Two new members in the FBI (Rewritten)

Chapter 13

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

"I'm sorry Stiles."

"It's not your fault."

"I love you." says Jackson

"I love you too Jackson". 

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Jacksons's Pov

As I lay there, my mind struggling to grasp the reality of waking up after what felt like an eternity of darkness, I couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of disorientation that washed over me. The sterile smell of the hospital room, the soft hum of machines in the background—it all felt like a distant dream, one that I couldn't quite make sense of.

Stiles' words washed over me like a soothing balm, grounding me in the present moment even as memories of the past few months threatened to engulf me in a tidal wave of emotions. Four months. It was hard to fathom how much time had passed, and how much I had missed while trapped in the void of unconsciousness.

As Stiles recounted the events that had led to my current state, a wave of guilt washed over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. The thought of Stiles bearing the weight of my suffering alone, of watching me slip away with each passing day—it was almost too much to bear.

But as his words of reassurance washed over me, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life within me. Stiles was right—it wasn't my fault. I couldn't change what had happened, couldn't undo the mistakes that had led us here. All I could do was hold on to the love that bound us together, the love that had sustained me through the darkest moments of my journey.

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As I lay there, grappling with the frustration and confusion that seemed to grow with each passing moment, I couldn't shake the nagging question that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

"Why isn't my healing working, even though I'm on a lower dose of the meds keeping it suppressed?" The words spilled from my lips, tinged with a mixture of frustration and fear. It was a question I had asked myself countless times since waking from my coma, each time met with the same elusive answers that did little to assuage my concerns.

Stiles' brow furrowed with concern as he sat beside me, his hand gently squeezing mine in a silent gesture of support. "I wish I had an answer for you, Jackson," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But we're doing everything we can to figure it out."

His words offered little solace, but the sincerity in his eyes gave me a glimmer of hope. As the door to my hospital room creaked open, announcing Dr. Hayes's arrival, a surge of anticipation pulsed through me. Stiles sat beside me, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the uncertainty that clouded my mind.

"Jackson, Stiles," Dr. Hayes greeted us, his expression serious yet tinged with a glimmer of hope. "I'm here to take some blood work. We need to gather more information based on what we observed in one of your recent blood tests."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of the test results, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. Despite my best efforts to remain calm, the unknown loomed large before me, casting a shadow over the promise of answers that Dr. Hayes's visit held.

Stiles offered a reassuring smile as he shifted closer, his hand finding mine in a silent gesture of solidarity. With his support, I summoned the courage to extend my arm to Dr. Hayes, steeling myself for the inevitable prick of the needle.