Chapter 18: The Forgotten Heart

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Key for this chapter:

Stiles' Thoughts

Anyone Else's Thoughts

'Old dialogues memories, spoken out loud thoughts, the past in general...'

POVs

""Not an Actual Speech or Thought""

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Warning: Alternative POVs

Thursday 1st, October, 2015

07:00 AM

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Stiles blinked at the white ceiling of the hospital room, he turned his head to one side and took in the bloodletting machinery, the blue patterned bed-sheet, the white chairs, and on one side of the room, what seemed to be a small garden forming—there were enough potted plants and bouquets of flowers gathered—to make it believable.

"Did I join a gardening club and somehow miss out on remembering when I joined one?" he asked no one in particular.

A soft chuckle answered him and he turned to face the person responsible

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A soft chuckle answered him and he turned to face the person responsible.

Smiling softly he took in his aunt's disheveled appearance, she was dressed in a Beacon Hills Sheriff pair of pants and a hoodie, and hummed, "This is new", he muttered curiously.

"What is?" she asked softly, as she stood to pour some water for him.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look so out of it, you're usually annoyingly pristine, pinstripe suit and neat everything", he explained trying to sit up.

Masha sighed and helped him up, even as she fluffed his pillows and eased him gently back down, she paused as she thought over the words. Sighing again she turned to face him head on;

"I—before I met your uncle I used to be known as wild-child Masha Stilinski. Your dad was always the war-hero, the noble deputy, The Great Sheriff", she snorted, and "Man the titles your dad has, could fill a romance novel—one of those Bodice Rippers your mom loved", she teased.

Stiles smiled, "Mom used to call him, her Noble Deputy", he recalled.

"Among a few other nicknames, no child should ever hear, or a sister", she shuddered and Stiles balked;

"Oh God...Shut up", he whined plaintively, "So what's the diagnosis doc?" he asked her after a few minutes of silence, each lost in a memory of someone too painful to remember.

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