![]() ![]() His dad's frown deepens and Stiles realizes he hasn't said anything yet. ![]() He looks like crap, really, but his heart is beating strongly, only a little bit faster than it should. And now that Stiles is concentrating, he can smell his dad, too - his sweat smells old, like he's not showered in days, and his breath is sour with too-strong coffee and cool ranch Doritos. ![]() He blinks his eyes open again and then he notices his father is sitting near his bed, his face a mix of relief and concern. He groans and wonders what the hell happened to him. Stiles moves to cover his nose, the IV tube tugging at the back of his hand when he does. It's sickness and blood and urine and feces, none of it in any way covered by sharp citrus disinfectant. It's loud, it's all too loud, and the smell is so strong it burns his nose and stings his eyes. So his first thought when he wakes to the tell-tale beeping of a heart monitor is, 'Fuck, I hate this place.' But then he realizes that the beeping is so much louder than it should be, as is the background noise of hospital staff and patients beyond the door to his room. Stiles does his best to stay away from hospitals. ![]()
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