Forgotten Memories [A TW/TMR Fanfiction]

19. An Explanation

THOMAS/STILES POV

I can't stop thinking about Janson.

Even now, as we enter Beacon Hills, I can't put Rat Man's dead body out of my mind. I just keep seeing the life leaving his eyes, his body going limp under my hands.

I killed someone.

Lydia's head is on my lap as we sit in the back of the jeep. We're trying really hard to get to the hospital as fast as we can. Brenda and Minho took Lydia's car with Hayden, and Chris and the Sheriff are in another car. Scott drives the jeep as Liam sits in the passenger seat. I keep seeing Scott cast glances through the mirror at Lydia.

I try to distract myself by looking down at Lydia, surprised when she's looking at me as well. She offers a pained smile, and I smile back. I grab her hand, and say, "You're going to be okay."

She nods, closing her eyes. Her other hand is placed on the bullet wound, applying pressure in order to stop the bleeding.

None of us say anything for a while, staying completely silent. I watch as Scott steps on the gas, my gaze moving to the 'Welcome' sign on the side of the road. Lydia is extremely quiet, and it unnerves me. I just hope she's okay.

We finally reach the hospital, and I get out first before pulling Lydia into my arms. I carry her bridle style into the front doors, and Scott immediately calls out for his mom. Lydia makes a gasping sound, and I realize she's bleeding more now.

"Scott," I say. He looks over, and his eyes widen. "What do I do?"

"I'm here!" Melissa calls, and she rushes to the strawberry blonde in my arms. "What happened?"

"She was shot," I tell her. "I think the bullet went straight through, but she's bleeding a lot more than she was on the way here."

She nods, and calls for a stretcher. I gently lay Lydia down, and she grabs my hand again. "Come..." She whispers, and I nod. I want to protect her. After all, it's my fault that she was shot. It was my hand. It was...

We wheel down the hallway, leaving Scott behind. I don't look back, instead focused on Lydia and keeping her breathing. The wound is bleeding profusely now, dark red blood staining the stretcher already. Melissa gets us into an operating room, quickly setting up the machines and inserting an IV into Lydia's arm. She's transferred onto the operating bed, never once letting go of my hand.

Lydia meets my eyes, offering a small smile, but doesn't speak. "You're going to be okay," I tell her. "You'll be fine. I'll just be outside that door, okay? I'm not leaving." She nods.

Melissa inserts the sedative into the IV, and almost instantly Lydia is fast asleep. Turning to me, Ms. McCall says, "It shouldn't take too long. We need to stop the bleeding and make sure nothing is torn or if something is ruptured. He wound is close to her spleen."

I nod, and reluctantly exit the operating room. I head towards the waiting room just down the hall, and sit in one of the chairs. I sigh, putting my head in my hands. It's my fault Lydia was shot. It's my fault that she was hurt, that everyone was hurt in some way. It's my fault Janson's dead.

I huff, and lean back, slapping my hand down on my pants. Something hard digs into my palm, and I furrow my brows. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a card of some sort. I borrowed these pants from Scott before I was taken, and I wasn't allowed to change, so whatever this is belongs to Scott.

I flip the card over to see some writing. "Beacon Hills High School. M. Stilinski." I realize it must be a student card. I look to the student picture, and confusion ripples through my body. It's a picture of me, smiling.

I don't understand. How could it be my picture? Who is M. Stilinski? Why would he have my picture? Stilinski...that's the same last name as the Sheriff. Is this his son?

"Thomas?" I turn to see Scott standing off to my right, staring at the card in my hand. I get to my feet.

"Who is this?" I ask him, holding the card up. Confusion mixed with anger clouds my vision. "Why is it my picture?"

Scott lets out a breath. "I didn't mean for you to see it. It's--"

"Who is this!" I ask again. "Why is my picture on this card!"

Scott meets my eyes. "Because that's you. You're Stiles."

I roll my eyes. "Don't spew me that crap again. I am not Stiles. My name is Thomas. And this card says M. Stilinski, not S."

"Stiles is what you like to be called. No one uses your real name." Scott takes a step forward. "Your name is Stiles Stilinski. You've been my best friend since we were four. We used to play in the sandbox, hang out everyday. When we were older, almost three years ago, I was bitten by an Alpha. I became a werewolf, and you were the first to figure it out.

"I didn't believe you," He goes on. "But then, I saw the effects. We battled countless enemies together, along with my--our--pack. We sacrificed ourselves to save our parents when someone wanted to kill them. You were possessed by an evil spirit, and we defeated that too, you surviving in the process. We survived a deadpool of Supernatural creatures. We killed doctors trying to make Supernatural creatures.

"Then, WICKED came asking for volunteers for their Trials. You went, wanting to do good, and they took you from us. We didn't hear from you for a week after your first message. They didn't tell us anything. Then, you came back to Beacon Hills almost a year later, all bloodied and beaten and--" Scott's voice breaks. "You're Stiles, not Thomas. You're my best friend."

I stand completely still, in some state of awe and confusion. My lips part, but no words come out. I just stare at Scott, trying to decide whether or not he's lying. But how could he when he just told me all of that? Am I...am I really Stiles?

SCOTT POV

"I.." He starts to say. "I'm Stiles?" His voice sounds uncertain. I nod. He shakes his head. "But...they called me Thomas. WICKED took all my memories in the Trials, and I was left with my name, Thomas." He meet my eyes again. "But...I'm not Thomas?"

My eyes fill with tears at his words. He doesn't know who he is now. My heart feels like it's at the bottom of my stomach. Stiles has no idea what he put us through this past year, what he's done in the past in order to save his friends--his family. I can't handle it.

Stiles sees my expression, and tears form in his eyes as well. "Am I...what have I forgotten? Who am I? Scott, please, I know that I was made to forget something. I didn't know who you were. Did they...did they take my memories of you? Of Beacon Hills?" He stops completely. "I don't remember my family," He whispers.

My heart shatters. A single tear falls down my cheek. I walk toward him, but he takes a step back. I let my outstretched arm drop.

"No" Stiles says. "You need to leave me alone right now." He flings the student card at me. "I need some time. I need to stay here, for Lydia. You need to go." He sits back down in one of the chairs, putting his head in his hands.

I look down at him sadly, but decide to obey. He needs time for this to settle in. I need to leave him alone.

I turn on my heel and walk away.

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**this story is coming to its end soon! Maybe 2-5 more chapters?**

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