Chapter Text
He’s in the shower when it happens, and thank God, Dad’s still stuck downstairs with his knee and can’t hear. There’s no good reason, as fucking always, just, he’s letting the water sluice the bubbles off his shoulders and suddenly he can hear the guy’s voice, picture those thick, stubby fingers and smell diesel. Somehow the guy had smelled of diesel even after he’d taken the mandatory shower.
...dirty little whore... take it, yeah...
I mean, they were such fucking clichés. Stiles swallows thickly and tries to steady his breathing. How can he be so bothered by something so trite? Because they’re true, a nasty voice in his head says.
But those fingers, inside him, no care no pause no mercy no- he can hear his own breath, the high whine of panic and Stiles folds up, kneeling on the bottom of the tub, hands out to brace himself and just tries to get through it. He’s nauseous, and he swallows hard, scared that one day he’ll actually puke with his breathing so out of control and choke on his own vomit.
He counts. That’s always helped. Counts the bubbles on his ankle, slowly sliding down. Counts the moles on his wrist, counts his heartbeats. He can still hear the guy’s voice, can still faintly smell the diesel but it’s fading slowly, and he fumbles for the nearest bottle, squirts some of it into his palm and lets the apple scent overwhelm him instead.
You’re okay. His oxygenated blood is moving around his body. You’re okay, Stiles. His heart is doing its job, a little too fast, but still working. He’s hearing a different voice now, one that calms him, I’m here, you’re not alone.
He lets out a wet sob at that, slumping against the side of the tub while the water beats down on his back. He fucking is alone, though, isn’t he?
Does he think about me at all?
Stiles licks his lips and rests his head on his knees, carefully turns his thoughts away from that. He’d realized two weeks into this exile that he couldn’t think that way. He’d go mad. He’d do something stupid. He has to – Derek has to still be out there, waiting for him. He just fucking, he is, okay. Even if it’s just in Stiles’ imagination, that waiting-Derek, that mirage at the end of it is what’s keeping him going. Not healthy, maybe, but it works.
Stiles sighs. He’s going to have to get up soon, the hot water won’t last forever.
Damn. When are these fucking panic attacks ever going to end? He takes another shaky breath and fumbles for the faucet, cutting off the spray. When it’s stopped he lets his head roll back to rest on the side of the tub, and stares at the tiles on the wall, so familiar.
I maybe... need help.
It’s the first time he’s let himself think it.
His Dad doesn’t even question it, which, okay. Weird. They dig through the office drawer and find the name of the therapist Stiles had seen back when-
Back then.
He’s still practising, which is nice. Sort of. Stiles doesn’t particularly have great memories of Dr Craig, but that’s probably more about grief and loss and adolescence than Dr Craig. He had, at least, come to trust the guy by the end of it. Hadn’t felt judged, or stupid. That should help.
It’s odd, because Stiles’ Dad insists on coming to the first session, which he hadn’t done since... well, a really long time. It makes him nervous, makes him remember the long, considering looks his Dad had given him when he’d visited at the hospital after he’d... after.
His Dad had fumbled muzzily through questions, clearly knowing something was wrong despite the drugs in his system, and Stiles had evaded with every tactic he knew. Verbal avalanche, sarcasm, deflection, playing dumb, and each time had felt worse and fucking worse. At some point, his Dad had stopped, probably waiting until he got home and then, well. Derek. Since then it’s just been watchful glances and strange pauses.
“Sheriff, Stiles,” Dr Craig greets them. He hasn’t changed much. Thank God he’s given up the weird facial hair experiment of ’09.
“Doctor.” They all sit.
Before anyone else can speak, Dad rubs his hands nervously on his thighs and gives the doctor a direct look. “I’m sure you know about my injury.” The cane is there, resting on the couch. New couch.
“Yes, I heard. It’s good to see you up and around.”
“I’ve been – out of action for a while. Months now, really. Stiles has been largely on his own, especially while I was in hospital.”
Stiles just sits, very still, listening. He keeps his eyes on his knees.
“He’s done an amazing job, he’s kept up his grades-” Stiles makes a face at that but yeah, he should maybe cut himself a break for slipping, considering everything.
“-he ran the house with just a little help from Melissa, he visited his grandmother-” Stiles flushes a little, remembering one weekend when he definitely wasn’t with Nanna and which his Dad will never know about.
“-but I think it took a harder toll on him than either one of us has admitted. Something’s changed.”
Stiles lets out a slow breath.
“He needs someone to talk to. Outside of his Dad.”
There’s a pause, and then Dr Craig says in the neutral tone Stiles has not missed at all, and yet which does somehow reassure, “Then I’m glad you both chose to come here.”
Dad nods. “It’s just.” He swallows hard and looks at Stiles. Stops talking to Dr Craig, abruptly, and says directly to Stiles, “I know there’s something you’re not telling me. Something you’re scared to tell me.”
He can’t move. Can’t breathe.
“I hope you know there’s nothing that would make me turn away from you.”
He bites his lip. Fuck. He’s going to start his re-entry to therapy with a bout of fucking tears.
“But if you can’t talk to me and you need to tell someone else, a – a friend,” and there’s a flicker of expression Stiles can’t quite interpret, “or Dr Craig, then that’s okay with me, as long as you’re dealing with whatever it is.”
He clears his throat and turns back to the doctor. “What I’m trying to say is, I know you have obligations, ethical and legal. But he’ll be eighteen in a couple of months, and knowing him, he’ll try to keep it all inside and keep on having panic attacks until then - or forever,” he adds wryly. There’s a pause. “I’d far rather Stiles feel free to talk about his worries, now, than worry that you’re going to turn around and discuss it with his father.”
Dr Craig gives that a slow blink. Stiles just freezes. Shit. His Dad has seen a lot more than Stiles realizes. Damned Sheriff instincts.
“I’m not sure, Mark, that I can promise ahead of time-”
“I’m not doing anything dangerous,” Stiles says. It’s probably time he spoke, considering he’s the reason they’re all here. He looks up at Dr Craig, not at all ready to face his Dad just yet.
“That’s what your obligations are mostly about, right? I’m not, I wasn’t suicidal or taking drugs or anything like that. And what’s bothering me is- it’s not still.” He swallows and forces himself to look his Dad in the eye. It’s the closest he can get to an apology. “It’s. Not an issue anymore.”
His Dad just nods and offers a tiny smile. Something around his heart eases.
There’s a moment’s pause. Then Dr Craig says, “This is most unusual.” When no-one reacts to that he says carefully, “I think I can generally agree that if Stiles is not currently coming to any harm, and we are making real progress, then. These sessions can remain between the two of us, unless Stiles chooses otherwise.”
He takes a quick breath, then another.
Dad just nods, then rises. “Okay then.” He glances down at Stiles. “You know where I’ll be.”
Stiles manages a smile. Yeah. They’ve danced this dance before. Of course, back then Stiles was too young to drive, so his Dad had spent his session times exploring all the stores along this street until he found a cafe that not only had topped up his coffee but had a view of a row of car dealerships. Dad loved shiny new cars.
Difference is, this time, Dad will gimp his way down to the cafe and wait for Stiles to pick him up.
The wheel just keeps on turning.
The door closes behind his Dad and he lets out a long breath. He can feel Dr Craig’s eyes on him. “So. Long time no see,” he begins, and turns back. “Like the new look,” he adds, ghosting his own fingers over his chin. “I always meant to ask if I saw you again, you related to Daniel Craig, by any chance? Because if you are, you should tell him that Skyfall was totally awesome.”
The faint smile that touches the doc’s face is familiar, too.
“It’s good to see you again, Stiles,” is all he says.