Return to Relative Normalcy
"How was your day?"
The question was much more loaded than that. His dad didn't only ask out of routine, not only because it was the kind thing to do. He was also testing how much Stiles would talk about something personal, he would pay attention to how detailed Stiles was in his describing and what adjectives and adverbs he'd use.
Every time Stiles heard the question, he felt scrutinized. He wondered if he was a rat in a lab, running through a maze for some elaborate experiment that he'd never be capable of understanding.
He hated it.
He felt like he was a charity case, just someone to be pitied.
Instead of snapping, though, he took in a deep breath and readied a smile. "Fine."
Burly's gaze was shifting between father and son, his head curiously cocked to the side.
"Sit down, son," his dad said then, gesturing to their dinner table. Case files were spread out on it, stacked in an order that was not immediately obvious.
Oh, right. His dad wanted sentences, not just one-word-answers.
Stiles sighed but obeyed.
His dad took a seat at the table as well, a frown on his face.
"Stiles, you know this is not a punishment, right? I just want to know what's going on in your life."
Yes, Stiles knew that.
He knew that his dad thought that the teen had trouble dealing with everything that had happened over the past few months. That was completely normal, Stiles supposed. Finding out the truth about his mother's death had been shocking. That his dad had lied to him for years felt like the worst betrayal he could ever face. The battle for control over his powers that made him question whether his mother had been right to call him evil all those years ago haunted him in his dreams.
But the thing was that Stiles had a harder time with everyone dealing with him like he was made of glass now than he had with all of those things.
Or at least, he wouldn't be so aware of all the issues if everyone just stopped fussing over him.
He was so fed up with it, he felt like screaming when someone offered to do something for him.
"Same old, same old," Stiles replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "One would think that my life would be different now but - nope. There's still school, there are still werewolves. So, nothing new."
His dad's face fell slightly. The wrinkles around his eyes became even more pronounced as he eyed his son. But instead of addressing what bothered him, he just shook his head. "Only you would categorize werewolves as normal."
Stiles shrugged. Then he eyed the files on the table. "Want my help with that?"
He wasn't all that interested in them, to be honest, but they offered a nice opportunity to change the topic.
Sheriff Stilinski swatted his hand away that was already reaching for one of the files. "That's classified. You know that."
"It was worth a try," Stiles said. Then he got up and picked his backpack up from the floor where he had unheedingly dropped it. "Well, I've got a lot of homework to do. Nice talk, dad."
His dad huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Sure."
Stiles felt the semblance of remorse gnawing at his conscience as he turned his back on his dad and went upstairs. He knew that the man was trying. But that couldn't just magically erase the fact that he had lied to him. For years.
It wasn't like Stiles couldn't understand why his dad had done it. Actually, he would have probably done the same, had he been in the position. And it wasn't like Stiles himself had been upfront with his dad all along.
Still, the betrayal stung.
So Stiles decided not to dwell on the topic any longer than he really had to. There was enough on his mind already.
Before the teenager was able to flee the conversation completely, his dad appeared at the bottom of the stairs, halting him in his steps as he called out to him.
Stiles turned around with an annoyed "what".
He tried not to feel guilty at his dad's put off expression.
"I just wanted to remind you that I'm picking you up from school tomorrow. You have a doctor's appointment, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," Stiles remembered. "The splint finally comes off. Can't wait. That means I'll get the keys to my baby back, right?"
Another annoying prospect of the injury was that he wasn't allowed to drive his jeep. Instead, he had been forced to catch a ride with Cora, Peter, his dad or in a few instances Derek. He longed for the freedom that was having his own car and deciding when and where he wanted to go.
His dad grimaced slightly and sidestepped a concrete answer by replying with, "We'll see. First and foremost, you need to get used to walking without a splint again. Maybe after your first physical therapy session."
It was not the answer he had wanted to hear but one he had expected.
"Fine," Stiles sighed.
Then he and the fox disappeared into his room. The sheriff was left standing there, massaging his temples as he felt a headache coming.
***
Like all the nights lately, Stiles had trouble falling asleep that night. Not that he actually got a good rest once he did. Sometimes, he could hear his mother yell all the awful things she had said that time at the river when she had tried to drown him.
'Don't worry. Once we've rid you off the evil in you, everything will be okay again.'
Some nights, he was blessed with a dreamless sleep.
Tonight was, unfortunately, not one of those nights.
It was not like the nightmares he typically experienced, though.
His mother didn't make an appearance - not really, at least. She was not more than an echo, a wailing, desperate voice among many.
In fact, so many people seemed to be screaming and crying, Stiles couldn't even make out what they were saying anymore.
And that's all he remembered when he woke up somewhere around 3, heart hammering so loudly against his ribcage that he was sure even his neighbors could hear it.
His hair was sticking to his sweaty body as was his shirt and his pajama pants. Lying in his cooling pool of sweat and feeling the bed sheet sticking to his back was anything but comfortable and so Stiles decided to head to the bathroom. He wet a washcloth to clean himself off of the worst and changed his clothes.
His eyes were avoiding the mirror as he bent down to splash his face with water. He still couldn't shake off the feeling that his reflection was watching him.
It was a silly idea, he knew that. And if he should look up, his reflection would indeed meet his gaze. That's just how it was with reflections.
Still, he felt eyes on him.
The cold water was supposed to clear his head but all it accomplished was making him aware of how freezing it was. He almost regretted not wearing socks to bed now that his bare feet were forced to touch the cold tiles.
In an attempt to warm himself, he slung his arms around his middle and hopped from one foot to the other.
It shouldn't be that cold, even if it was the third of December already.
Intentionally not sparing even one glance to the mirror, Stiles left the bathroom and went straight to his closet to look for a hoodie and socks. But when he had finally found the items he realized with a start that he wasn't cold anymore.
Confused, he rested a hand on his forehead, feeling for temperature. As far as he could tell, he wasn't feverish.
"Weird," he mumbled to himself.
***
Waiting for his dad, Stiles stood in the parking lot with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He tried to ignore the weird looks from his fellow students who were probably wondering why he didn't drive home already.
He had been standing there for over 15 minutes after all.
It must have looked like he had been stood up from an outsider's point of view.
'Great,' Stiles thought gloomily. 'As if they needed any more fuel to make fun of me.'
Where was his dad anyway? It wasn't like him to be late, and even less likely that he just forgot about Stiles at all.
Not even his anger about the situation could cloud over the fact that he was getting worried.
As various different, horrifying scenarios involving his dad in mortal peril were playing out inside his head, a girl with thick glasses and wild curly hair approached him. She was holding a notepad pressed to her chest and a pen was tucked behind her right ear. Her eyes were gleaming with eagerness as she assessed him.
"Stiles Stilinski, right?" she asked, though it was clear that she was definitely sure that she had the right person. "I'm Bertha Sinclair and I'm writing for the school paper 'The Saint Joanna Chronicle'. I hope you're already familiar with it, if not, here's our latest issue," she took a beige-coloured newspaper out of the notebook and handed it to him before she continued talking, "We're a weekly paper and as it is Friday already and I've just got out of our weekly meeting, I wanted to ask for your cooperation with an article about the incident with the cult that died during a sacrifice at the cemetery. It will be the headline of our next issue."
Perplexed that there was actually someone who could talk as fast and incessantly as him, Stiles blinked.
When he had finally registered what she was asking of him, his stomach churned unpleasantly and his mind got steamrolled by a wave of memories of that night.
His expression shut off immediately. "Why would you need my cooperation? What could I contribute?"
She gave him a look that told him that she was calling bullshit on that. "For one, your father was one of the cops investigating the case. Also, there have been rumors about your involvement on that night. Some say you were part of the cult and that's where you got your injuries from. Especially the cuts on your hands have aroused suspicion. Surely, you want to give a statement and contradict those who put blame on you?"
He clenched his teeth in anger. "No, I don't want to cooperate with you for that article."
"But this is your only chance to clear your name-"
"I don't care. Now leave me alone."
"You should care! Some students here are very influential and could possibly destroy your future but if you cooperate we could-"
"Wait. Let me think about it." He held up a finger and furrowed his brows in concentration. After a while, he shook his head and said, "Nope, I still don't care. Write whatever you want. It doesn't matter."
Her eyes narrowed at him, the friendly smile she was wearing before falling off her lips. "Fine, have it your way! Just know that we were considerate enough to hold off on the story until you were better. But you obviously don't know how to appreciate this or someone who is only trying to help you! You'll regret this next week, that I promise you!"
She then turned on her heels and walked away.
"Hey, Bertha!" Stiles called out.
She turned around immediately, the satisfied glint in her eyes conveying that she had hoped that he would change his mind. "Yes?"
Stiles gave her a wry grin. "You should add a fox to the story. He definitely was the reason that their sacrifice failed. I bet he's the real hero behind all this. Make sure he gets some recognition for this, yeah?"
Thinking that he was mocking her, she huffed angrily, flipped him off and then proceeded to walk away. She was probably regretting now that she had wasted her precious time on him.
He was a lost cause.
As he reflected on how bad his decision might turn out to be and on the possibility that he had just hammered the final nail into the coffin in which his reputation would be buried in, the police cruiser finally pulled into the school parking lot.
***
His dad kept apologizing to him all the way to the hospital even though Stiles had assured him that it was not a problem. He only calmed down when he told him that a girl had kept him company while he had been waiting which wasn't completely a lie. Bertha had spent some time with him even if she had only been there because she had an agenda and had left after he declined her offer.
His dad didn't need to know that, though.
Apparently, there had been a disturbance called in by a very hysterical Mrs. Miller and she requested that most of the deputies immediately came over to her property to secure the situation. She said that it was a matter of urgency, though she didn't give them any details.
Since Mrs. Miller was an old lady that called the police at least once a week about a noise disturbance or some other reason, Jon Stilinski didn't pay her call too much thought. He did send out the number of deputies that she requested, though, which was about half the staff that was on patrol.
Stiles laughed at the story, knowing how persistent Mrs. Miller could be in her claims that her life was in danger if they didn't send a man of the law over to her that instance. He also knew that she just scared very easily - could maybe even be classified as paranoid - and that the only thing that gave her the feeling of safety was if a man in a uniform confirmed it to her.
Jon had once explained to Stiles that Mrs. Miller's husband had been a police officer himself before he had died and that her only son was in the military so she automatically associated men in uniform with safety.
They talked about similar police calls as they were waiting to be called in the examination room, reminiscing about the most ridiculous cases the police had ever been forced to deal with.
Stiles enjoyed their talk, glad that they had found a topic that wasn't heavy and didn't evolve around his mental health. He needed the normalcy back. He needed to know that life was going back to the way it should be, new powers and worries aside.
The bad mood he had been in earlier suddenly vanished and he felt like it was easier to breathe.
When Dr. Stevens had finally taken off the splint, he was even smiling slightly. The taste of freedom was resting on his tongue, making his fingers tingle slightly.
He only stopped smiling when he noticed his excitement had sent one spark loose that was now hovering over the doctor's head. Thankfully, it was high enough for the man not to notice.
"As we've already discussed, the true recovery process is just happening now and you will need to work in order for it to be successful. I took the liberty to make an appointment with our local physical therapist. If you're not happy with your treatment, please contact the hospital so we can look for another physical therapist."
The doctor was saying all of this in a very monotone voice, not looking up from the clipboard in his hands. Stiles just hoped that he would remain that way until he was able to recollect the spark.
Why did they have to break free at the most inconvenient moments? It was just his luck, he guessed.
"If you don't mind, I'd like for you to meet him now so he can assess your case and determine the perfect treatment for you."
"No, I don't mind at all. Are you going to get him? I think you should, you know. The hospital is huge. We don't want him to get lost, right?" Stiles said hurriedly, keeping an eye on the spark. He couldn't just outright stare at it without raising suspicion, though.
Dr. Stevens raised his eyebrows at him but did otherwise not react. He wasn't one to chit-chat and only really talked about Stiles' injury with him. Detached doctors had their advantages every once in a while.
"Well, he is new," the man admitted, sounding a little surprised that Stiles seemed to know about that as well. "I was just about to tell you that I'd send him in here in a few minutes."
His expression was stunned as he looked at the teenager.
"Uh, sure. Don't wait on my account. I can be left alone for a few minutes. I even promise not to steal anything," Stiles assured the doctor, trying for a trustworthy smile.
The man shook his head at him, looking a little bemused. Then he warned Stiles that stealing something wasn't worth the trouble with a glare before he left.
Stiles heaved out a relieved sigh and hopped down the treatment couch. Walking on two legs again hadn't posed to be a challenge in his mind but it did turn out that his injured leg wasn't strong enough to support his weight. His knee gave out and he fell to the floor.
Cursing under his breath, Stiles tried to get up again. This time, he wouldn't put too much weight on his left leg.
He managed to stand on wobbly feet, just now registering the stinging of his leg. It felt like a bad cramp, only worse.
"You'll just have to come to me then," he whispered to the spark, already concentrating on bringing it back. The pain kept him from getting distracted and so he actually managed to retrieve the spark before the door opened again.
Stiles had expected a man that would be around the same age as Dr. Stevens, gray and sparse hair and glasses and all. The man standing before him looked nothing like that, though.
He was young - perhaps only a few years older than himself - and tall, his build lithe but athletic. He had short dirty blond hair and friendly green eyes. The smile on his lips was slightly crooked but charming.
All in all, he was undeniably attractive.
And Stiles was standing on wobbly knees, drops of sweat gathering on his brow and his hand outstretched like he was reciting the famous line from 'Hamlet' without the skull, looking like a complete idiot. Fantastic first impression.
The professional smile on the other man's face turned into a grin.
"Stiles Stilinski, I presume?" he asked. Stiles managed to nod as he quickly retracted his hand. "I'm Jordan Parrish, the physical therapist Dr. Stevens was going to introduce you to. It's nice to meet you."
Jordan Parrish then walked over to him and reached out his hand for him to shake. Stiles reciprocated the handshake with hasty movements, wishing he could have had an opportunity to wipe the sweat off of his face before they were standing in front of each other.
"Uh, it's nice to meet you too, Mr. Parrish."
The man revealed handsome dimples as his smile widened. "Call me Jordan, please."
"Stiles."
The man raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "Your case is quite an interesting one, Stiles. Your bone was shattered into many little splinters but they managed to reconstruct it quite nicely. Your latest X-rays are nearly identical to the ones before your accident. You're a prime example of the marvelous things medicine has already accomplished."
Stiles had been told many times how lucky he was that his injury wasn't as bad or as long-lasting than it could have been.
"I always try to merely fall into easily reconstructible puzzle pieces when I'm breaking. No biggie."
Jordan laughed. "You have to teach your ways to others, then." He then walked over to the desk and took out a form from one of the drawers. "Your problem is not the bone, though. It's the damaged muscles and the scar tissue that's already forming. It's restricting your mobility and will only get worse if you don't warm up and stretch your muscles. I think a meeting once a week should suffice. Depending on your progress, you might be able to almost walk completely normal again."
Stiles swallowed heavily. He hated the word almost and might.
Jordan filled out the form and wrote his assessment of Stiles' medical condition down.
"But I could also be limping heavily for the rest of my life," Stiles finished with a dry throat.
Jordan looked up from the form, his eyes taking on an empathic expression. "Well, yes, if you give up on yourself, that will certainly be in your future. You see, Stiles, what many people don't understand is that our bodies are very complex, always functioning machines that run without any help. But they require care. Otherwise, they will shut down sooner or later. Your body is not defective by any means just because it has to adapt to a different mechanism now."
"So you're basically here to install a new program?"
"Hmm," Jordan said, standing up from his place at the desk to give him a once-over. "Can you please walk a few steps? You can take your time."
Since Stiles already knew that shifting too much weight on his injured leg wasn't a good idea, he took a small step forward with the healthy one, only dragging the other one after him. He had to look so stupid but it was the safest way to move forward that he had found yet.
Jordan nodded, looking pleased. "I imagine that you don't want to walk like the hunchback assistant of Dracula for the rest of your life. At least, I hope so. It certainly doesn't suit you."
Stiles' eyes widened for a second, then his face scrunched up in thought about whether he had really just received a compliment or not.
Why did this man have to be so charming, yet so unobtrusive? No one should be that authentically amiable without seeming obnoxious.
"Is Friday okay for you? Let's say, around six o'clock?"
"Uh, I think so. Where?"
Jordan grabbed a post-it note and quickly wrote an address on it. He also scribbled down his number below. "If you can't make it, please call me." He handed Stiles the note and smiled.
"Am I allowed to drive now?" he asked then because that was the question that he had been itching to ask since he had gotten the splint off.
"Well, I'm afraid that it is still too early to tell. We'll see about that after our first session," Jordan answered sympathetically. "Sorry. I know that sucks. What sucks even more is this."
He retrieved a wooden cane from the supply closet and pressed it into Stiles' unwilling hand.
"Seriously?" Stiles groaned.
"It's only for a while," Jordan assured him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. They were nearly the same height. "After a day of being on your feet, I'm sure you'll be thankful for it. And it still looks cooler than crutches or a walker."
Stiles sighed in defeat, not knowing how to argue that point.
"There's also something else," Jordan announced. This time, he handed Stiles a small jar. "It's ointment for your muscles. Apply it every night before you go to bed and all pain and soreness should evaporate. It smells a little bad but it works."
Stiles eyed the jar skeptically, sure that Jordan exaggerated its effect. He had been using ointment ever since he was a little kid and knew that it just soothed the pain. It didn't get rid of it like some kind of magic potion.
He thanked the man, anyway and then they said their goodbyes.
On the way home, the sheriff updated Stiles on the call from Mrs. Miller, explaining that it had only been her new neighbors who had moved in not so long ago that were making her worried. She claimed that their kid was possessed by the devil and was glowing menacingly.
"Well, was she? Glowing, I mean?" Stiles asked.
His dad looked amused. "Not as far as my deputies could tell when they met the small family."
But there was still the possibility that they were indeed supernatural. It wouldn't surprise Stiles. Not in this town.
Time's going to tell, Stiles thought. And if there really was some new supernatural entity in their town, the pack would soon enough find out. It was their territory, after all. Newcomers had to pay a visit to the pack Alpha eventually if they wanted to stay.