Sorry it's taken so long. Full author's notes are at AO3.

Stiles doesn't wake up like in the movies that Jackson has seen. His eyes don't flutter open gracefully and he's not chattering away asking about what has happened or where he is. He does, however, squeeze Jackson's hand and it's the first sign that something has changed for the first time in days. He can hear Stiles' heart beat, steady and strong, as he groans awake, but his eyes don't open right away.

The nurse is slow to get to Stiles' room and Jackson is kind of terrified at being alone with him. He half expects Scott or Derek to come stumbling in half wolfed out in excitement over Stiles being awake, but the first person he sees is Melissa McCall. Jackson doesn't register anything she says, because Stiles is squeezing his fingers, but he knows it's soft and soothing because despite her hard ass personality Mrs. McCall is a pretty damn good nurse.

Jackson realizes that she's trying to get his attention when she reaches over to squeeze his arm. Stiles is staring up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and confused, but he's awake and moving and hasn't tried to move his hand away from Jackson's.

Mrs. McCall asks several questions, but Stiles blinks through it with genuine confusion so she pats his forearm softly and goes to find his doctor. When Jackson tries to pull away to follow her, Stiles latches onto his hand even harder.

"Do you know who I am?" Jackson asks tentatively. It's weird holding Stilinski's hand, but for a moment something stabs at his chest that tells him this feel right, that he should be here.

Stiles blinks for several seconds before answering with an oddly affectionate, "Idiot."

Jackson snorts, "You've been hanging around Lydia too much, Stilinski."

"D-dad?"

"Derek made him go home to shower and change. He was starting to smell like rotting eggs, and none of our noses wanted to smell that anymore," Jackson says with a smile, but Stiles just looks confused. "You should rest; we'll explain it later, okay?"

"Don't-" Stiles' eyes fill with tears and he swallows hard.

Jackson squeezes Stiles' hand gently and shakes his head, "I'll be right here."

Stiles comes to again with the lights dimmed and finds his father sitting on the chair next to his bed; his feet are propped up next to his on the mattress and he's thumbing through a manila folder with his eyebrows furrowed together and a pained expression on his face.

"Dad," Stiles says and smiles tiredly. "You're here."

Jonathan is instantly at his side, smiling too, "Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Tired."

"You've been sleeping a lot the past few weeks so I'm not surprised. Are you in any pain?" he asks and Stiles shakes his head.

"Was I dreaming or has Jackson been here?" Stiles asks and Jonathan helps him adjust the bed so he's sitting up a bit more.

Jonathan snorts, "Between him and Derek, I'm not sure who was here the most."

"That's—" Stiles stares at his dad for a moment. "—mildly disturbing. Why are you not freaking out? You're not freaking out. Why are you not freaking out? What do you know? What don't you know? Oh god. Oh god, Derek was here? Derek? Derek Hale? Oh god, dad, whatever he told you—"

"That werewolves are real; that he, Jackson, the runaways, and Scott are all werewolves? That the Argents are some kind of supernatural hunters? You were out for a while, Stiles, and I've had a lot of questions in that time."

"I'm sorry. I'm still stuck on you saying werewolves. Wait. Wait did you ask Derek if vampires were actually a thing? Is that a question you had? Because that was a question I had and no one would answer it. Derek kept giving me that glare-y, shut up, I'm the alpha eyes and those are incredibly distracting, dad. I mean how hard is it to answer this one simple question, right? Are vampires real or not? It's not an overly complex question to answer, especially for someone who, up until a few years ago was technically a fictitious figure in itself. I just want to be prepared, because all I need is some garlic and maybe I should start to learn how to whittle a wooden stake. Oh! Oh and what if garlic isn't actually a thing? Maybe wooden stakes don't work, and you know, then where would we all be? We'd have to come up with a plan, dad, and I can't do that if no one gives me a straight answer."

"God, it's good to hear your voice," Jonathan laughs and presses a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. "You keep running with your ideas. I'm going to go tell Scott and Melissa that you're awake again, okay? Scott's been pacing back and forth like a—"

"Like a dog, right?" Stiles grins up at his dad, almost in triumph. "See? I told them that they act like dogs, but do they believe me? Of course not, but they should. They should always listen to me."

The next time Stiles opens his eyes Lydia is seated next to his bed, the latest issue of Vogue spread across her lap, "I take offense when the first person you wake up to is Jackson, Stiles. That is completely unacceptable." Lydia is smiling when she says it, and when she leans down to kiss Stiles' cheek he blushes the same shade of red lipstick that she's wearing. "I will forgive you, but only because I've been in that hospital gown and I have sympathy for anyone who is forced to wear those ugly rags."

"I love you, too?" Stiles says uncertainly, but her smile stays the same and she rolls her eyes affectionately instead of in annoyance.

She smacks his shoulder hard ("Ow, Lydia!") and points a finger in his face, "Don't you ever do that to me again or I will hunt you down and castrate you, Stiles Stilinski, don't you dare think that I don't know how because I am Lydia Martin."

"I'm sorry, Lyd. Really. I never—I never wanted—"

"Well you will make it up to me, but that's not what I want to talk about. Right now I want to know all about what's going on with you and Derek."

Stiles is awake for a half an hour watching some cheesy made for TV movie when Scott comes bounding into his hospital room with a bag of greasy food and a smile the size of Texas. It isn't the first time they've seen each other since Stiles has woken up, but it's the most relaxed they've both been in days. While they're best friends they never really talked about anything incredibly serious, at least not since Stiles' mother died and Scott's dad left town. Past that most of their conversations were light-hearted, even when they had involved Kanimas and Argents.

"I have curly fries and a cheeseburger bigger than my head," Scott lets the bag drop to the bedside table with a wet squelching sound and Stiles stares at it with a grimace. "I had to sneak it past my mom and the rest of the nurses so we'll have to eat it fast."

"What do you think Lydia means by 'you and Derek'?" Stiles asks before stuffing a healthy sized handful of curly fries into his mouth.

"What?"

"What? Exactly! What did she mean? There's no me and Derek," Stiles exclaims, waving his arms around in the air and huffing at the accusation.

"There kind of is a you and Derek," Scott points out, literally pointing a fry out at Stiles who snatches half of it away from him. "He saved your life."

"He only did that because I saved his paralyzed ass from drowning, and he's too much of a dick to say a simple thank you."

"It's because you're pack, Stiles, not because he's returning a favor."

"Stop being so smart. It's really freaking me out. And that is such crap and you know it. I'm not, nor have I ever been, pack."

Scott winces at the words, and presses down the instinct to growl at his best friend, "He said that you were pack. Derek got angry and practically took Jackson's head off when he said that you weren't. I'm—I'm really sorry if we made you feel like you weren't, because you are. And if you don't consider yourself a part of Derek's then you're a part of mine."

"But you're part of Derek's pack," Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at his best friend.

Scott grins, "Exactly."

The last time Stiles wakes up in a hospital bed, the last night before he's released and allowed to go home, it's dark outside. There's a soft light shining through the small window next to the door of his room, so Stiles knows that the nurses are still out there working despite the late hour, but his view to the outside world is pitch black. He can see his reflection in the window; he has bags under his eyes and he looks like he hasn't eaten in a week. They keep promising to let him take a shower, but so far they've been putting it off the entire week.

"You are pack," a voice says from the shadows and when Derek leans forward Stiles can see that he's been sitting on the chair beside Stiles' bed for a while.

"Jesus—"

"You are pack."

They stare at each other for a long, quiet moment until Stiles simply says, "Okay."

"You're important to m—the pack."

"Okay."

"Don't ever do that again."

Stiles sighs, "Lydia already scolded me yesterday, Derek."

Derek just glares at him, eyebrows furrowed and looking angry. He stands and grabs his leather jacket off the back of the chair and moves to the door.

"Derek, I—" Derek stops, but doesn't turn to face Stiles. "—thank you. I don't think I've—" Stiles shakes his head and sighs, "Thank you."

Stiles watches Derek leave without a word, and then falls back against the pillows behind him.