Note: Woah. Another update! Well, this is a big one. Over 2,000 words. Of course, I'm sure an abundance of grammar mistakes and forgotten words. I, of course, thank you guys so much. I thank all my followers and reviewers. Now, I'll just go listen to happy music to get out of my angst-ridden plot. Have fun!

For reasons unknown, Stiles could not go to sleep. If had been over 24 hours since he had sat in his Jeep with Scott. Since the discovery of Dawn's name, he just sat in that chair. Looking at his phone, he couldn't find her on the school's social networking site, Facebook, or twitter. He couldn't leave to check the yearbooks. He wanted to call Scott, but he wouldn't answer his phone. That was because of two reasons, he was around Allison and still made at his comment earlier. Isaac had left in a hurry for no reason. Boyd and Erica came periodically, carrying takeout, to check if Stiles was still waiting. He had answered more questions from the police. His father had come, asking him if he was okay.

And honestly, Stiles wasn't okay. But nobody wanted to hear that. They didn't want to know that Stiles couldn't handle it anymore. Knowing her name made everything worse. To Stiles, it felt like she was actually a person, someone he knew. It made it worse; it made a pain throb in his chest when he thought of how he had found her, all the marks on her, and how she was almost dead. It made the waiting unbearable. Hours had ticked by while he sat on the uncomfortable cushion on the hospital chair.

Piling it all up, Stiles couldn't sleep. It wasn't the shock. No, he was holding in all the pain because there was no outlet. There was no monster to hit. There was no wall to punch. Stiles just sat there, zombified.

He felt guilty, feeling this way. If it were Scott, Stiles would have worried, sent calls, helped the police with the reports, and checked on his dad. But being selfish, was just what Stiles wanted. He wanted someone here that could take care of her. No one was here. Sure, the nurse that made her rounds, the janitor mopping the floor, and the officer filling out paper work were here. But the girl's parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances? No sign. Sheriff Stilinksi had made some calls to notify the parents, but Stiles wasn't sure if any of them made it past an assistant, voice-mail, or brain wave of a person.

It was like this girl was nobody, but at the same time, here she was: Dawn Adams, seventeen, straight-A junior at Beacon Hills High. She had a life, maybe a quiet one, but she had to have somebody. And if not, Stiles would be there. Even though he hated having the added responsibility and the never-ending waiting, Derek was right, she couldn't be alone, and he couldn't just leave the situation. This was his problem now, and he was going to fix it.

And that would start to happen if the damn girl would wake up.

He damned himself for not asking Boyd to bring a charger the next time he came. Stiles' phone was on its last leg, and it was the only thing sustaining his boredom. There he was playing solitaire; he couldn't find a god damn King of Spades. The card was face down, under a huge deck. Banging his head on the wall, Stiles let another frustrated sigh out. He wanted to win just one round. Just one deck, but fuck his luck. He pressed new game, determined to win, and started all over again.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his game addiction.

"Don't worry about school; I called you out for the day. Get some sleep, son."

Stiles checked the time, seeing that it was well past the first school bell. Sighing, Stiles looked over his shoulder once again at the ICU ward. He expected to see Dawn's door closed. But it stood open, not for a passing nurse, but as in, she was awake.

He had never moved out of a chair and across a room so fast in his life. Stiles stepped through the doors and straight into Dawn's room.

Dawn stared up at the hospital ceiling, thinking about how the hell she had gotten here. All she could remember was being in the library, studying and hoping that Isaac would show up. She had woken up only an hour ago while a nurse was changing her IV. Since then, pain killers and more examinations had occurred. Trauma, shock, comatose state, amnesia, dislocated arms, five broken ribs, multiple bruises and abrasions, internal bleeding in the abdomen, major loss of blood, possible brain contusions and concussions – the doctor sidestepped the minor event of Dawn's heartbeat stopping twice during surgery, something the nurse had told her later, and basically described the state of someone who died.

But here she was. Dawn wondered what it would be like if she had died. It would've been okay, she guessed. Maybe her parents would mourn. A small funeral could take place at the cemetery that Isaac's dad owned. A better part smirked when she played on the idea that Isaac would've felt so much guilt for his treatment towards Dawn for the past weeks.

Yeah, Dawn would've been fine with dying.

She wasn't sad or anything. When Stiles stood in the doorway of the hospital room, he stopped. Here was the girl that he had saved less than 24 hours ago, alive, and recovering to back to a somewhat healthy state. He waited for the weight to lift off his shoulders. The weight of having her as responsibility, and the weight of expectations that both Derek and Scott and the pack placed upon him.

As he heard the steady beep of the EKG, Stiles stood a little taller. But seeing her face made him feel guilty. Because seeing Dawn look up at the ceiling with melancholy visage just didn't seem right. Of course, Dawn was safe now, and with that, he could walk away. But Dawn wasn't okay, or at least for a teenage girl, she was not okay. Reading his father's case files proved thus. Most victims of her age dealt with the situation by forms of denial, venting, and just downright letting it out. But Dawn's face wasn't a look of denial.

Hell, Stiles just wanted more of an ego boost for saving a damsel in distress. Even if it wasn't his intention in the first place. If he was going to save a damsel, she sure as hell better be in distress. But Dawn's demeanor left him without words.

"I wouldn't have been mad."

Stiles jumped as her voice filled the small room, her bruised face expressing her words calmly. He freaked out a bit, because Dawn wasn't talking to herself, she would've done that already. No, she knew that somebody was standing in front of her bed, watching her. He turned to walk away, there would still be time. He didn't think she would've cared all that much. But hell, what did she mean? His curiosity caused him to turn around and slide a chair next to her bed.

Stiles didn't say a word. Dawn, whose eyes never left the ceiling, felt him sit down beside her. Whoever this guy was, she had gotten his attention. And now, she searched the white spotted Styrofoam tiles for the right words to say.

Her jaw clenched open and shut as the words slowly came out, "I wouldn't have been upset over, dying. I mean, if there was an afterlife or anything. If I knew I had died, I know it would've been okay." Dawn took a deep breath, settling in the glow that she had just said her thoughts out loud to a stranger. But damn, it felt good to get it out.

But damn, it racked Stiles with a parade of questions and guilt. That kind of confusion forced Stiles to settle himself in the chair even more, bending over to get closer to Dawn's sort voice. Her eyes skirted the ceiling, afraid to make eye contact with him. If she did, the moment would be over. The priest would be pulling back the screen to look at the confessor, and the secret would be revealed. This, the ambiguous situation that this was, was fine. Dawn exhaled one more time before she turned on her side, away from the stranger. There was really nothing else she wanted to say.

Stiles got the hint, but he sat in the chair for a little longer before getting up. It was so anticlimactic, how he had waited for so long, even against his will, to make sure she was okay. And yeah, he guessed she was; in the fucked up way of her calamity of the situation. This girl would be fine, as far as he knew. Stiles walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and walked down the hall.

"Stiles!" Scott's warm smile met Stiles gaze. He could only return a half-smile, after walking out of the room. Of course, Scott's smile faltered.

Werewolf senses. Scott definitely heard everything.

Out of courtesy, Scott asked, "How she's doing."

Stiles paused to think.

"She's gonna be okay, I think. I mean; she doesn't remember anything. I guess that's good." Then again, Lydia wasn't okay. But Lydia was different, she was always different. She had survived the bite, somehow tapped into Peter's psych, and saved Jackson with the nauseating power of love. Stiles shrugged off the thought, still freshly wounded by Lydia's decision.

Scott smiled back, which concerned Stiles the most. He had to know what just happened. Instead of pretending everything was fine, Scott would've gone all maternal and projected his guilt on everything.

"That-That's good. I'm just surprised-," Scott slipped before fixing his word choice, "-glad she's, breathing."

There it was. Stiles squinted at his best friend. The deception.

Scott's smile widened as he slapped a hand on his best friend's back.

"Come on, let's go get some lunch." Scott's jaw cocked to the side as he looked at Stiles like he cared.

"No, I'm good." Stiles looked back at the door. "I really should stay here. No one else is-"

"You know what?" Scott interrupted. "You look like shit. You go, get some sleep, take a shower, and I'll keep watch. "He looked at Scott, a little surprised, but grateful. Sleep definitely sounded better than sitting in the waiting room all over again. Of course, Scott was being weird. Usually, he'd be more concerned about Allison's latest tweet than himself.

But Stiles was tired.

He thanked Scott, and found his way back to the parking lot. The drive home was vague, and before he registered in his brain that he was home, his body slumped into his bed.

Sleep was good, sleep was fine, sleep was dandy.

Stiles thoughts roamed in the few minutes it took for his conscious to slip. There should be a reason a girl is found badly beaten and discarded in a warehouse. It was odd enough that Scott had disappeared as Stiles made his way back to the Jeep that night. And then Scott going into best friend mode, letting Stiles go home while he stayed at the hospital. And then Scott's covering up how he heard the conversation that took place in Dawn's hospital room. It was weird, Scott lying to him. Why? What was even going on? Even weirder was Dawn's creepy calm demeanor. No one was that collective, like ever. No one is okay after that kind of incident. Hell, Stiles wasn't okay. He hasn't been okay since the night he and Scott found Laura Hale's half in the woods.

Stiles wiped the drool crawling down his mouth before closing his eyes completely.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about it all. No one is okay, not in the end, not after all the closure, hell was there even closure? He kept on thinking about Dawn's words. She can die and be okay with it, content that the world would go on just fine. He could not do that, just die, and be fine with how it ended. Even if his family and friends saw it coming; Stiles didn't have the guts. She either was one of the bravest people he had ever encountered or Dawn literally did not give a shit about anything. She already left the world in her head.

She would've been fine.

Stiles would've gone on with life, never meeting her, or acknowledging her. He would be worrying with the pack over Derek's overbearing broodiness, and Gerard's disappearance.

The image of how his life would've been if Stiles had just stayed in the jeep haunted him.

Disturbed, Stiles shuddered. It wasn't good to think that way. The what-ifs and how he could have easily changed everything. No, he needed to focus on the now.

And now, Dawn was alive albeit barely breathing and the mental state could be debatable.

Dawn was far from okay. Stiles finally thought. Because no one is okay in the end.