Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He gets the call on a Tuesday.

His morning has been completely normal; he drags himself out of bed, grabs a coffee to go and pointedly doesn't think about how Stiles would get onto him for not eating a real breakfast (“It’s the most important meal of the day, Dad!”).

He goes into work, fills out some paperwork, and contemplates some of the cold cases he has never quite understood. He is in the middle of rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands when his phone rings.

See, the thing is, it’s been three years. John has been in law enforcement for years; he knows the statistics. He knows the odds are not in his son’s favor, that his beautiful little boy almost certainly died when he was fourteen. John has spent three years trying to accept this, but it’s been so hard dealing with the not knowing.

As bad as it is, John sometimes can’t help but wish Stiles had been killed instead of kidnapped, because at least then he would have closure and be able to move on. But no, his son simply vanished one day without a trace.

Stiles wasn’t the type to run away, and nothing was missing from his room, but they couldn’t find any evidence of a struggle or a kidnapping. Stiles was just gone.

He was registered as a missing child, and the case went cold almost immediately. There was no evidence, no witnesses. John tries not to blame himself, but he can’t help it; he’s the Sheriff for Christ’s sake, but he couldn’t even keep his own son safe.

Three years gone, and he still hasn’t been able to abandon that last bit of hope. But that doesn’t mean he ever actually expects to see Stiles again or find out what happened to him.

The call comes as a surprise.

He misses most of what Rafael McCall says, his world going static after he hears the words “We found Stiles. We found him, John, he’s alive.” He barely hangs on long enough to hear the address Rafael is giving him, telling him that he will see him when he gets there. That it’s complicated and he’ll explain more when John arrives, but the important part is that Stiles is alive.

John doesn’t remember leaving his office, or informing the receptionist, or getting in his car, but he comes back into some semblance of awareness when his GPS says he’s still an hour out from the address Rafe gave him.

The clock reads past midnight, and he pulls into a hotel parking lot on autopilot. He gets settled into his room and sets the alarm for six in the morning. He wants to get to his son as soon as possible - wouldn't have even stopped for the night if he thought he'd be allowed to see him this late. 

As he's laying down on the weirdly comfortable hotel bed, the reality of the day's events crash into him.

Stiles is alive.

Three years later, and Stiles is alive. His boy is alive, and he will get to see him again. It doesn’t feel real. Three years of hoping, of hardly daring to imagine, and now his boy has been found.

He’s just coherent enough to know that this will not be easy. He has no idea what the last three years have been like for Stiles, but he can’t imagine they were good.

John knows one thing for sure: the Stiles that comes home will not be the same one that he lost.

When Thomas wakes up, the first thing he thinks is god, please, not again.

He seems to be laying in a medical bed, needles and wires attached to him. Naturally, he removes everything he can reach.

He’s not sure how he got here, the last thing he remembers is holding Newt’s dying body in the middle of a burning city.

He could be wrong, but he’s pretty sure there weren’t any pristine medical facilities left in the city. Which begs the question of what fresh hell he's found himself in now.

Thomas has just finished surveying the room when a harried looking nurse bursts in, taking one look at him before saying, “Oh that makes more sense.”

Whatever Thomas was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that.

“Did you undo everything on purpose? Actually, don’t answer that, that was a stupid question. Can I see your hand? You probably tore it a bit when you took the IV out.”

She walks towards him, and Thomas attempts to back up on the bed. It’s a bit harder to do than he was expecting thanks to the bullet wound in his abdomen that he had forgotten about until that moment.

The nurse notices his movement and raises her hands in a placating manner before stopping where she is.

“Where am I? Where are the others?” Thomas demands.

The effect is probably lessened by the fact he’s bedridden with a gunshot wound, but Thomas figures he’s fought through worse circumstances.

As much as he would love to lay down and give up, especially when he thinks about how Newt had said his name in those final moments, choking on black blood and gasping for breath Thomas shakes off the memory. Not the time. He can have a breakdown later. Anyways, as much as he would love to lay down and give up, he’s fought too hard and for too long to give up now. He’s been fighting for as long as he can remember; either it will be enough one day, or he will die trying.

“Sorry," the nurse says calmly, "You’re in a hospital in New Mexico, you were brought here by the FBI after they found you and the others. The others are being taken care of. However, you’ve been out for a couple of days, so some of the other kids have already been picked up and gone home. It’s been a bit chaotic since you were all brought in, but they’re working on sorting everything out and contacting all of your families.”

None of this makes any sense to Thomas. What’s the angle here? Are they trying to pull the Scorch facility thing again? Promising safety, a new life, rescue from their captors. He doesn’t understand why they would try it again, it’s not like it worked the first time. Plus, where on earth could they have gotten the resources to pull it off? WICKED fell—the whole city fell, he saw it happen. There’s no way WICKED could have survived the storming of the city.

Part of Thomas wonders if the nurse could be telling the truth, that they really have been rescued and are safe now. But that doesn’t make sense either. The Last City fell. There is nothing else, there can’t be. So where is he?

“I want to see the others.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible at the moment. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I promise we’re doing everything we can to help. Now, if you’ll let me reattach the IVs and the monitors, then I can get someone to come talk to you. I’m sure one of the agents will be able to explain much better than I can.”

“No. I don’t need whatever is in those IVs and I don’t need to be monitored.” Part of Thomas genuinely thinks that, but for the most part he just wants to know what will happen in the face of his refusal. Will his denial be respected, or will he be forced to comply?

The nurse sighs like she thinks Thomas is being intentionally difficult and doesn’t appreciate it, but she doesn’t force the issue.

“Okay. That’s fine for now, I guess. I’ll go ahead and get an agent to come talk to you.”

The nurse leaves the room, and Thomas is left to his thoughts once more. He would like to believe that she was telling the truth, but it just doesn’t seem within the realm of possibility. He just can't seem to come up with a more plausible theory.

Thomas is alone in the room for what he thinks is probably about ten minutes before a tall man in a suit walks in and stops about five feet away from the foot of Thomas' bed.

“Hey, kid. My name is Rafael, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Can you tell me your name?”

Thomas looks at the man suspiciously, but his posture isn’t threatening, and he’s kept his hands where Thomas can see them.

“Thomas.”

There’s something frozen about the man’s expression, but he smiles and tells Thomas it’s nice to meet him. He then sits down in the chair a couple feet away from Thomas. Thomas gets the distinct impression he does this so that Thomas doesn't feel intimidated by the man towering over him. The blankly polite look on Rafael's face never wavers.

“Can you tell me how old you are?”

“I don’t know. Sixteen or seventeen, I think.”

“Okay. Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“Like from before all this?” The man nods. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything from before.”

“Okay." He keeps the same polite expression, not reacting in any way to Thomas' unhelpful answers. "I suppose it’s my turn now. What do you want to know?”

So Thomas asks him the same things he asked the nurse, and gets the same answers. He asks how they were found, how it’s possible that the whole world isn’t destroyed despite everything he had seen.

The man tells him this: WICKED was created and run by rogue scientists. It’s still unclear what their goal was. They obtained a large portion of land in the New Mexico desert hundreds of miles away from the nearest town and set up a series of compounds there. All of it: the maze, the scorch, the last city, it was all WICKED. It was all a controlled experiment, all done within their property. None of it was ever real. The Flare never existed; it was just another variable in the experiment.

The FBI was only recently able to make the connection between a sudden abundance of missing children and the science facility in the middle of nowhere. The kids WICKED used were taken from all over the map. Many of them were on the Missing & Exploited Children registry and their families had been looking for them for years. Some of the kids have already been released into the care of their families.

Thomas’ head is spinning. It doesn’t seem possible. It seems like another trick, but the man’s face shows no hint of a lie. Can it be true? It seems too good to be true. Is it really over? And after everything, it was all part of a controlled experiment. What does that mean for those infected by the Flare? What does that mean for Newt, whose blood Thomas can still feel on his hands? Literally and figuratively, he supposes.

“When can I see my friends?”

“What are their names?”

“Newt and Minho. Frypan and Gally too.”

Thomas figures he may not be Gally’s biggest fan, but he can’t deny that he saved them several times over during their oh so fun adventure into the city. Even his not-so-friendly face is better than nothing, so he adds him to his list of friends.

Thomas is also mostly certain that Newt is dead. He remembers holding him as he died, his eyes clear as the light fades from them, all signs of feverish delusion gone from his gaze as he meets Thomas' eyes. Thomas figures it can't hurt to ask though, just to be completely sure before he has a meltdown over killing his best friend. He figures that's the prudent course of action.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, the man leaves the room. Unbeknownst to Thomas, as soon as Rafael leaves the room, he finds a chair and sits down with his head in his hands.

He can’t believe they actually found Stiles and the more he learns about what happened to these kids, the sicker he feels. It took all of his strength to maintain his composure while talking to his son’s best friend. The whole situation is a complete mess. He’s going to have to call Sheriff Stilinski. He is not looking forward to explaining to the man that his son has been through hell and doesn’t even remember his own name.

Chapter Text

The tall man comes back to Thomas' room about an hour later. At this point, Thomas has come to the conclusion that for now, his best course of action is to stay where he is. He’s hurt, and alone, and has no idea how many people he will have to fight to escape.

He figures it’s better to play along as he heals, gathering more information before he makes a break for it. He learned the hard way from the Scorch that sometimes it’s best to observe and plan before running off into the unknown.

They haven’t hurt him yet, but he doesn’t like being separated from his friends. He feels like they’re trying to hide something from him by keeping him away from the remaining Gladers. It makes him uneasy, and he still doesn’t even know if Newt is alive. 

The man—Rafael, Thomas reminds himself—tells Thomas that of the names he gave him, only one of them is still at the hospital. The others have “gone home.”

Thomas wonders if “gone home” is code for “we killed them.” He’s still hesitant to trust anything these people tell him. 

Thomas asks him which of his friends is still here, and the man hesitates before answering.

“The boy you were found with, Newt. He was in pretty rough shape, and he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“I want to see him.”

Rafael sighs the sigh of the long-suffering, as if he’s already tired of putting up with Thomas—Thomas doesn’t really think that’s fair considering the man just met him, but Thomas supposes he does tend to have that effect on people.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, kid, but you can’t necessarily go walking around with a bullet wound in your abdomen.” 

“Fine, then put me in a wheelchair.” Rafael looks at Thomas like he’s being intentionally obtuse. “If you don’t help me I’ll just wait until you leave again and go to him myself.”

“You wouldn’t make it out the door.”

“Want to test that?”

The man looks at Thomas consideringly for a moment, before seeming to come to the conclusion that no, he would not like to test that. Thomas wonders if the man can somehow tell that he has a stubborn streak a mile wide, or if he’s just not in the mood to deal with Thomas’ special brand of bullshit.

Rafael sighs again.

“Fine. I’ll be back, don’t move.”

When John walks into the hospital the next morning, Rafael meets him at the door. John has been preparing himself for bad news, for the possibility that there is something irreparably wrong with his son. The look on Rafael’s face as he greets him makes John think he was probably right.

Rafael explains the situation the best he can, tells him that Stiles does not trust that he has been rescued, and doesn't believe he is safe. He tells him that Stiles doesn’t remember anything from before he was kidnapped, only the last several months. They don’t know what happened to him during the two years he cannot remember. 

They have been able to identify most of the kids at this point. The process was made difficult by the fact that all of the kids had been renamed and didn’t know their real names.

Stiles was renamed Thomas.

“When can I see him?”

“He’s asleep right now. I can take you to him, but be careful not to wake them up.”

“Them?” John asks.

“You’ll see.”

Rafael leads them down a hallway to a row of identical hospital rooms, visible through the panel of windows exposing them to the nurses’ station nearby. They stop in front of the window to one of the rooms and Rafe gestures for John to look in.

The lights in the room are off, so it’s a little difficult to see, but John can clearly make out the shape of one boy sleeping in the small hospital bed with another boy sitting in a wheelchair, slumped over with his head pillowed on his arms on the bed. It’s not a good angle, but the mess of dark hair pillowed on tan arms makes it obvious which one his son is.

John wonders how long he’s been in that position for—it can’t be comfortable on his back, and didn’t Rafael say Stiles had been shot? He turns to ask Rafe, but the man gestures for them to move away from the open door first.

“He’s been there all night,” Rafael says, preempting his question, “He certainly hasn’t lost his stubbornness—he wouldn’t give up until we let him see the kid, and once he was there he refused to leave. He said we’d have to sedate him and drag him away and that we would just be proving that he was right about us being evil. The nurses said if he wanted to spend the night like that it wouldn’t hurt him any, and we figured it was easier to leave him be than try to fight him on it.”

John can’t help but exhale a small laugh. At least there’s one thing that hasn’t changed; his son has always been capable of great feats of stubbornness. He remembers it being the subject of more than one parent-teacher conference. Once Stiles had his mind set on something, there was no dissuading him.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he says with a fond look back at the room, “but who’s the other kid?”

Rafael sighs before answering. “His real name is Samuel Ross, but the other kids have said his name is Newt. Him and Stiles were found together in ‘the last city.’ Samuel hasn’t woken up yet, he was in pretty bad shape. He’s got a stab wound in his chest and he’s recovering from some experimental poison they infected him with.”

“Poor kid. Has his family been contacted yet?”

Rafael shakes his head. “No family to contact. As far as we can tell, he was taken from a group home. He was reported as a runaway. He’s just turned eighteen, so he can’t be put into state care, but it seems wrong to just dump him out into the world after everything. We’ve been waiting for him to wake up to discuss his options.” 

John thinks back to the scene in the hospital room—his son holding vigil by his friend’s side despite his own injuries. He thinks of Stiles’ refusal to be separated from his friend, the unwavering stubbornness he still possesses, and gets the feeling that Samuel’s housing issue is going to resolve itself.

“Speaking of waking up, once Stiles is up can I talk to him?”

Rafael hesitates before answering. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea quite yet. He’s still adjusting and I’m pretty sure he still thinks this is some elaborate trick. I don’t think he’ll be receptive to meeting you right now.”

John understands—really, he does. His son has been through hell, is still suffering, and doesn’t even remember him. But he’s still his son. Despite everything, this is still his son they’re talking about. He says as much to Rafael.

“I know, John,” he says with a pleading look, “but you need to give him some time to process everything. Let me talk to him first, I’ll tell him you’re here, and he can decide if he’s ready or not. Something tells me that boy hasn’t been given a lot of choices in the last few years, it’ll be good for him to do this on his own terms.”

As much as John wants to argue, he can see the logic in Rafael’s reasoning. He’s been separated from his son for this long, he can wait a little longer if he needs to. At the very least, he knows Stiles is safe now—recovering, but safe. He’ll wait as long as it takes until Stiles is ready, he’ll do anything he can to help his son’s recovery.

Chapter Text

When Thomas wakes up, he has a crick in his neck, his arms are asleep, and an imprint of the hospital sheets decorates the side of his face. It’s worth it though, to be able to be with Newt. The doctors have told him Newt should make a full recovery, which he’s incredibly thankful for, but that doesn’t get rid of the guilt. He wouldn’t have such a difficult recovery ahead of him if he hadn’t been stabbed.

Newt looks much younger in sleep. The stress and worry that’s typically painted all over his face is gone, leaving behind relaxed peace. Thomas wishes he could have achieved that without the whole being poisoned and stabbed thing.

Thomas shifts into a semi-defensive position when he hears someone enter the room. He relaxes slightly when he sees the man from before, Rafael.

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling? Sleep well?”

Thomas glares at him a little, picking up on the slightly mocking tone, but responds nonetheless.
“Never better. Is there a reason for your presence this fine morning or am I just lucky?”

Rafael huffs a laugh before saying, “Well it’s not a social call, sorry kid. You know how I said all the other kids went home with their families?”

It’s definitely a leading question, but Thomas can’t decide what he thinks it’s leading to. He’s half-expecting the man to say “I lied! They’re dead!” but at the same time Rafael doesn’t really seem the type for that.

Figuring there’s no use wondering when instead he could just have the answer, Thomas acknowledges the man with a nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“Well, we found yours. Your name is Stiles Stilinski, you’re seventeen, and you’re from Beacon Hills, California. We contacted your father and he drove down here last night. He’d like to see you, if you’re up for it.”

He has a father? Thomas has a father. Well no, Stiles Stilinski has a father. Thomas doesn’t have a father; Thomas doesn’t have a family outside of the one he built for himself. He gave up on the idea of there being a family out there missing him right around the time they escaped the Maze and realized the world had gone to shit. It was fairly obvious after that that there clearly weren’t happy homes missing them and awaiting their return. All of the Gladers had ended up with WICKED for a reason. Thomas gave up on any and all hope of reuniting with his family then and there.

But…Thomas has a father. Stiles has a father, but he is Stiles, right? Thomas idly wonders if his supposed father isn’t a bit evil for giving his son a name like Stiles, because seriously? And he thought Newt had it bad in the name department.

Thomas realizes he’s been blankly staring at Rafael for what was probably an uncomfortably long amount of time and he should probably respond at some point.

“What kind of name is Stiles?” That’s not quite what he was intending on saying, but come on, it’s a fair question.

Rafael gives a small laugh, looking at Thomas with what he would classify as a fond expression if he didn’t know better, before saying, “It’s a nickname. Your legal first name is pretty much unpronounceable, so you started going by Stiles instead.”

Which, okay. That makes a certain amount of sense, but he can’t help but be a little thrown off by the familiarity Rafael is displaying. To be fair though it’s not like Thomas has had a lot of real people interaction so it’s possible he’s just reading into it too far and seeing things that aren’t really there.

Thomas likes to think he has pretty good instincts—he was totally right about the whole Scorch facility thing—but he’s had a fairly difficult week (re: life) so maybe he’s entitled to being a bit overzealous and wary of anyone and everyone.

But back on topic! Thomas has a father! A father who drove here last night, meaning his father is here. His father is here. Mayhaps it’s time for Thomas to have a well-deserved freak out.

His desire to have a nice little breakdown is overruled by his inability to show any type of vulnerability or weakness in front of a potential enemy. Not that he thinks Rafael is necessarily an enemy, but he’s still firmly classed as an unknown, and Thomas doesn’t like unknowns.

“Okay, uh do I- do I have to talk to him right now?”

Rafael gives him a patented ‘sympathetic understanding’ face and says, “It’s okay if you need some time to process this. I understand it’s a pretty big change for you. I talked to him earlier and he’s willing to do this at your pace; he wants what’s best for you, even if that means giving you space right now.”

Thomas just nods and hardly notices when Rafael leaves the room.

Before, Thomas would have told you he can roll with any and all punches, that it didn’t matter what life threw at him, he could handle it. However, his entire worldview has recently been flipped upside down (and stomped on, thrown into a blender, and then poured back into his mind). Really, it’s taken quite the beating. It’s a miracle Thomas hasn’t thrown himself onto the floor and had a fit like an oversized toddler. He can’t say he hasn’t been tempted to though.

It seems too good to be true, that Thomas could actually have a family. He doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. He doesn’t remember being Stiles, he doesn’t know how to have a father, he doesn’t know how to be a son. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to exist in a world he thought was long gone. Can he really be expected to just rejoin normal society as if he even knows what that is? After everything he’s seen, everything he’s been through? Evidently the answer is yes, they do expect him to just hop back into normal life.

Thomas has never been very good at staying still or dealing with boredom—the one day he had to spend in the slammer was torture—but there isn’t anything to entertain him in the hospital. He’s also pretty sure if he leaves Newt’s side they won’t let him come back, and he can’t let that happen. The whole “being shot” thing also makes it kind of difficult to move around. Essentially there’s nothing left for him to do but dwell in his thoughts, which is always dangerous honestly.

He turns back to the bed and looks at Newt. He wishes he could talk to him right now; Newt’s always been good at calming him down and bringing order to his jumbled thoughts. But Newt can’t talk him down right now which means his thoughts are free to run wild.

All of the other Gladers have been separated and “sent home,” and Thomas’ father has been found and is here now, but what about Newt? Does he have a family that’s going to show up and take him away? Is Thomas’ own father going to try to “bring him home” and take him away from Newt? Thomas is absolutely not leaving Newt alone and undefended in the hospital. He won't be leaving Newt at all if he can help it.

The rest of the day passes similarly, with Thomas’ internal panic being interrupted intermittently by nurses coming by to check on him or Newt and bringing food. Rafael doesn’t come back, presumably to give Thomas time to get his thoughts in order about the whole family thing.

Thomas only leaves Newt’s side once, racing to the bathroom and back as if Newt will disappear if he can’t see him for two minutes. Eventually exhaustion overcomes him, and he falls asleep in almost the same position as the night before, but carefully holding Newt’s hand in his own this time, unable to let go of him even in sleep.

Hours later, Thomas is brought slowly to awareness by the feeling of a thumb slowly dragging back and forth over the pulse point on his wrist. It takes a moment for the impossibility of that to register.

Thomas jerks his head up to look at Newt, only to find him looking right back at him with sleepy brown eyes.

Chapter Text

When Newt opened his eyes, he fully expected to find out once and for all what constitutes the afterlife. He did not expect to find himself laying in a bed, propped slightly upright with pillows, with various machines beeping softly around him. He was also not expecting to see Thomas there, one hand holding his and the other propping up his head as he sleeps. 

See, the thing is, Newt died. He definitely remembers that happening—well “remembers” might be a strong word, the details of that final run through the city are fairly nonexistent, but he does remember finding the strength to turn the knife in his hand away from Thomas and towards himself. He remembers Tommy catching him as he fell, holding him as his breathing stuttered and his consciousness faded. It was all very tragic and dramatic and final so what the bloody hell is he doing in a hospital bed with Tommy holding his hand?

He should probably be more surprised than he is, but Tommy’s always had a way of accomplishing the impossible. He’s known from the very beginning that Thomas would move heaven and earth to save the people he cares about, so it’s not really all that surprising that they’ve (presumably) been magically saved. He’ll just have to ask Tommy about it when he wakes up, but he’ll let him rest for now. His position doesn’t look all that comfortable, but Newt knows they’ve both slept in worse conditions.

Newt takes a moment to just look at Thomas. Even in sleep, his face carries tension. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t had any proper rest in weeks, which is probably true. Those months spent in the scorch weren’t always do or die, but they weren’t restful either. Newt wonders when the last time Tommy had an honest to god break from it all was. Certainly not since Newt has known him, which isn’t that a sad thought? The maze wasn’t perfect of course, but they did have a good thing going there and it was fairly peaceful for the most part. But Thomas didn’t really get to enjoy that. Ever since Tommy woke up in the box it’s been one thing after another. Newt has no idea where they are now, but hopefully Tommy will be able to relax for once.

Newt takes stock of his surroundings, wiggles his toes, stretches his neck, and tightens his grip on Thomas’ hand. There’s no one else in the room, and the lights are dimmed. He can’t hear anyone outside the door, but he can see the nurse’s station from the window; there doesn’t seem to be anyone at the desk at the moment. There’s no clock in the room, but Newt figures it’s safe to assume it’s sometime in the middle of the night.

With nothing better to do he turns his attention back to Tommy. His memory is a bit spotty and blurry, but he faintly remembers Tommy trying to guide him through the city. He remembers trying to hold onto both Tommy and his sanity as they made the desperate trip. He remembers blood soaking into his side from where he was pressed up against Tommy. He doesn’t remember why Thomas was bleeding, or how he got hurt, but their dash through WICKED was accompanied by several hails of bullets and it isn’t too difficult to imagine Tommy managed to get himself shot during their escape and didn’t say anything. To be fair maybe he did say something and Newt just wasn’t coherent enough to process it, but knowing Thomas it was probably the former. He always was a self-sacrificing shank.

Looking at him now there aren’t any visible injuries, but he does appear to be sitting in a wheelchair. Newt is pretty certain Tommy wouldn’t have allowed that if it wasn’t necessary, so there must be an injury Newt can’t see, presumably the bullet wound he neglected to inform anyone about. Knowing Thomas, he probably isn’t supposed to be out of bed yet and the wheelchair was a compromise.

Newt isn’t sure how long he lays there, gently holding Tommy’s hand and listening to the various machines beep, before Thomas begins to stir. He comes to awareness slowly before jerking his head up suddenly to meet Newt’s eyes. 

Thomas stares uncomprehendingly at Newt for a long moment, waiting for his brain to catch up with what he’s seeing. Newt just calmly stares right back, amusement and fondness clear on his face.

“Newt.”

“Tommy,” Newt returns calmly, with a faint smile.

Thomas continues to stare at Newt in shocked silence. This might be the first time Newt has ever seen Thomas at a complete loss for words. Thomas’ eyes start tearing up of their own accord. He’s had a rough few days, okay? Newt has been the only constant in his life since he woke up in the box and dealing with this whole “rescue” thing on his own has been a nightmare. Add that to the fear and the guilt that Newt might never wake up and it would have been all his fault…he’s just incredibly relieved to see Newt awake, alright? He’s entitled to some tears and he’s secure enough in his masculinity to not be ashamed or embarrassed for crying about this. 

Thomas goes to pull his hand away to wipe at his eyes, but Newt tightens his grip and refuses to relinquish his hold on Thomas’ hand. Thomas squeezes back and uses his other hand to scrub across his face, keeping his eyes downcast, suddenly afraid of meeting Newt’s eyes and seeing anger or condemnation there.

“Tommy,” Newt says gently, “Look at me.”

Thomas is pretty sure he’s never seen a more fascinating floor. It’s a good floor, totally deserving of intense study, what with the way it’s so…off-white and shiny. Are those little gray specks? Fascinating, he should keep examining it just to be sure.

“Tommy,” Newt says again, slightly exasperated this time, but still kind, “Tommy, look at me, please.”

It’s the “please” that breaks Thomas. “Please, Tommy, please” and the world’s on fire, crumbling down around them, his lungs full of ash and his eyes watering either from the fire or the pain that comes from looking at Newt, at the desperate, impossible situation they’re in. He can still see it vividly, he can still smell the smoke, and feel the wild desperation that gripped his heart. He’s been reliving it every night since in his dreams.

Thomas finally raises his head to meet Newt’s eyes.

“Newt I- I’m so sorry, I should’ve–”

“Thomas,” Newt interrupts, “you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, do you hear me?”

Thomas takes a shuddering breath before responding, “But Newt I–”

“But nothing Tommy. You did nothing wrong. If anything, I should be apologizing for trying to kill you, not the other way around.”

“Newt,” Thomas says, frowning, “you know that’s not your fault and I would never hold it against you, right? Even if you had managed to kill me, I still wouldn’t have held it against you. That wasn’t you, that was the sickness.” He almost calls it the Flare, but he remembers what the hospital people said about the disease actually being an experimental poison. He’s going to have to explain that to Newt. Actually, he’s going to have to explain this whole new situation they’ve found themselves in. He’s not looking forward to it.

“Thomas,” Newt says, voice serious, “you don’t blame me for trying to kill you, and I definitely don’t blame you for defending yourself. That’s all there is to say about it, good that?”

“Good that,” Thomas says slightly grudgingly, not ready to accept the absolving of his guilt quite yet. Newt squeezes his hand again.

“Good,” Newt says with an air of finality, and nods. “So, would you like to explain what the bloody hell happened and where we are now?”

Thomas should’ve known Newt was going to start asking questions fast. He takes a second to get his jumbled thoughts in order before responding. 

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to gather the strength to continue. “So here's the thing: I only know what they’ve told me and I haven’t been awake for long. I’m not sure if we can trust them yet, but I haven’t seen any signs that they’re lying.”

Thomas proceeds to repeat what Rafael and the nurses have told him, adding in extra side commentary with his personal opinions on some of it. Once he gets going he can’t quite seem to stop, telling Newt absolutely everything that has happened and that he’s heard since he woke up. It’s incredibly relieving to share this with Newt, to not have to deal with it on his own. Thomas has been relying on Newt from the very beginning and he’s certain he wouldn’t have made it this far without him.

Thomas finishes his explanation by telling Newt what Rafael said about his father. He tells him how terrified he is that they’re going to try to take him away from Newt, that he’ll do everything in his power to fight it if they do. He tells him how worried he is about their friends, that he can’t lose Newt too. He tells him how the thought of having a father and being someone’s son terrifies him, that the idea is so foreign to him and he doesn’t know how to handle it. By the time his words fade out there are tears running down his face again.

“Tommy,” Newt says quietly, “do you think just this once we can accept things at face value? I know you were right about the Scorch facility, but you said you haven’t picked up on anything bad here right?” He gets a nod from Thomas. “Then is it possible they really are who they say they are? That WICKED was even more messed up than we already thought, and now we move on?”

“How are we supposed to do that Newt? I mean this a complete one-eighty from everything we thought we knew. How do we join a world we know nothing about?”

Newt holds his gaze steadily. “We learn. We adapt. We’ve been through a lot worse than this, are you going to let this be the thing that finally stops you?”

This is what he missed when Newt was unconscious. When Newt says it he makes it so simple, like their success is a foregone conclusion. He puts Thomas’ overactive mind at peace like nothing else can. “No, I guess not.”

“Good,” Newt says with a squeeze to Thomas’ hand, “We may not have much else, but we have each other, yeah? We’ll be fine.”

Thomas finds himself believing him wholeheartedly. 

It’s early morning with hazy blue and pink light coming from the window when Newt brings it up. After their conversation tapered out, Newt found himself drifting back into sleep, but now he’s awake again and he knows the hospital will be active shortly and someone is going to notice he’s awake soon. He needs to say this before they get interrupted. 

“Tommy?”

Thomas mumbles sleepily in reply.

“Tommy,” Newt says again, this time a little louder, nudging Thomas’ arm at the same time. That finally seems to get his attention.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Thomas mumbles.

Newt waits until Thomas is looking at him before saying “I think you should talk to your father.”

Thomas stares at him in complete bafflement.

“I’m serious Thomas. You should talk to him. You have a chance at having an actual family, you shouldn’t just throw that away.”

Thomas is completely awake now. He’s looking straight into Newt’s eyes when he says in a low, intense voice “I already have all the family I need.”

Newt has to break eye contact, overwhelmed and cheeks flaming. He’s not sure why Thomas’ obvious devotion is causing this reaction, it’s nothing new, but there’s something about having it spelled out so clearly.

“Tommy,” Newt says in a choked voice. He takes a calming breath before continuing, “You’re my family too, alright? But this is your father we’re talking about. It sounds like he’s missed you and really loves you.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” Thomas says in a pained voice.

“No, but he wants to. I think you should give him a chance.”

Thomas is quiet for a moment before answering, “Okay. Okay fine, but I’m not leaving you. I don’t care what he says, I’m not leaving you.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Newt says with an easy smile. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while before Thomas starts fidgeting and Newt convinces him to turn on the tv in the room. They bicker good-naturedly over the channel before agreeing on some sort of nature channel, both boys slightly fascinated by the animals they couldn’t remember ever seeing before. They chatter aimlessly about the animals, filled with contentment at being together and safe for the first time in a while. 

At some point a nurse comes in and sees Newt awake, setting off a chain of visits from various nurses and doctors checking his vitals and asking him questions. Thomas resolutely stays by his side the entire time. 

Eventually they all trickle out of the room, leaving the boys alone once more. It’s not much later that Rafael McCall walks in, introducing himself to Newt and saying hello to Thomas.

“So, should I assume you covered the welcome speech Thomas?” Rafael says with a friendly smile.

“Yeah, I already told him everything I know.” Thomas pauses for a second. “Actually, we were talking and…I want to see my father.”

Rafael looks at him with raised eyebrows for a moment before responding, “Okay, that can be arranged. Any preference on when? Because I’m pretty sure he’ll be here as soon as you say the word.”

Thomas looks at Newt, and when their eyes meet Newt can tell how lost Tommy feels. Newt answers for him and tells Rafael that whenever works. Thomas points out that they don’t necessarily have anything better to do, which seems to amuse Rafael.

“Sure thing. I’ll go call him now and I’ll bring him in when he gets here.” With that, he leaves the room to, presumably, go call Thomas’ father.

Newt turns his attention back to Thomas, who is seeming to steadily panic a little more with every passing second. 

“Tommy,” Newt says, taking Thomas’ hand in his, “it’s going to be alright. You’re his son, he loves you, he just wants to talk to you, okay? And if I’m wrong and he’s actually terrible, then we can make our great escape. I’m with you either way, no matter what. You’re going to be okay.”

Thomas nods a little numbly, clutching onto Newt’s hand like a lifeline. He scoots a little closer to Newt’s bed and lays his head down on his arms again. Newt brings his free hand up to Tommy’s head and starts carding his fingers through his hair. This isn’t something they’ve done before, and Newt isn’t sure where the impulse came from, but Thomas relaxes under his hand. 

They stay that way until they hear footsteps coming down the hallway and Rafael McCall quietly talking to someone. Newt watches as Thomas sits up straight and carefully arranges his face into a blank mask. He doesn’t release his hold on Newt’s hand.

Chapter Text

He gets the call on a Thursday. It hasn’t been a very normal morning; he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. He drags himself out of bed and down to the lobby where he mechanically eats some breakfast before returning to his room. He doesn’t know what to do from there. Pacing the room, checking his emails, organizing his toiletry bag, and refolding his clothes barely takes up any time at all and he’s right back to sitting on the bed and staring at his hands.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to occupy his time when he’s so close to his son after too many years. He’s not sure how to handle his son being right there but still just out of reach. He never truly expected to ever get Stiles back, he doesn’t know where to go from here, especially when faced with a Stiles who’s been through so much and who doesn’t even remember his own name, much less anything about his previous life. How do you even start that conversation? Should he introduce himself? He doesn’t want to mess up or say the wrong thing, but the whole situation has him feeling more lost than ever. Not for the first time, he wishes Claudia were still here with him. She would know what to do, she wouldn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. But instead, it’s just John and his empty hotel room, grieving for a child that’s still breathing.

In an odd mirror of Tuesday, he happens to be rubbing his eyes when the phone rings. The call is, once again, about Stiles.

Nothing can beat finding out his son is still alive, but hearing that he wants to see him? It’s a close second. He’s out the door and in his car before he even ends the call.

Rafael is waiting for him in the lobby when he walks in. They exchange polite greetings, but John is sure Rafe can tell he’s anxious to hear about Stiles. There was a quick turnaround from “give him time” to “he wants to see you” and if John knows anything about his son (which doesn’t feel like much anymore), he knows Stiles wouldn’t change his mind that fast on his own. That boy has always been stubborn to a fault and coming around to a new idea was not a quick and easy process for him, not like this. Rafael must be able to read the question on his face, because he explains without having to be asked.

“Stiles’ friend woke up sometime this morning, overnight most likely. I went in to see them after the nurses had finished up with him, and Stiles said he’d been thinking and wanted to see you. I’m fairly certain the other kid talked him into it. Stiles hasn’t let the kid out of his sight yet, so if you want to talk to him you’ll have to talk to Newt too.”

John just nods and gestures for Rafael to lead the way. Stiles was always intensely devoted to the people he cares about, and John has no intention of trying to separate him from his friend. Stiles has always been a pretty good judge of character and if he’s decided this kid is worth his devotion, who is he to disagree?

He follows Rafe down the hallway with his heart in his throat and shaking hands. He shouldn’t be this nervous, it’s just Stiles, but at the same time it’s Stiles. He’s about to speak to his son for the first time in three years.

What if Stiles has been through too much to ever accept a stranger as his father, as his family? Stiles doesn’t do anything halfway, relationships included; he’s either all-in or not interested. John never anticipated that one day he’d be worried about making a good first impression on the son he raised, but here they are.

The walk down the hallway seems much shorter this time around. They pause in front of the door to the other boy’s room. There’s no reason to pretend Stiles is anywhere else. John can feel Rafe looking at him as he freezes in front of the door. He takes a deep breath, wipes his sweating hands on his pants, and walks through the door. 

The man who walks through the door doesn’t look like him. They don’t share the same features. Maybe if you squint you can see similarities, but at the surface level they don’t look alike. Thomas would be tempted to take this as evidence that they’re being lied to once again, if not for the fact an aching sense of familiarity accompanies the man. It feels like being in the maze and staring at Teresa thinking maybe if he concentrated hard enough he would remember her; it never worked, but she did feel familiar, like he should know her.

Looking at the man claiming to be his father feels like that. His brain doesn’t know or recognize him, but his heart does. It’s a disconcerting feeling and Thomas isn’t sure what to do with it. He knows he’s been blankly staring at the man for entirely too long, but he can’t figure out what to do next.

Evidently the man feels just as awkward and wrongfooted, because he’s blankly staring as well. Never let it be said Thomas doesn’t face his problems head on; he’s the first to speak.

“Hi.”

That seems to break his father (his father!) from his stupor. He blinks a couple times and clears his throat before responding.

“Hey kid. My name is John. It’s…” He pauses, sounding choked up, and clears his throat again before continuing, “It’s good to see you again.” The man’s eyes are suspiciously shiny, like he’s barely holding back tears.

Thomas examines him for a moment. A part of him can’t let go of his suspicions, but a larger part desperately wants to do as Newt suggested: accept all of this at face value. He wants it all to be true, he wants to finally be safe, for his fight to be over. He’s tired of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, tired of keeping it together, of dealing with one battle after another. Thomas gives his father one last considering look, takes a deep breath, squeezes Newt’s hand, and takes the leap.

“Hi Dad.”

Chapter Text

Newt can’t help but feel a bit awkward. Agent McCall had told him earlier that there was no family waiting for him in this new world. He was happy for Tommy though; he knows how much family means to him, how desperately he wanted there to be someone out there missing him.

Rationally, Newt knows that Thomas cares about him, literally spelled it out for him less than twelve hours ago, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling out of place watching Thomas interact with his father. Tommy had said that Newt was the only family he needed, that he wouldn’t let anyone separate them, but that was before he knew what a real family looked like, before he knew what he was missing.

Newt has spent his time in this new world comforting Tommy, telling him that everything will be alright and that no matter what comes they have each other, but how realistic is that? They can promise to each other that they won’t be separated, that they’ll raise hell and take on anyone who tries to keep them apart, but it’s not really up to them, is it? 

Apparently, Thomas is a minor, legally, and therefore must have a proper guardian until he’s at least eighteen. Thomas is seventeen now. This doesn’t mean that they couldn’t make a run for it, but it does mean they would have people after them–not like that would be new. But still, Newt is tired of running. It isn’t exactly his best skill anymore… 

Newt wants to be happy for him. He is happy for him. Tommy deserves all the good things life has to offer, including a family. It’s just that Newt wants to be part of it–Tommy’s life, that is. His family too, if he’s being honest with himself, which he tries to avoid when it comes to Tommy. 

Newt is not legally a minor. There is no family desperate to have him back in their lives. He’s not even in his home country evidently.

Agent McCall called his citizenship a “legal grey area,” but said he would take care of it, whatever that means. He said they could get him back to England if that was what he wanted, but for better or worse Newt is determined to stay near Tommy. There is nothing for him in England.

Agent McCall hasn’t said anything more about what Newt should expect in the future. He said he would take care of his citizenship, but what comes next? The hospital will have to release him eventually. Where does he go from here? Thomas will go home with his father, does he follow them back to wherever that is? Try to start a new life there? Will Thomas even want Newt following him around like a lost duckling? How long until Tommy begins to resent him for being a reminder of the hell he went through? For tying him to the past while he’s trying to start a new future?

“Newt, right?” The voice of Thomas’ father breaks Newt from his spiral. He blinks at him in confusion for a moment before realizing an acknowledgement of some kind is probably necessary. With nothing to say, Newt simply nods.

“Nice to meet you, son.” He’s wearing a friendly smile, and his body language is open. Newt doesn’t know what to think of this. “I suppose I have you to thank for keeping my son in one piece? Something tells me he didn’t outgrow his affinity for trouble.”

Newt can see Tommy making an indignant face next to him. His grip on Newt’s hand has not waned throughout this visit. Newt is holding on just as tightly.

“We take care of each other, sir.” It’s true. It would also be true to say that Thomas has not outgrown any of his trouble-making tendencies, but Newt doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to say to his father. Polite is a good middle ground, right?

“No need for that, call me John.” He has laugh lines around his eyes, that’s a good sign, right? “Either way, I’m glad he wasn’t alone.”

Newt has no intention of telling him he’s only known Thomas for one of the three years he’s been missing. As far as he can remember, at least.

Newt shakes his head. “I’m the one who needed him.”

The words barely have a chance to leave his mouth before Thomas is disagreeing.

“That is not true in the slightest.” Thomas says to his father, tightening his grip on Newt’s hand before turning to face Newt directly. “I never would have made it this far without you.”

The earnestness in Tommy’s eyes does something funny to his heart. He fights down an unnecessary blush before gently squeezing Thomas’ hand and replying, “I could say the same thing, you know.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree then,” Thomas offers with a boyish smile.

“Good that,” Newt nods. With Tommy looking at him like this, it’s hard to remember what he was so worried about. 

Watching Newt and Stiles interact only solidifies what John was already thinking. There will be two kids coming home to Beacon Hills with him, not just one. 

Going off of his first impression, John is sure Newt will fit into their family nicely. The accent was a bit of a shock, but his bond with Stiles is undeniable, and the easy way they interact makes it clear it was formed over time and through hardship. Newt himself, from what little he’s seen, seems like a good kid that’s been dealt a shit hand time and time again but somehow keeps going.

John thinks about what Newt said, that they take care of each other; looking at them now, he can see it. It may have been three years, but John knows his son. He can tell Stiles’ world revolves around Newt, that he’s drawing his strength from him, trusting him with a level of devotion Stiles reserves for the select few that mean the most to him.

Stiles has always been picky with the people he considers his, but the chosen few (namely John himself and Scott McCall previously) are protected with a ferocity rivaled only by wild animals. From what John has seen, and what he’s heard from Rafe, this has not changed in the last three years. Memories or not, Stiles is fiercely loyal at his core. 

From their brief interaction, John can tell that Newt feels the same way towards Stiles. If Stiles’ world revolves around Newt, Newt’s world revolves around Stiles.

John has been reading people for a long time, and it’s painfully easy to see the devotion written on Newt’s face. He didn’t shy away from meeting John’s eyes and spoke only with politeness, but made no attempt to disguise the way he was assessing John. 

He didn’t miss the way the boys are communicating through their hands, never releasing the grip they have on each other. Stiles has always been tactile; John is glad to see his friend sharing that sentiment. Half-heartedly he wonders what they would do if forced to separate. Something tells him it wouldn’t be pretty. However, John has no intention of finding out.

Once the boys are both healthy enough to be released from the hospital, John will sign whatever he has to in order to ensure he can take them both home. 

His house has been empty and quiet for far too long, it’s about time some life was brought back into it, even if it is in the form of two severely traumatized teenagers. John has no doubt the road ahead of them is anything but smooth, but he’s ready to face it with them, no matter what that entails.

Chapter Text

Talking to Thomas’ father over the next few days is easier than Newt anticipated. He’s friendly and good-natured, he tells them stories and listens to their own. He doesn’t ask invasive questions and he doesn’t shy away from the hard topics.

Newt can picture little Tommy growing up with him, idolizing his father with that brand of devotion unique to him. It’s not hard to tell from looking at John that he loves his son dearly, that they must have been close before WICKED came and ruined everything.

Originally, Newt had imagined that interacting with Thomas’ father would be an uncomfortable affair. He had not been expecting John to treat him and Thomas exactly the same. 

He asks Newt questions just as often as he does Thomas, listens to him with the same amount of interest, and intentionally includes him in every conversation. Even in his body language, he faces them both equally, he’s never closed off towards Newt in any way.

Newt’s not sure what to make of it. The man seems wholly genuine in his interactions with them, and he doesn't seem the slightest bit put out by Newt’s presence. While Newt logically knows it isn’t fair, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The moment he’s been waiting for comes when Thomas reluctantly leaves them for a quick x-ray. 

This is the first time Newt has been alone with Tommy’s father, and despite all the evidence of the last few days contradicting it, Newt is expecting him to drop the act, to warn Newt off somehow, to tell him that there’s no place for him in Tommy’s new life.

He’s not expecting the opposite.

John looks awkward for a few moments, like he’s steeling himself for a difficult conversation, and Newt has just enough time to think here it comes before John says, “So, kid. I’ve been wanting to talk to you without my son around. I love him, but that kid can be like a hurricane sometimes, and I didn’t want you to get swept up and feel pressured. It’s your choice, alright?”

Newt nods, wide-eyed and wrong-footed. This isn’t how he thought this conversation would start.

“I don’t know how much Rafe—Agent McCall—explained to you about your options, but I wanted to make something clear.” Here it is, Newt thinks, this is it. “It’s up to you, and you don’t have to decide right now, but if you wanted to come back to Beacon Hills with us, I’d be more than happy to have you and I know my son would be thrilled.”

Newt simply blinks at him in shock before John continues, “My son has always been a good judge of character, and he doesn’t give his devotion lightly. So, if you’re family to him, you’re family to me.” John chuckles a bit before adding on, “Plus he’s always been a handful, I swear that kid attracts trouble without even trying—half the time he is trying—and something tells me that hasn’t changed in the last three years. I might need some help keeping him out of trouble, so really, you’d be doing me a favor if you came with us.”

John is looking at him now with such an earnest expression it makes his heart ache a little. Newt’s not sure how to respond. He’s spent so much time preparing himself for the exact opposite situation, he never stopped to consider any other possibilities.

Newt has spent the last few days resigning himself for the moment he would have to say goodbye to Tommy. It felt inevitable. Thomas had a family now, a real one that didn’t include Newt, he wouldn’t need him anymore. 

But that’s not what’s happening. 

Tommy’s father is offering him a place in their family. He’s made sure that Newt knows he has a choice, not only that but he’s made it clear that this is not a burden he’s taking on or a favor or pity—John wants Newt to stay with them.

“I- are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You don’t have to decide today, but if you-”

“Yes.” The word leaves Newt’s mouth before he’s even aware of it, the decision being made without any conscious thought on his part. “I, well actually, I should probably make sure Tommy’s okay with it first, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Newt knows Tommy likes him, that he likes having him around, but there’s still a seed of insecurity he’s never been able to shake.

“Kid, I don’t think he’s even considered anything different. He hasn’t brought it up, but I know there hasn’t been a doubt in his mind that you were coming home with him,” John reassures him.

“Well of course not, why would there be?”  Thomas says, rolling his wheelchair into the room.

John, steady as ever, merely blinks at his son’s reappearance before asking, “Are you supposed to be back here already? You were gone for less than ten minutes.”

By now, Thomas has already rolled himself back to Newt’s bedside. Privately, Newt thinks it’s unfair that Tommy can get shot in the stomach and is able to move around, whereas Newt was only poisoned—and stabbed, but that’s irrelevant—and he’s still bedridden. To be fair, Newt’s pretty certain Tommy is actually also supposed to be bedridden most of the time, but the hospital staff has given up on arguing with him about anything. 

Thomas gets himself situated, casually taking Newt’s hand in his, before answering his father, “Probably not, but they were done taking their pictures, so I left. No one tried to stop me, so I’m sure it’s fine.” John looks doubtful at this, Thomas’ expression being just this side of too innocent, but before he can argue Thomas continues, “Anyway, what were you guys talking about? I thought… I mean do you not want to stay with me?”

Thomas isn’t facing him as he says it, but the vulnerability is his voice gives away his insecurity. John’s probably right, Newt thinks fondly, it never did cross the dumb shank’s mind that Newt might not be able to stay with him.

“No, of course not, I just wasn’t sure. I mean, you have a family now, a real one, and-”

“Newt,” Thomas interrupts, having turned to face him directly, “We’ve been over this: you are my family. That’s a fact, it’s not up for debate.”

Newt can feel his face flushing as he looks down, unable to hold eye contact with Tommy when he’s looking at him so intensely.

“I told him the same thing,” John chimes in, looking between them with a fond smile.

Thomas turns to look at his father with poorly concealed surprise and appreciation before switching his attention back to Newt.

“Exactly, so you’re coming with us to Beacon Hills.” Thomas squeezes the hand he’s holding, giving Newt a lopsided grin as he continues, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Newt huffs a laugh before responding, “I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Tommy.”

“Well, good. I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself when it didn’t work.”

Newt laughs again and tugs on their joined hands, fondness radiating from him.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course, it’s my specialty,” Thomas replies with an easy grin.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take too long to get the paperwork in order that will allow John to take both boys with him back to Beacon Hills. It will still be another two weeks before the boys can leave the hospital, but while he’s reluctant to go back to Beacon Hills without them, John knows he can only be away from his town and his job for so long.

He talks to Rafael about it and the man brings up some good points: there’s only so much he can do from here, seeing as the boys just need time for their injuries to heal, and John will want to have everything in order for when they get to Beacon Hills. 

It’s the last part that really convinces him. John can’t help but want everything to be perfect for when he brings his son home for the first time in three years, which means he has to return to Beacon Hills ahead of them. Plus, if he wants to take any time off to get the boys settled once they get there, he’ll need to work the next two weeks.

He says his goodbyes to the boys, telling them when he’ll be back but that if they need anything or just want to talk they can get a nurse’s help to call him, and then he’s on the road again.

John spends the drive lost in thought about Stiles and Newt and the long road of recovery ahead of them. It’s not just physically, even though the boys are in pretty rough shape, but all of the pain and suffering they’ve been through is sure to leave a mark. Adjusting to normal society, accepting that they’re finally safe, understanding that they don’t have to do everything on their own… It’s going to take time, there’s no way around it.

When he finally pulls into the driveway and steps into his house, he looks around as if he’s seeing it for the first time. His son is coming home. In just two weeks, his son will be walking through that door, setting foot in this house after too many lost years. What will he see when he walks in? Will it be completely foreign to him? Will it feel like home? Their house has never been anything special, but it’s home. Will Stiles feel the same way, or will he be disappointed that it’s not more impressive?

Stiles’ room is still exactly the way he left it, John not having had the heart to change anything. For the past three years it’s stood like a shrine to everything he lost, a physical manifestation of his son’s presence haunting him year after year.

Not anymore.

Now, in two weeks, his son will be back within these four walls. John knows it’s not the same, Stiles is not the same, but that doesn’t make him any less his son. 

John spends some time in Stiles' room tidying it, putting away everything he can and boxing up some things he knows Stiles won’t have any interest in anymore. He deliberates over the personal touches permeating the room. 

The whole room is a physical reflection of Stiles’ personality, full of things that once represented who he was and what he cared about, but he’s not the same anymore, is he?

John knows the Stiles of now is not the same as the Stiles of his memories, but at his core he’s still the same person. Some amnesia and three years of new memories hasn’t changed who he is. At the same time, John doesn’t want Stiles to feel out of place here, or like he’s being expected to live up to any past memories. 

Stiles shouldn’t have to be surrounded by the ghost of everything that was taken from him; however, once familiar surroundings might provide comfort to him, even if it’s subconsciously.

Ultimately, John decides to leave the wall decorations up, but he clears off most of the surfaces and empties out several drawers of miscellaneous items. This way, the bare bones of the room are the same, but there’s room for Stiles to make it his own once more. It’s his space, to change and live in as he wishes. If he wants to take everything out and start fresh, John will help him do it, but this feels like a good point to start from for now.

Looking at the room now, John can feel a weight leaving his shoulders. For so long, this room was nothing but a source of grief and pain. He’s been holding on to these feelings for years, hardly able to even enter Stiles’ room, much less breathe inside it without the hurt and grief and guilt and pain strangling his chest. Those feelings aren’t gone, but they’re no longer so prevalent, their place having been taken by relief and overwhelming hope. His son’s room is no longer a graveyard of loss and memories, but a well of opportunity. John stands in the middle of the room, takes a deep breath, and smiles.

After taking care of Stiles’ room, the next hurdle is the guest room. It’s always been more of a storage space than anything else, seeing as the Stilinksi’s have never really had overnight guests. Any of Stiles’ friends that spent the night in the past always stayed in his room, so it was never an issue. Looking at it now, John’s not sure where to even start to make the room habitable.

Boxes balance precariously atop each other throughout the room, interspersed with random equipment from Stiles’ various childhood hobbies. Everything is coated in a fine layer of dust, with motes beginning to swirl through the air in the wake of the door opening.

This is a much bigger project than John was anticipating. Making the room livable for the first time in years would take days…

After staring blankly at the comically packed space, John figures Stiles and Newt can share Stiles’ room until they figure something else out. If they even want to figure something else out. Having seen the boys interact over the last week, John is pretty sure sharing a bedroom won’t be a hardship.

Technically, Stiles has his own hospital room, but as far as John’s aware he hasn’t been back to it since the first day. He’s not quite sure how Stiles accomplished that, but John knows better than to put anything past his son, especially when it comes to someone he cares about.

After everything they boys have been through, John is not going to be the one to try to separate them or tell them how to cope. If they feel safer or happier attached at the hip, John figures they’ve earned it. It’s not his place to tell them how to process or handle their whole situation. Honestly, a little well-earned codependency is the least of his concerns…

Decision made, John goes ahead and places the boxes he’s removed from Stiles’ room into the guest room and closes the door back. Somehow, John doesn’t anticipate that door being opened again anytime soon.

Chapter Text

After his dad leaves, Thomas and Newt spend a lot of time doing something they’ve never had much of a chance to do: nothing. They chat and bicker and banter and watch hours upon hours of television. They sit in comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Newt is still fighting off the effects of the flare poison and recovering from the stab wound, so his energy levels haven’t quite come back yet. He’ll be awake for a few hours at a time before fading back out. Thomas is always by his side when he wakes back up, which Newt is endlessly grateful for.

He wakes up this time to a now familiar sight, Thomas resting his head on his arms, eyes fighting to stay open as he stares blankly at the nature show playing on the tv. The lights in the room are off, as are the ones in the halls, so Newt assumes it's nighttime.

Newt may just be waking up, but Thomas should be going to sleep soon. Looking at him now, Newt realizes something. He woke up for the first time a few days ago, and Thomas has been at his side, exactly like this, the whole time. He remembers the first time he woke up, thinking that it couldn’t be a comfortable position to sleep in, before promptly forgetting it in the wake of all of the important conversations that needed to be had.

With the way Newt has been fading in and out of consciousness over the last few days, he hasn’t considered the fact that Thomas has most likely been sleeping in his wheelchair every night. He’s not sure how he didn’t realize earlier, it’s not like Thomas would even consider leaving Newt’s room just to sleep more comfortably, the self-sacrificing shank.

“Tommy?”

Thomas turns his head slightly, still resting on his arms, to look at Newt blearily and acknowledge him with a soft hum.

“Have you been sleeping like this every night since you woke up?”

Thomas hums an affirmative, eyes half-closed.

Newt sighs and shakes his head exasperatedly before slowly shuffling further over to the side of the bed opposite Thomas and patting the now open space. When Thomas just continues to stare at him, Newt sighs again before saying, “Tommy, get up here. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

More awake now, Thomas stares wide-eyed at Newt.

“I- no, you’re hurt, I can’t–”

“Tommy,” Newt interrupts, “You’re hurt too, in case you’ve forgotten. You shouldn’t be sleeping in a chair every night, it can’t be good for you. There’s plenty of room for both of us on the bed, stop being an idiot and get up here.”

Newt watches as Thomas processes this. The hospital bed really isn’t big enough for two full grown teenage boys, but that’s okay. They can make it work, what’s a bit of bed sharing between friends, right?

Thomas evidently reaches the same conclusion and shuffles out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. The two of them have to do some reconfiguring before they manage to settle in a position that’s comfortable for the both of them.

Newt realizes his mistake almost immediately.

He knew the bed wasn’t actually big enough for both of them, but hadn’t considered what that might look like.

Laying as they are now, Thomas is pressed up against Newt’s side, only the thin material of their hospital gowns separating them. They’ve slept near each other before back in the Scorch when the rapidly dropping temperatures mandated it, but it never felt like this.

Newt tries to school his breathing, keep his body as still as possible, and not give Thomas any indication that he’s thinking anything nearing non-platonic thoughts.

Maybe it’s just in his head, but it seems like Thomas is doing the same thing. They lay in silence interrupted only by the steady beeping of the hospital machines and their own unnaturally natural timed breaths. The arm pressed against Newt’s is rigid and unmoving.

“Tommy?”

“Hm?” Thomas replies, tone light. Forcibly light.

Newt hesitates, then sighs, relaxes his muscles, and says, “This doesn’t need to be weird. We’re friends, yeah? So relax, Tommy.”

Newt feels Thomas take a deep breath in.

“You’re right, I’m sorry I just—” Thomas sighs. “You’re right. I’ll relax, no need to be weird about this at all. Good that.”

The arm pressed to Newt’s side loses its tension, slowly joined by the rest of Thomas’ body.

Newt risks adjusting just far enough to turn his head and look at Thomas. Under the tan from months in the Scorch, his face is burning red.

Embarrassing him wasn’t the goal, but Newt doesn’t know how to backtrack without digging a hole for himself.

“Good that. Night, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, Newt.”

Maybe he should say something else, but he’s not sure what.

The beeping machines, the lights from the nurses' station, their cramped positioning…none of it is contributing to a restful environment.

It doesn’t help that Newt just woke up and isn’t tired again yet. Thomas should be—he was already half-asleep when Newt started trying to convince him to get in the bed—but his breathing hasn’t leveled out the way it should yet.

Newt knows Thomas well enough by now to know that he’s measuring his breaths and trying to pretend he’s asleep, meanwhile he’s wide awake.

Maybe Newt should be concerned that he pays close enough attention to Tommy to know the differences in his breathing patterns. Is that invasive? It’s definitely embarrassing.

Newt closes his eyes and tries to keep his body relaxed and his breathing even. He ends up accidentally timing his breathing to match Tommy’s, then getting insecure about it and holding his breath for an extra couple seconds so they’re not synced up anymore. Maybe that was too obvious though—Newt doesn’t want Thomas to think that Newt is overthinking this at all. Should he re-sync their breathing?

Newt pauses to take stock of Tommy’s breathing pattern, ready to mimic it, and realizes it’s changed. At some point during Newt’s internal panic, Thomas stopped pretending to be asleep and actually fell asleep.

Well. That’s good. Newt is glad Thomas felt comfortable enough to fall asleep, that’s what he wanted in the first place, right? For him to be more comfortable? It’s like he told Tommy, they’re friends, there’s no reason sharing an extremely small bed should be weird. There’s no reason Newt should be feeling weird about this. In fact, he’s not. He’s never felt more normal and well adjusted, filled with friendship and comradery.

By the time Newt falls asleep, the hospital room has been overtaken by the reds and pinks of dawn.