was hinting at pain that went beyond the physical. She hadn't asked what happened to him, but it was fairly obvious he'd taken one hell of a beating.

He supposed that given her experiences with her adopted son and the nature of his own injuries, it was more than likely that Mrs. Wells was assuming that Stiles was also a victim of abuse. For once, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. The woman didn't even have the strength to sit up; she had no business concerning herself with anyone else. The idea of her in any way wanting to help himwas ironic and made Stiles feel guilty, like he was being a jerk just by not telling her why she really shouldn't waste her time. He somewhat stubbornly refused to feel sorry for Cody, who had made his own bed after all, but he found he did feel regret for how it impacted his mother, even if she did seem to be bearing up pretty well.

Not for the first time, Stiles wished they could have stopped the nogitsune sooner. If only he'd not taken so long to figure it out. If only he'd been stronger. If only he'd never opened that goddamn door...

"I have a son around your age," Diana Wells continued, filling the silence when Stiles didn't reply. "He goes to BHH. Do you go there? Maybe you've met." She seemed to be trying for neutral small talk to make her visitor more comfortable and clearly had no idea that it was having exactly the opposite effect.

Stiles felt ill. Cody was the last thing on earth he wanted to discuss with this woman. He turned away abruptly, disgusted with himself when he found his hands were shaking. He set the water bottle down before he could drop it. "I have to go." He limped quickly but carefully towards the door this time.

"Wait," Mrs. Wells called after him in confused concern, clearly not understanding what she'd done to set him running. "I'm sorry, if you don't want to talk about school..."

He just shook his head without turning. "No. No, it's fine. I just gotta go now. Look, I'm starting senior year and Cody's what, a sophomore? We wouldn't have had classes together, and unless he went out for lacrosse we'd probably never cross paths," he babbled, desperate to shrug her questions and leave. "So... yeah. I'm sorry, I have to go. I hope you feel better, okay?"

"I didn't tell you my son's name," the shocked whisper made Stiles freeze with his hand on the door handle, his shoulders tensing as he realized how badly he'd just fucked up. Crap.

"Wait, wait!" Mrs. Well's voice had changed dramatically from worried concern to urgent, desperate command. "You know something! Don't go! Please! What's happened to my son?! Please, you have to tell me; no one will tell me!"

Stiles pushed open the door to fell, but an agitated rustling sound and a short gasp of pain made him look over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw Mrs. Wells actually sitting part-way up and looking like she was thinking about trying to do something extremely stupid like get off the bed and go after him. She'd fall flat on her face and probably rip important tubes out of her body is what she'd do, if she made it that far. It was surprising that she could even sit, given how weak she'd appeared before. Her urgency seemed to be giving her the strength of desperation. Stiles quickly spun around and hurried back towards her in alarm.

"What are you doing?! Stop, stop! You're an anesthesiologist for God's sake; doesn't that mean you should know medical shit like to not go doing stupid stuff after major surgery?! Oh my God, lie down, lie down," he fussed urgently at her, horrified that he might yet be the death of this woman, no nogitsune needed. His hands jittered around in front of him as if wanting to push her back onto the pillows but too afraid of doing damage to actually touch her.

Mrs. Wells caught hold of his arm as she collapsed back against the pillows, but her weak grip was too light to hurt much. She panted for breath, face flushed, but eyes bright and intent with purpose as her gaze held him. She couldn't speak around her clearly urgent need to breathe, although she was trying.

Stiles gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and allowed himself to stay in her grip, his expression a mixture of resigned despair and concern. "Okay, okay, relax, all right? Just relax and catch your breath. I won't go anywhere, okay? So don't freak out. Please." He thought it was a little unfair to be held hostage this way, but what was he going to do? He'd sunk himself in deep this time and the only way out now was the difficult one. Given her reactions, he was quickly starting to suspect that despite what he had unconsciously been assuming, perhaps she had not yet been informed of what Cody had done. Fantastic.

He glanced with concern at the monitors to which the woman was hooked, trying to judge if her sudden exertion was going to bring anyone running to check on her, but although the machines were undoubtedly recording her increased heart rate, he saw no indication he could read that they were putting out any kind of alarm. That didn't make him feel much better though. One way or another, he was totally screwed.

"Just breathe, slow, okay? Slow... here, here, have some more water." Stiles fumbled the water bottle back to her. She tried to turn away but he looked so desperately at her that she finally conceded and took a few sips. "Please don't die, okay? You can't. You just can't, not now," he mumbled anxiously, not caring how much sense he was or wasn't making.

"You know me," Mrs. Wells finally murmured when she had enough of her voice back and her breathing had slowed to something manageable once more. "You know I'm an anesthesiologist, and you know Cody is my son. You seem familiar but I... I can't place you." She shook her head minutely in frustration. "Are you from the Granges? LaCosta? CPSCA?"

Those names weren't familiar and Stiles didn't know precisely what she meant, but supposed she was asking if he'd been in the same foster homes or institutions through which Cody had passed. He gave his head a little shake. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened and closed it again as he tried and failed to figure out where to start with the explanation he had no idea how to give. It didn't help that she was still looking at him so damn gently despite her urgency, like he was someone she might need to protect. That would change soon enough and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, still panting softly as she squeezed his injured hand weakly. "I didn't mean to scare you, but if you know something about what's going on with Cody... please, I need you to tell me. My sister tells me everything is fine and I should just rest, but I'm sick, not stupid. I know something is wrong. I know it. Cody hasn't been here once since I woke up and my sister is a terrible liar." Mrs. Wells swallowed as if gathering courage. Her brows furrowed as she studied Stiles intensely, her impressions of his injuries and their possible causes clearly starting to shift, attempting with confused difficulty to re-arrange to something that fitted the only scenarios she could imagine. "Was he in an accident? Were you? Is that why..." she stopped, pressing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and fixing Stiles with an infinitely sad but even look. "How badly was he hurt?"

Stiles knew from the way she was bracing herself she was terrified that the news being withheld from her was that her son was dead. He shook his head quickly. "No, it's not... he's... um, okay?" he winced when it came out sounding like a question. "He's okay," he repeated with more surety. "I mean, he's alive and not like, hurt or at least not much I don't think. He wasn't in an accident or anything, so, that's good, I guess, but, yeah, he kind of can't be here right now. Stuff... happened... and I really shouldn't be the one telling you this, or, like, talking to you at all. Dad is so gonna kill me," Stiles groaned with feeling, sniffing and brushing his nose with the back of his hand as he often did when agitated.

"Is he the one who hurt you?" Mrs. Wells asked very quietly, her gaze was probative and it took Stiles a long moment to grasp what she meant and comprehend how she had misunderstood him.

"My dad? God no!" Stiles blurted like the very idea was offensively ridiculous, which, if you knew his dad it was, although he understood why she asked. "That's not how I... it wasn't him." He couldn't look at her, his injured fingers twisting and picking restlessly at the edge of the blanket closest to him.

"This," he gestured to himself ruefully. "This was... ah... it was Cody," he finally just said it. Much as he would have liked to lie, she would find out soon enough and he felt like he owed her the truth. It could hardly be helped at this point.

Mrs. Wells was staring at him in blank incomprehension. "What?"

Stiles sighed. "You're not the only one who thought I looked familiar. Cody kind of... got me mixed up with someone else too." Pacing up and down beside the bed, he told her an abbreviated version of what had happened. He did not sugarcoat what Cody had done to him, but he didn't exaggerate it either. He spoke of it in a kind of removed and abstracted way, almost as if it had happened to someone else.

Mrs. Wells was initially disbelieving, but shifted to resigned heartache swiftly enough that it was clear she was not blind to her adopted son's compulsive anger issues nor perhaps completely shocked that he could have chosen such a reckless and violent path. To his great relief she did not accuse him of lying, nor did she try to make excuses to him for Cody's behavior. She simply listened. Stiles was sure she'd want to get corroborating information later and probably did not suppose that his side of the story was totally unbiased, but for now she just let him talk.

Stiles for his part tried to impart the information as carefully as he could, worried that the impact of it all could do her harm, but Mrs. Wells grew more composed rather than less the more he spoke. He got the feeling that she was the type of person who dealt better with known problems than uncertain possibilities. He could relate.

"I'm sorry," she said very quietly when he ran out of words and the silence started to stretch awkwardly. "Thank you for telling me. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for Cody did to you. I'm sorry he did it because of me, and I'm sorry for making you talk about it. If I'd known, I ... " she looked down. "I understand if you don't want to be around me, or answer any more questions about..." her face creased with pained concern. "I won't blame you if you don't want to tell me and you might not know, but... do you know where they took Cody?" she asked quietly, her gaze regretful and beseeching at the same time. "Does my sister know? Has she gotten him representation? They need to know he shouldn't be put in a cell with anyone else, or kept in the dark. He has anxiety attacks, he's terrified of being trapped in small dark places..." Mrs. Wells stopped talking again, appearing to have said more than she intended. "I'm sorry," she repeated quietly. "None of these are your problems. I just need to know where he is and I will get in touch with them myself."

Stiles realized she felt guilty for pressing him of all people for such information, but her concern for her son won out. She obviously didn't approve of what Cody had done, but was still very worried about him and Stiles couldn't fault her for that. Weirdly, it relieved him a little, although he couldn't have begun to explain why that should be.

"He's at the Sherriff's station," Stiles replied simply. Now that the most difficult parts of the story were behind him and Mrs. Wells had shown a frankly surprising disinclination to visibly hate him for his role in the whole affair, he felt no pain or hesitancy in discussing Cody's current situation.

Fear flickered behind the woman's eyes and it took Stiles a moment to realize why that information should distress her. Of course, he'd already told her that his father was the Sheriff.

"They'll take good care of him," he assured. "I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure Dad had somebody get in touch with your sister about getting representation and stuff. Cody's a minor, so Dad can't talk to him without a guardian and wouldn't put him in with anyone else in holding either. Don't think it ever gets completely dark in the holding cells 'cause of the need for surveillance, but I'll tell Dad about the dark thing and I'm sure they can figure something out," he promised easily.

Mrs. Wells looked at him quizzically, her brows furrowed. She appeared dubious of how much his father was going to be inclined to help her son under the circumstances, and Stiles supposed that was a natural enough reaction. Given who Stiles was, she had every reason to fear that Cody's jailers might be vindictive in his treatment. "Look, you don't know my dad, but he's a really good guy, okay? And a really good Sherriff. He's mad as spit about what happened to me, but he's not gonna take that out on Cody and he's not gonna let anyone else be mean to him either. He's not like that. I told him what Cody told me about his past, so, you know, he'll be careful. You don't have to worry," Stiles said earnestly, wanting both to put her mind at ease and to set the record straight about his dad, because people did not get to think ill of him ever.

Mrs. Well's expression was still puzzled and worried, but there was also a gentle warmth in her gaze as she looked up at him. She gave a small shake of her head, seeming honestly surprised by his words and assurances although Stiles couldn't understand why. It was the truth; his dad was a just man and she'd find that out eventually even if she didn't yet believe him.

"Thank you. You have a good heart, Stiles," she said quietly, her smile inexplicably soft and sad.

Stiles just shrugged and chose not to disabuse her of that peculiar notion. He knew he otherwise. If Cody had hurt anyone in the pack other than himself... well, suffice it to say he wouldn't have been so willing to pass on information about his phobias. Stiles was quite capable of being vindictive when the situation warranted. Even in this situation, the truth was he wanted Cody to get sent away for what he'd done. Despite the sympathy he knew he should feel for the other boy's situation and how much of this was in a way his own fault, Stiles still wanted to see him punished. Naturally, he didn't want the other boy to be, like, hurt or traumatized or anything, but he would feel a lot better knowing the kid was somewhere where he couldn't hurt anyone again for a while. However, Mrs. Wells was very... mom-ly, for lack of a better word, and whatever he felt about Cody, he really wanted things to work out for her.

Stiles managed to get a few hours sleep when he finally returned to his room and was discharged from the hospital in the morning. His father came to pick him up and Stiles choose not to mention his nocturnal meeting with Mrs. Wells although he supposed it would probably come out eventually.

In the short term, however, Stiles' attention was wholly occupied with trying to survive the ride from the hospital to the station. He was well dosed up with pain meds which made it bearable - if only just - but it was surprising how much they didn't cover. Right now, Stiles was not understanding how anyone could get addicted to such things. He actually despised the muzzy-headedness they caused and was generally disappointed in the level of relief he was getting, although he supposed maybe there were different levels of pain killers and maybe they weren't giving him the ones everybody talked about or something. Or maybe he just didn't respond well to them, that was possible. They'd had to give him extra anesthetic at the dentist a couple years ago when he'd had a tooth filled and he had stillfelt too much of the procedure, even when they swore he shouldn't be able to. So maybe it was just him. Whatever it was, it sucked and he was exhausted by the end of the short ride and very grateful to get out of the car again.

He could have given his statement at the hospital, or from home, but Stiles wanted to go to the station to do it and he wanted to see Cody. His father only reluctantly acquiesced to both requests.

The statement Stiles gave was mostly truthful for once. Cody had surprised him at home and held him captive because he was in a highly emotional state and mistakenly believed Stiles had been involved in the attack on the hospital two months previous. Stiles hadn't, of course. He'd been with his friends Scott, Lydia and Kira that night, they would all swear to it. If questioned, both Derek Hale and Chris Argent would corroborate having seem them all together in different places at different key times that night. So that was that, and whatever Cody said wasn't going to hold much weight after what he'd done. If Stiles' pain meds had been working better he might have felt more sympathetic about that. As it was, he didn't.

"Don't even think of not pressing charges," the Sheriff warned as Stiles signed the statement.

Stiles gave him a wry grin. "I didn't want Cody to die, Dad; I'm very all right with him getting justly deserved consequences for poor decision making and excessive torture-y-ness. Pain meds suck," he said dryly. He sobered a little. "But... he's gonna like, get help too, right? I mean, I want him to see somebody, like, therapy-wise. Can I request that? Is that thing I can do?"

The Sheriff patted his son's shoulder gently. "The prosecution will make sure that's a stipulation for however his case ends up handled," he assured. "I'm sure his lawyer will have no problem with that given the circumstances. They're almost certain to go with a defense based on mental and emotional distress."

Stiles nodded, but continued to chew his lip. "Maybe they could send him to, like, a treatment kind of place? Not Eichen house," he said quickly. "There's got to be better places. I just mean... I'd kind of like him to be somewhere he couldn't, uh, decided to go after anybody again for a while but... he's been really messed up, Dad. They won't put him somewhere he'll get hurt again, right?" He'd been thinking about that since his conversation with Mrs. Wells last night. He'd realized that getting sent to a normal juvenile detention facility could be seriously problematic and counter-productive for Cody given his history, and had started trying to think up alternative solutions.

John carded his fingers gently through his son's hair, pushing the lengthening locks away from the bandages on the side of his forehead. "I'll talk to the prosecutor, I'll make sure they understand his situation and his past and deal with him appropriately. I promise, all right?"

Stiles nodded trustingly, relieved to be able to place the whole thing in his father's hands because honestly, he was ready to be done with it all and start forgetting it had ever happened. Well... almost ready, that was. "Okay. Can I see him now?"

The Sherriff hesitated, then sighed. "Yes, if I can't talk you out of it, but only for a minute. This is off the record and he doesn't have council present, so don't discuss anything he did with him or his lawyer will have a fit. Come on."

Cody was huddled in the back of one of the open holding cells. He looked up when Stiles and the Sheriff entered, then quickly looked away again.

"Hey," Stiles greeted with a sardonic little wave.

Cody didn't look up.

"Oh come on, you tie a guy up in a shed and wail on him for eight hours or whatever, you can't just ignore him after that. It's like, a rule dude. Don't be a douche."

Cody fixed him with a confused look. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you, obviously," Stiles said, giving him a squint-eyed look like he thought the younger teen was being a bit slow.

"So? Talk," Cody mumbled with a bit more petulance than was probably prudent under the circumstances.

"Wow, you're sunshine and roses all the time, aren't you?" Stiles retorted dryly.

"What do you want me to say?" the other boy shot back. "You want me to say I'm sorry? Am I supposed to be all grateful and guilty because you saved my life or whatever? Well who asked you, huh? You're crazy, man. You may have everybody else fooled, but I know you're a total head case."

"Hey," the Sheriff said sharply, hand gripping tightly onto the bars nearest him. "I would check the attitude if I were you. You're in a deep enough hole as it is."

Stiles waved a hand at his dad, indicating it was okay. He gave Cody a shrug. "Isn't that a little pot and kettle? You are seriously one angry and kind of self-absorbed guy, you know that, Cody?" he remarked. "Look, I frankly don't care whether you're sorry or grateful or ready to dance a fandango. I think you're too knotted up inside to know what the hell you're feeling. I just came here to let you know that I truly did not hurt your mom or anybody at the hospital. If I were capable of that, I would have let you die too. I don't care how screwed up you are inside, you have to realize that. You're right, weird things happen in this town. I told you my explanation for it. You don't like that? Fine. Rationalize your own, but leave me out of it and maybe think things through a little next time, huh?" Stiles didn't want Cody spending whatever time there was ahead of him brooding on how to get more revenge. He really, really wanted to get off the kid's radar and focus him in less destructive directions. "Your mom is gonna need you, so you need to get your act together for her - if you really care about anything other than yourself."

Cody laughed bitterly. "Like she's gonna want anything to do with me now."

"Oh bull shit," Stiles said in exasperation. "You don't give her nearly enough credit. I talked to her a couple hours ago and God knows why, but she loves you, okay? She's not gonna abandon you now. She's your mom. So don't start with the pity party."

"Stiles!" John looked at his son in nearly equal exasperation at the news, reacting about as well as Stiles had expected.

"What?" Stiles looked at him innocently. "Got early morning munchies. I was looking for a vending machine and got a little lost. Stopped to ask directions. How was I to know that was her room?"

The Sheriff gave him a look that said he treated that explanation with all the credulity it deserved, which was exactly none. "She's recovering from very serious surgery, Stiles. This isn't how she should have found out," he said gravely. "Ms. Garston wasn't going to tell her yet."

"Yeah, which only made her worried and suspicious as heck. Dad, trust me, she was practically dragging herself out of bed to try and find out what was going on and where Cody was when I found her, okay? She thought he was dead or something. It's all right. She didn't get overexcited or anything, she was very calm. She's actually a pretty cool lady," he said approvingly.

John just shook his head. "Don't talk to her again without talking to me first, all right?" he warned.

Stiles nodded dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, legal stuff, I know. It's cool. We're cool, Dad, I swear." He turned back to Cody. "So, anyway, I just thought you should know that. She'll fight for you, so maybe you should try fighting for her just... in the right ways? In the ways she actually would want you too? Ways that don't send you running off all half-cocked to hurt people. People like me," he kept going, as if his point might not be quite clear enough. "Innocent people like me. So. Yeah, that's all."

Cody said nothing, but Stiles didn't need him to. He'd said what he had to say could only hope that maybe in the future, whenever he got out, Cody wouldn't be quite so eager to go after people with tasers and handcuffs. Stiles turned to his father. "Can he go see his mom?" he asked. "After the lawyer stuff? She's not gonna be able to travel for a while and I know she really wants to see him."

The Sheriff didn't seem terribly surprised by the question, although he eyed Cody with some reluctance. "Given the circumstances, I think a short, supervised visit could be arranged," he allowed.

In his periphery vision, Stiles saw Cody scoot forward in his seat at the words, a jumbled mass of longing, pain and fear chasing across his features. He probably didn't entirely believe Stiles that Mrs. Wells wasn't going to throw him over after a mess like this, but he'd find out for himself eventually.

Stiles just nodded. "Okay, good." He turned to leave, tossing a parting wave towards the cell. "Bye Cody. FYI, if for some unlikely reason you ever need to get in touch with me again, call. Don't just show up at my door again like... ever, because, uh, yeah, I'm liable to freak and hit you with something ... probably repeatedly, and that would just be awkward, 'kay?"

Stiles didn't wait for or expect an answer, but as he and his father walked away, he heard Cody's voice soft behind him, following him out.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles let his breath out as they left the holding area. It didn't really matter whether Cody regretted his actions or not. It didn't change what he'd done to Stiles, no more than Stiles' regret could undo any of his mistakes, much less those of others. Regret didn't change the past, but at least it might keep you from repeating it. That was what regret was good for, Stiles decided. Not something to wallow and get lost in, but rather a source of strength that reminded you exactly what you were never going to let happen again and why.

Despite a not insignificant residual amount of resentment for what Cody had done to him, he honestly hoped everything would work out for he and his mom. Whatever happened, he'd done everything he could. He'd paid his penance and he owed them nothing more. It was a surprisingly freeing feeling. Scott was right. He couldn't walk around feeling like he had to make amends for things he hadn't done. He'd known that for a while of course, but maybe it was finally starting to work itself through to his heart.

As soon as they were back out into the maze of hallways, Stiles' father stopped suddenly and hugged him. Stiles wasn't expecting it and flailed a little awkwardly before quickly stilling into the embrace with a quirked smile, patting his dad's back lightly. "Oh... okay, huggy huggy," he murmured in amusement, glancing at the man with a file box under one arm stopped a few feet away. "I, uh, I think we're blocking the hallway, Dad."

"Don't care," John whispered against his son's hair, holding him carefully so he touched none of his injuries. "Do you want me to take you home? I should take you home. I can..."

"Dad, no," Stiles drew away enough to smile at him and shake his head. "You're on duty and you've got a million things to do and like, only three people to do them. You said you called Scott, right? He'll take me home. It's fine. I'm fine," he promised.

"You don't have to be," the Sheriff touched his son's face gently, and the words took Stiles by surprise. "You don't have to be fine, for me," John clarified in response to Stiles' bewildered expression. "I know you're strong, son, trust me I know, but goddamn it, let me be a father sometimes. I can handle it. Trust me, okay?"

Stiles had absolutely no idea why his eyes were suddenly watering and he blinked and sniffed in surprise, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He smiled, because it wasn't a bad feeling blurring his vision, not at all. It was a good kind of ache, even if he didn't know what to do with it. "Um. Okay. You... you know I do."

John cupped the back of his son's head lightly again. "Okay, then get out of here. You are going to go home and rest and do fun, normal, stupid things with Scott, all right? That's it. That's all you're going to do until the bandages come off, you hear me? No crazy junk, no detective work, no research, nothing. All crisis will just have to wait," he said firmly as if decreeing it could make it so. It sounded like a pretty good plan to Stiles right now. "I'll be home by six. You have all your meds, right?"

Stiles nodded, jiggling the bottles of prescription painkillers and Adderall in his pocket to make them rattle. "Yup! I am fully prepared to go be a lazy bum, trust me. See you later!" he added as he gave his Dad's shoulder one more pat before turning and walking away.

Out in front of the station, Stiles was surprised to find not just Scott, but also Kira and Lydia waiting for him by Lydia's car. Lydia and Kira were in the front seats, Scott standing outside, leaning against the door and holding his motorcycle helmet.

"Uh, hey!" Stiles greeted. "What are you all doing here?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him through the open driver's side window. "We like hanging out at police stations. You meet the nicest people," she said with amusement.

"We came to pick you up," Scott explained more helpfully, if somewhat obviously.

"We thought we could grab some ice cream and do a Marvel marathon at your place! I got the new one" Kira put in brightly, leaning forward and waving a DVD case at him around Lydia's head.

"If that's cool?" Scott asked, playing his helmet between his hands and giving Stiles a questioning smile.

Stiles' answering smile tugged a little at his split lip, but it was broad and genuine. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great." He made his way a bit gingerly down the stairs and over to the car.

"Hey, what about my jeep?" he asked as the thought suddenly struck him. "Did Cody take it? He didn't mess it up, did he? It's not still out there, is it? If so, can we go and..."

Scott was already shaking his head with a wry smile. "Dude, relax, your jeep's fine. It was out near where we found you, keys still in the ignition. Kira and I picked it up last night. It's safe and sound waiting at home for you."

"Oh, good," Stiles looked relieved.

Scott reached to get the back door for him, and Stiles shot a quizzical look at the helmet in his friend's other hand. "You riding with us?"

"No, I've got my bike. I'll need to run out in a couple hours to pick up Isaac so he can come join us. Besides, we didn't want to put more than four people in the car so you'd have plenty of room," he explained.

"I put lots of pillows back there for you. We took my car because it has the smoothest ride," Lydia explained pragmatically from the front seat and Stiles felt his face heat up.

"Oh my God," he groaned as Scott pulled the door open, revealing an actually very comfortable looking nest of pale blue and lavender feather pillows. Stiles eased in carefully and he had to admit, it was actually a surprisingly comfortable arrangement for his sore body. Stiles thought he couldn't be any more embarrassed, until he'd settled in and suddenly registered the person on the other side of the pillow mountain with whom he was apparently sharing the back seat. Scott had implied there were already three people in the car, after all.

"Guys, you really didn't have to... holy crap!" Stiles squeaked in surprise as he saw Derek wrestle back a lacy, powder blue pillow that was trying to slide over onto his lap. A startled burst of laughter caught through him at the sight of Derek being half smothered by Lydia's mountain of pillows as they became displaced by Stiles' entrance into the car. Derek raised an eyebrow and glowered at him, which, honestly, just made Stiles laugh harder. "Ow, ow, ow, stop it, stop..." Stiles gasped, curling over and hugging his aching ribs. "It hurts, oh, oh..."

"Stop what?" Derek looked consternated and confused.

"Y-your face," Stiles gasped. That just made Derek frown harder and Stiles clutched his stomach. "No, no, ow, stop! Not helping!" he wheezed in mirth, the combination of left over nerves, safety, relief and the combination of meds he was taking conspiring to make him a little loopy.

"Scott, how much medication is he on?" Derek asked dryly, leaning forward a little to see Scott through the doorway around Stiles' convulsing form.

Scott just shrugged at him with a smile and shut the door.

Lydia started up the car, Kira turned on the radio and they were rolling. Stiles floundered around a little in the pillow nest, attempting to adjust himself into the most comfortable position possible. This unintentionally resulted in more of the pillows flowing over onto Derek's portion of the seat, but he didn't seem to mind, stoically shoving them back at Stiles whenever they came too far over.

Stiles eyed him sideways. "Are you really going to eat ice cream and watch movies with us?" he asked Derek a bit suspiciously. It wasn't that he didn't want him there, he found he actually really did; it was just... Derek didn't usually hang with them, not like that.

"Yes," was all Derek said.

"Is Scott blackmailing you or something?" Stiles pressed.

"Yes," Derek said again, but there was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth now.

"Good grief Stiles, Scott invited him and he agreed to come; you're so rude," Lydia chided from the front.

"We were all really worried about you," Kira said, turning in her seat to look back at him earnestly. "It's good to celebrate the little victories, right?"

"Yes, big celebrations, little victories, capital plan," Stiles nodded, sinking back into Lydia's luxurious pillow-mobile and thinking he might drown in down and that could be okay because hot damn he didn't hurt and it was fantastic.

It wasn't until they'd already picked up the ice cream - Scott and Kira ran in while the rest of them waited in the car - and were halfway to his house before Stiles finally realized he should be terribly suspicious about just how good he was feeling. The pain meds hadn't been working nearly this well all morning, although they did seem to be slowing his brain functions and deductive reasoning just fine.

He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and he'd wedged his bare forearm in between two pillows that were half sprawled up against Derek's side. Reaching over suddenly and snatching the top pillow off, Stiles confirmed his suspicion. The back of Derek's hand was resting lightly against his forearm, faint tendrils of black snaking between them.

Stiles pulled his arm away, eyebrows climbing in surprise. "Dude, did Scott make you ride with us so you could pain-drain me all the way home?" he asked, kind of offended on Derek's behalf although he knew Scott would only have meant the best. "I'm sorry, that wasn't cool. I'm fine, okay? Really, I'm fine."

Derek made a face at him like he was an idiot. "Scott didn't ask, I offered," Derek clarified. "He was going to do it, but I told him he shouldn't risk it. He took too much from you yesterday. He's still learning where his limits are and he could push too far without knowing."

Stiles' eyes widened and he curled his arms inward, hugging himself and trying to pull further away from Derek. "Yeah, well, I don't need it okay? Just stop."

"Oh great, way to go genius," Lydia said to Derek with a sigh from the front seat. "Now you made him feel like he's hurting you and Scott if he lets you help him. Stiles, that's not what he meant. Derek just doesn't want to admit that he simply wanted to help you because you're a friend who's hurting and that he fusses over both you and Scott like a protective mother hen."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up and he glanced over at Derek who was studiously staring holes into the back of Lydia's seat.

"I have no idea what she's talking about," he growled, but a slow grin spread over Stiles' face anyway.

"Yeah, sure you don't," he agreed. When Derek's hand brushed his arm again, Stiles didn't pull away.

A few minutes later they pulled into the Stilinski driveway and piled out of the car. Derek and Kira each carried in an armload of pillows while Lydia helped Stiles in and Scott carried the ice cream. Lydia made another nest for Stiles on the couch and a little while later they were all sprawled comfortably around the living room, indulging in early afternoon ice cream as the opening sequence on the movie started.

Laying on his side on the couch, Stiles licked rocky road lazily off his spoon, glancing around at the others and then back at the TV screen. There had been a lot of pain in all their lives recently, but despite that, and despite everything that had just happened to him and the aches he was still dealing with... Stiles found that in this moment he felt utterly, and totally content. Little victories, Kira had said, and it was true. The ability to have moments like this, pure, sweet slices of simple joy, these were little victories in themselves, and they too, were worth celebrating.