Okay, so I owe everyone an apology. I wrote this whole chapter like a year ago and then my computer crashed and I lost it. I never had the time or patience to re-write it so I basically gave up on finishing Human. I just found it in a random file somewhere and thought there's no point in not posting it, especially seen as I've gotten a few frustrated comments from newer readers. I know how annoying it is to start a story that's never finished so I'm really sorry. This chapter ends really bluntly and I don't know if I will ever write an ending to this story. I really want to. I've just forgotten how to write :( Hopefully though now I've found this chapter I'll have another writing spurt! Thank ya, love Han x

Over the next couple of days, Stiles started to recover slowly.

He'd been taken aback by the state of his face when he'd first looked in the hospital bathroom mirror. The split lip and butterfly stitches across his eyebrow were nothing compared to the sickly dark purple of his cheek. It veined it's way across swollen skin into mottled greys, turning darker again at his jaw. The patch of gauze covering the worst point of impact did little to hide the damage.

Stiles could have sworn Kate hadn't hit him enough times to leave him looking quite this terrible. But then he remembered that the were-jaguar could have taken his head clean off with one blow if she'd really wanted to. In reality he was lucky to have escaped without any permanent kind of disfigurement or brain damage. Hopefully that was the case anyway.

Now the bruising had tamed itself a little, having adopted a green-grey tinge in place of the fading purple. It still looked nasty, but at least now he didn't jump every time he happened to glance in a mirror. Or maybe he was just getting used to looking like he'd face planted a brick wall. And maybe two weeks off school wasn't actually that bad of an idea. An inconvenience, yes, but at least he'd avoid all the stupid side glances and intrusive questions he couldn't answer.

Now he was sat with Scott in his own living room for the third evening in a row. Scott hadn't actually been home since Stiles had left the hospital, only leaving the Stilinski household to go to school. Despite not vocalising as such, Stiles was incredibly grateful for it. It meant his father could actually go to work and stop ceaselessly making him mugs of tea and coffee when he'd never asked. At least for a little while anyway.

However it wasn't just his father that was driving him a little insane. It was Scott too. Stiles was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the look on his friend's face; the constant concern he was trying to hide, and the constant feeling that something was being hidden from him. Stiles knew he couldn't blame Scott for acting as such, but he was okay, and he wished that people would believe him when he told them that.

Yesterday, Scott had walked in on him, stood up in his room, scribbling semi-sensical theories upon his board regarding the benefactor. His head had been throbbing all day and he badly needed a distraction.

Stiles' handwriting was scraping the standard of a four year old's, but that wasn't exactly his fault seen as the arm he'd normally write with was strapped to his chest in a sling.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Scott had said.

"Something productive." Stiles had responded.

Scott gave him a stupid, concerned, parental kind of look that instantly irked Stiles to the core.

"Hey, you wanna help me try to figure this out? Or are you just gonna stand there?" he'd said. Scott tried to smile as he stepped into the room.

"Why don't you leave the benefactor to the rest of us for a while? You know, the people it actually concerns?" Scott spoke in the most light-hearted way he could manage. But Stiles didn't appreciate it much at all.

"All of my friends are part of a list of people that are being murdered one by one" he'd said, picking up a small sheet of paper and taping it up. "And so far we've done nothing but help the benefactor out by crossing another name off that list. So it most definitely concerns me, Scott. I am really really concerned right now."

"Dude, I'm just saying that you should give yourself a break." Scott's voice was nothing but kind, and it only frustrated Stiles more. "You kinda deserve it, don't you think?"

"I don't deserve anything." Stiles retaliated. "Except for maybe knowing my friends are safe. That would be pretty nice."

Scott's face returned to concern. So Stiles just continued to write, struggling with his left hand as it ached with the unfamiliar usage. He felt more annoyed that anything else when his vision began to blur and he had to plant the same hand against the board to stay steady, his eyes shut tight at the pain in his temple. Not again, he thought.

"Stiles?" Scott immediately launched himself forward, placing an intended-to-be comforting hand on Stiles back.

"Dammit," muttered Stiles, re-opening his eyes and attempting to blink his vision back into focus. "I'm fine." he said, but Scott stayed put. "I'm fine, Scott. It's just the concussion."

He shrugged Scott's hand away, but then had to bite his lips together when there was another stab of pain to his head. He shut his eyes again, putting more weight against the board, breathing through it slowly.

"Some concussion, huh?" said Scott.

Stiles just made a pained sound of frustrated agreement. He took a couple more breaths as the throbbing in his head subsided to a manageable level.

He looked at Scott, who now just raised his eyebrows in a way that Stiles could only identify as condescending. Stiles was more than a little frustrated. He needed to prove to Scott that he could function on his own, and his body wouldn't let him. The expression didn't leave his friends face, so Stiles thrust his pen down upon his desk with an exasperated eye roll.

"Fine." he said. "I'll just sit on the couch and be completely and utterly unhelpful. Would that make you happy?"

Scott looked as if he didn't know how to answer for a second, but then just responded with a nonchalant "Kinda, yeah."

Stiles' shoulders slumped. And knowing he'd never be able to concentrate with Scott watching over him as a personal babysitter, he walked past his friend and out of his room, heading for the kitchen rather than the lounge as a half-hearted form of resilience. Scott followed idly behind him.

"Have you called Lydia since you got back?" asked the werewolf as he watched Stiles switch on the kettle and pull out an opened packet of instant coffee from a cupboard. Stiles heart picked up a little at the mention of Lydia's name.

"Haven't got round to it." he replied. "Why? Is she okay?"

"She wasn't at school today, or yesterday."

Stiles hesitated, worry rising. His mind immediately conjured a bunch of worst case scenarios in which Lydia's absence meant only horrifically bad things. Though they were probably all a few hundred miles from any kind of accuracy.

"You know why?" he asked, only glancing very shortly at Scott.

"Yeah," said Scott. "I rang her. She's okay. I think what happened took a lot out of her. I just wondered if you had."

Stiles relaxed a little. He proceeded to pull out a mug and pour an extensive amount of instant coffee powder into it.

"Should I have?" he said.

"I don't know, should you?"

Stiles didn't answer.

It was the next day and Stiles still hadn't called her. He'd received several texts from the banshee, asking if he was okay, asking if he wanted company, and he'd responded to them relatively bluntly, not unkindly though, subtly implying with each one that he didn't want to see her. He knew he was being a pretty awful person and had been since he'd gotten back from the hospital, but he couldn't bring himself to talk to her again. Not quite yet.

Scott had just gotten in from school. Stiles immediately sensed the stress that radiated from him as he walked through the door, probably education related, but upon asking Scott merely deflected the question, saying that he was fine.

The Sheriff was still in, attempting to work from home at the kitchen table. He refused to leave Stiles alone, and Stiles was starting to concern himself profusely over the lack of money that would be coming in if his father wasn't working, especially with a shiny new hospital bill on top of the growing pile.

Today hadn't much helped his situation. Stiles had been managing reasonably well to keep the ongoing effects of his head injury hidden from his father. But whilst attempting to make lunch with one hand he'd very nearly collapsed right in front of the man. His dad had held him up whilst he'd tried desperately to regain control of his own mind and body. The sheriff had was on the phone to the hospital almost immediately afterwards, exclaiming angrily how 'this wasn't supposed to still be happening' and that 'there must be a way to make him better'. The only thing they advised was for Stiles to keep taking the Tylenol they'd given him, so the sheriff hung up and called Melissa instead. Melissa cautiously offered stronger pain relief, taking care to add that it would be at Stiles' own discretion as it could wind up messing with his mental state even further. Stiles turned down the offer, choosing to refrain from turning himself into a drugged up vegetable. Obviously, the only thing that could make him better was time.

One thing that certainly wouldn't was his father refusing to leave the house even after Scott had arrived early due to a free last period.

However, soon later the sheriff received a relatively urgent police call. Stiles asked three times what it was about, each time more exasperated than the last as his father repeatedly assured him that it was none of his business. The man was adamant in ignoring the call at first, but if Stiles wasn't allowed to know what was going on, he could at least insist that his dad go do his job.

"Dad, I'll be fine. Scott's here. Please, go."

The sheriff looked at Scott indecisively.

"You call me if anything happens." he addressed the werewolf sternly. "And I mean anything. He starts getting dizzy, nauseous, showing signs of pain, you better call me."

Scott promised the man he'd abide by his wishes, and with that reassurance the sheriff reluctantly left the two of them sitting on the couch alone.

"Wanna play COD?" asked Scott innocently, a short time after the door had shut behind the older man.

"Are you trying to taunt me?" Stiles responded.

Scott's eyes dropped to Stiles' non-functioning arm.

"Oh, crap. I forgot." he said.

"Really?" Stiles exclaimed. "You're sitting right next to me. And you forgot?"

Scott tilted his head.

"Wanna order pizza?" he suggested instead, ignoring Stiles' jibe.

"Can't afford it, man."

"But I can."

"No you can't."

Scott sighed.

"How long is this going to last?" he asked.

"What?"said Stiles.

"You being like this."

"Like what?"

"A miserable asshole?"

"I've always been one of those, Scotty."

"Huh." said Scott.

At that moment, Stiles felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out to find Lydia's name lit up across the screen.

We should talk, read the text.

Stiles stared at it blankly. Scott didn't even have to sneak a peek to know what would conjure this type of reaction from his friend.

"You're gonna have to see her eventually." he said.

Stiles didn't respond, just kept staring.

Then the doorbell rang.

Stiles looked up to Scott with a questioning frown. Scott shrugged, returning the look, then stood up to answer the door.

Stiles heard it open, then voices. Then,

"Hey, Stiles."

The voice was tired, exhausted even, and rough, but he shuffled around at its familiarity, his heart picking up. There was Lydia, in his living room, phone still in hand.

"I said we should talk." she said.

Stiles forgot everything when he saw her. She was wearing a large, un-Lydia like sweatshirt and carrying a white bag. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders were curled in as if for warmth. Her skin was ashy. The colour from her cheeks was gone. He'd rarely seen anyone look so ill.

He lurched to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that came with the movement, and stalked over to her, worry permeating through him. He panicked a little, his working hand dusting over her shoulder to her cheek where her skin was ice to the touch.

"What happened to you?" he said, a little harsher than necessary. Lydia didn't answer right away. She just tried to offer a half-smile instead.

"Lydia, what happened?" Stiles repeated, the fear in his voice sounding through. "What's wrong with you? You're... Please tell me this isn't to do with you saving me."

"Stiles..."

"I should have called you. I should have come to see you. I didn't know..."

"Stiles." Lydia voice became more forceful. "Sit back down. I'm fine."

But Stiles just turned to Scott instead.

"Did you know about this?" he asked firmly.

"About what?" Scott responded.

"This!" Stiles gestured to Lydia's frailty. "Look at her, Scott. Why didn't you tell me it was affecting her this badly?"

"He didn't know, Stiles." Lydia cut in.

Stiles paused and glanced at Scott again, whose eyes were flickering between Stiles and Lydia, looking equally concerned for both of them. Though his friend was never good at lying, and his face made it clear that Stiles wasn't hearing the whole truth.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, his voice grew a little less angry and a hell of a lot more worried.

"Why didn't you tell me, Lydia?"

Lydia's eyes lost the remaining warmth in her body. Her voice grew taut.

"I tried, Stiles. You wouldn't let me."

Of course she tried. The texts she'd sent him were proof of that. Stiles wanted someone to slap him. He stepped, half stumbled backwards until he landed against the back of the couch, his hand rubbing his face anxiously, not sure what to say. Sorry might have been a good start.

There was a silence, a tense one, until Scott looked down at his phone and his eyes widened a little.

"Hey guys, my mom needs me. I gotta go."

"What?" Stiles said the word bluntly and in far too callous of a manner.

Scott was already slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Sorry. It's important."

It didn't go unnoticed by Stiles the way Scott and Lydia shared a quick knowing glance before Scott began to head for the door. Stiles' face went from unhappy to suspicious in a matter of moments.

"Hold on." he said. "What's going on? Why does she need you?"

An urgent police call and now this. Something was up.

Scott turned back, only for a second, his eyes flickering to Lydia again.

"It's work related." he said, frustratingly ambiguous. "I'm sure your dad will be okay so long as Lydia's here, right?"

"Yeah." It was Lydia that answered, her voice still worn. "Go help your mom."

Scott nodded, gave a half-hearted smile, then left, giving Stiles no say in the matter and wondering what the hell was happening.

"You two are acting like you just killed someone." said Stiles after he left.

Lydia gave a little breath of amusement.

"It's not quite that serious."

She came and perched herself next to Stiles, and Stiles watched as a shiver ran over her, a motion she unsuccessfully tried to hide from him.

"In the hospital, you told me you were okay." said Stiles, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"I didn't know it would get this bad." said Lydia. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Stiles was starting to realise the real reason why Scott had left them alone. He knew this moment had to come eventually, but he couldn't deny the dread he was feeling.

"Then what?" he asked cautiously.

Lydia raised her eyebrows.

"Well first things first, I thought I should let you know that you're an insensitive asshole."

Stiles nearly laughed.

"That's the second time I've been called an asshole in the last five minutes." he noted aloud. "Point taken."

"And secondly," said Lydia. "We're gonna order pizza and watch a movie, right now."

"What?" said Stiles.

"You have no say in this. It's happening."

"Am I being set up here?"

"Isn't that obvious?"