He didn't get them all his memories back at once. He woke up weird, and fuzzy. There were faces staring at him, and recognized them all. Newt, Scott, and his dad. Even Ms. McCall was there.

He felt the need to ask for Lydia.

He didn't, though.

He asked about Minho. He was still in surgery.

They asked him what he remembered. He didn't know what to say. His chest felt tight, and his heart started to beat faster. He didn't know what was happening, but at the same time he did. This had happened to him before, hadn't it? This type of... Episode? No. Attack. Panic attack.

Melissa made them all leave. They all protested, but eventually left. He was grateful.

"I remember you," he said once the attack had subsided.

Melissa smiled at him. "Good" she said. She busied herself checking his vitals.

"My mom died," he blurted out. Melissa's smile disappeared. "I remember... You. Being there. Like... Like, a second mom or something. And I remember... Being sick, or at least I was in the hospital. You took care of me. Made me... Sleep, I think?"

Melissa nodded. "You're like a son to me, Stiles," she said. "Always have been, always will."

Stiles smiled at her because yes. He was Stiles in that moment. He was Melissa McCall's second son, and he was Scott McCall's best friend. Yes, he could remember all of that. It was there. It was there. It was-

"Holy shuck," he whispered as his mind was assaulted with a plethora of images. He didn't know how to comprehend it all, or what to do. His mouth could only form one word. "Werewolves."

Melissa sighed. "Yes, Stiles," she said. "Werewolves."

The boys were released from the hospital a few days later. Stiles could remember almost everything now. He remembered Scott and Malia and Lydia and everyone. And yes, werewolves too.

But he also remembered Thomas.

Minho had been rather shut off since his surgery, but so had Stiles. It was a lot of information to take in at once.

But regardless he was tired of trying to chose between Thomas and Stiles, and he wanted their worlds to overlap. And so this is how he ended up sitting in front of a chess board with Minho and Newt sitting across from him.

He labeled each piece as he had done before, and slowly, slowly, he explained.

It was rather entertaining to watch Newt and Minho's expressions change as he told the ridiculous story of Stiles's life. "You're serious, Greenie?" Minho asked. "You're seriously saying that Scott and Malia and Lydia all those other shanks are werewolves?"

"Well, Malia is a werecoyote and Lydia is a Banshee" Stiles said.

"Um..." Newt said slowly. "Okay."

Stiles nodded triumphantly, and an hour later he had changed all the names on the chess board to Gladers. Scott, Lydia, Kira, Liam, and his dad were sitting across from him. Slowly, he explained everything that happened. His first day in the Glade. Teresa showing up. His night in the maze. The ending. Chuck's death. Everything. He even told them a PG version of how he got together with Newt.

Nobody said anything for a long, long time. Or that is, until Lydia said, "So did, like, all the guys in the maze bang each other?"

Thomas turned red, because yes, he was Thomas in that moment. Shuck, this was confusing. "Um..." he said slowly. "Kind of. Some of the guys were there for years, like Minho and Newt. That's not really... The point, though."

"I think it's a point" Scott mumbled.

Thomas laughed. Maybe he could be Stiles and Thomas.

That night, Stiles lie on his bed with Newt as they lazily made out. The doctor had specifically him no extenuating activities (i.e. sex) until after his noggin had completely healed.

And so Newt was lying next to him, fit perfectly into his side as they kissed, slow and tender. He ran his hands through Newt's soft blonde hair. "Mmm," Newt hummed. "Tom-" He stopped himself and swallowed. "Stiles" he corrected.

Stiles closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Newt's. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't call me that."

"It's your name" Newt said back.

"Not for you, okay?" he said. "I want you to call me Tommy."

"Are you sure?" Newt asked. "People will think I'm weird."

"Let them," Stiles said. He moved his hand from Newt's hair to cup his jaw. "You were always the only one to call me Tommy anyways. It'd be weird to have you call me by the same name as everyone else."

Newt leaned forward and smiled against Stiles's lips. "Okay," he mumbled. And they were kissing again, but it wasn't so lazy this time. Shuck no, there was tongue and heat and promise of something more. Stiles moved his hand down Newt's side and slipped it under his shirt.

"Maybe the doctor was being overly careful," he said quietly. "Maybe we could..."

"Tommy," Newt warned. "I'm not having you stroke out in the middle of things. That'd be a real bloody mood killer."

Stiles laughed. "Yeah," he said. "My shuckin' head hurts anyways. I'm going to get another pain killer."

"Mmmk" Newt mumbled. Stiles got up, and Newt cuddled into the bed. Stiles bet that he would be asleep by the time he returned, but Stiles couldn't blame him. It was pretty late, almost two in the morning.

Slowly, as not to agitate his headache, Stiles walked down to his kitchen. When he got there, he was surprised to find someone was already there.

Minho stood by the sink, leaning over it with his back to Stiles. He wasn't moving, and he hadn't seemed to have noticed Stiles.

"Hey shank," Stiles tried, but Minho visibly jumped at the words. Stiles held up his hands. "Hey there. It's just me."

Minho turned to face him and nodded slowly. "Uh... Right," he said. "I'll just... go."

"Hey, Min," Stiles said as he grabbed Minho's arm to sop him from walking away. "Are you okay?"

Minho stared at the ground. "I'm fine" he said, but his voice cracked when he did.

Stiles swallowed. "Just sit down, alright?" he asked. "I'll get you a glass of water."

Numbly, Minho sat down at the table. Stiles quickly poured the glasses of water and downed a pain killer before joining Minho.

Minho took the water, but he didn't drink it. He simply stared.

Stiles wanted to reach out to him, but he didn't know what to say. He asked the only question he could think to ask. "What's your name?"

Minho glanced at him. "Minho, you dumb shank" he said.

Stiles shook his head. "I mean before" he said.

Minho stared back at his glass of water. "My name's Minho" he said quietly.

Stiles felt his heart squeeze in sympathy for Minho. "Your memories are that bad, huh?"

"Well it's not like my life was full of werewolves and demon possessions, but..." He traced his finger around the rim of the glass. "There's a reason they couldn't track down my family or home after rescuing me. It's because I don't have one. I was living on the streets before the maze. I was alone. I had no one."

"Min..." Stiles said quietly. He reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, and Minho smiled weakly at him.

"Is it weird to be grateful for the maze?" he asked. "You guys... You're my family now. I know the maze was horrible, and that people died and that we're victims, but..."

"I know," Stiles said. "I know."

Because he did. He loved Newt, and Minho was one of his best friends. If it weren't for the maze, he wouldn't have them. And was it wrong to be happy about that? Because despite all this terrible, awful stuff that has happened... Well, it's lead him here. And he supposed that was true for Stiles's life too, wasn't it? They lost Allison, but would he have even gotten to know her at all if it weren't for Scott being bitten? Or Lydia or Derek or Isaac?

Was it all worth it?

Yes, he thought quietly. It was.