Gather The Ashes || Stilinski || Book Three

Seventeen

HOSPITALS MEANT DIFFERENT THINGS TO DIFFERENT PEOPLE.

For some, it was an environment for healing and the birthplace of new life every day. For others, hospitals reeked of rubbing alcohol and brought horrible memories the moment they stepped inside. Stiles, who had been inside Beacon Hills Memorial on multiple occasions, resonated with the latter over the former.

From the death of his mother and Sierra's scare with Peter to the MRI he went through last winter, Stiles hated hospitals with all of his heart.

And yet, here he stood once again because another loved one got injured.

Stiles knew his dad wasn't the intended target of Haigh in his struggle against Parrish, but frankly he didn't care. Bills were still piling up from the last time he was admitted and now more hundreds of his dad's hard-earned dollars would be going right back to the hospital. All because Haigh lost control of his gun and shot Noah in the shoulder.

Stiles listened to the doctor intently, standing firm right next to his dad.

"Alright, Mr. Stilinski," the man started but Stiles cut him off.

"Sheriff."

The doctor looked at Stiles in surprise, but nodded as he corrected himself. "Sheriff Stilinski, I've got you scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, it's going to take a little digging to get that slug out of your shoulder."

"Yeah, it's fine," Noah brushed it off, focusing on the paperwork in front of him as he rested in the hospital bed. He caught the doctor's attention before he left, motioning him closer. "One more thing."

Stiles stepped back so Dr. Vandenburg could approach Noah, but still caught every word. "What's this part here?" Noah asked him quietly, motioning to a small paragraph.

"Patient responsibility," Dr. Vandenburg answered. "Parts of the procedure and hospital stay not covered by your insurance."

"Are those big parts?" Noah wondered in concern. "Expensive parts?"

Dr. Vandenburg offered him a small smile, replying, "That's between you and your insurance unfortunately." Changing the subject, he went on to say the morphine would hit Noah any minute. "Try to get some rest, Mr..." he advised, catching himself with Noah's title. "Sheriff."

The doctor excused himself politely then, Stiles remaining where he stood at the end of the bed. He bit on his nails, an old habit he hadn't managed to break.

Noah noticed this, glancing up from the papers. "Hey, stop that." Stiles did as he was told and dropped his fingers while Noah explained himself, "I was just curious about the terminology. We're not in any kind of dire straits."

Stiles let out a heavy breath, "I know about the bills, Dad." Instantly, Noah's face contorted into one of surprise and Stiles went on with a heavy heart. "I know about the collectors calling about Eichen House. I know about the advance from the department, about the credit cards...."

"Stiles," Noah squinted at his son. "Have you been going through my stuff?"

"Yeah, I go through all of your stuff," Stiles told the truth and then mumbled, "Especially when you keep things from me."

"I keep things from you because you don't need to know everything," Noah's voice hardened.

"Yes, I do," Stiles argued, matching his tone. "I have to know everything. How the hell else am I supposed to take care of you?"

"You're not supposed to take care of me!" Noah angrily snapped. "I'm the dad," he exclaimed, pointing to himself before switching it around. "You're the son. You get it? Dad. Son. I take care of you."