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Stiles’ leg bounced up and down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Pause. He glanced at his door, open, did he open it? He doesn’t remember. Why can’t he remember? There’s no way the Nogistune is still in him. No. They killed it.
They killed him.
“I’m leaving for work Stiles.” His dad passed the door, noticing the far off look he knocked to get his son’s attention. It worked, not the way he wanted, however. Stiles startled, his hands clutching the sheets as tightly as possible, his nails also digging into his right knee. “I opened your door while you were sleeping, Stiles.”
Stiles just stared at his dad. Nodding slowly. “Yeah. Yeah I knew that. I knew that….” Stiles sounded, he felt, distracted. Sentence trailing off as his father left his view. Stiles listened to his foot falls as he left. Listened to the door slam shut– he didn’t flinch, Stiles didn’t flinch. He has no reason to. He didn’t die. He wasn’t hurt. He hurt others,– and the car start.
Stiles listened as the car pulled out of the driveway and left his hearing.
Stiles sniffled and wiped his hands on the back of his knows. Nose. Knows? Nose. His knee resumed it’s bouncing as Stiles stared off into space. He blinked. More like closed his eye, eyes, really.
Stiles drop–dropped– his head into his hands. Thinking was get harding and hard. Getting hard and hard. Getting harder and harder.
Stiles groaned, prevalently, practically whined. He tugged on his hair. Inhale. Exhale. Stiles’ opened his eyes and–
No.
No here. Please not here.
The basement.
Finger. How many finger does he have.
Stiles’ breath stuttered, he could hear the drill. He could hear the wall smashing.
Stiles’ screamed.
He claw. He claw. He CLAWED.
“No, no, no, please. Please, stop, please, I’m sorry..” Brunski, Stiles’ could listen his voice.
Listen his voice? That’s.. No.
Stiles closed his eyes again and dropped to his knees. Hands. Hands on his shoulders. Hands. Grounding. Or constricting.
Stiles screamed again. But this time he could hear it. “Stiles!” Stiles whimpered and covered his head. One hand in front of his face, one over top. His face felt stick…y. Sticky.
Sticky. Words he knows them, Stiles exhaled, but… there was no air to exhale. He just wheezed. “Stiles..?”
Stiles lowered his arms. Scott. It was just Scott. Scott was safe. Scott wouldn’t hurt him. Scott left him to find Lydia. Scott was crouched tere, there, looking so concerned. Stiles’ breathing picked up again as he got frustrated again. He didn’t want to think like this. He wasn’t, he wants to think normally again.
He doesn’t want to hurt Scott. He doesn’t want to worry Scott.
Stiles’ laughed waterly, he didn’t even notice that Scott was holding his arm. “There’s no– there’s no pain. I can’t– I can’t take you’re pain.. Stiles, Stiles please, I want to help. I need to help. You..you’re pack.” Stiles shuffled badly, awkwardly, it’s awkwardly that’s the word, backwards.
Scott seemed to get the message. When they were smaller, younger, if one of them had a panic attack, a bad day, or just felt lonely they’d lay in bed together and talk about nothing and everything. About missing parents, about Scott’s asthma. About how Stiles would join the lacrosse team and he’d yell at Scott when Scott said that he wasn’t good enough. Stiles knew Scott was good enough.
Scott sat against the backboard, still holding Stiles’ hand. Stiles moved to sit with up. He froze, halfway up. Stiles moved to sit up with Scott, not looking at the concern he could practically feel emanating off of him.
Stiles stared at his door blankly. “It doesn’t feel real.” The door was closed now. The window was open. “It feels fake.” Stiles felt Scott hold his hand tighter. He squeezed his best friend’s hand. Shakily inhaling, Stiles sat up and hunched over again. He turned to Scott, finally. “Ho–how many…–”
Scott got his message and held up his fingers, slowly counting on them. Ten. He has–had ten fingers. Stiles nodded and tapped his hands on his legs. “Scott I can’t– I can’t. Did I–, what if it’s still in my head?”
Scott tilted his head, and squinted at Stiles. “Stiles… it’s gone…” Stiles shook his head and stuttered. Pointing to the door, the window, “Stiles that was me. I came in through the window because you weren’t at school. I closed the door when I came in, okay?”
Stiles’ legs bounced, his breathing was slowly evening out. Stiles looked at Scott and hugged him, he needed grounding contact. And Scott always hugged like it was the last hug of his life. It was very, very grounding.
Thoughts were coming easier to Stiles now. “Safety comes in numbers, Stiles. Don’t worry. We’re here..” Stiles remembered when those same words had been said on the bus to the cross-country meeting. Stiles also remembered his same response.
“There’s also death in numbers. It’s called a massacre.” Scott smiled at Stiles’ response, making Stiles smile too. What can he say, Scott’s smile was infectious. The two were equated to golden retrievers. Smiles were infectious to them.
Scott and Stiles sat like that for a long while. Both refused to move, until Scott’s phone started going off. Stiles glanced over at the screen as Scott picked it up in both their views. “Issac?” Stiles echoed the name as they read the texts over.
‘whr r u’
‘r u hurt?’
‘scott?’
‘im coming to find u’
‘got ur scent'
Stiles winced at the messages. “I–I can tell him not to come?” Scott immediately placated, assuming the wince was from not wanting Issac there. He didn’t want to upset Stiles anymore than he already was. The puppy love of the cuddly werewolf Alpha.
However, at the same time as he placated, Stiles spoke. “Is that really how he texts?” Scott froze, staring at Stiles as Stiles stared at the phone. Scott let out a startled laugh, the sudden sound making Stiles jump and turn to look at him.
The two shared a look before they burst out laughing. Stiles held his sides tightly as he laughed. It was such a contrast from how he’d been feeling all day. But a good contrast.
The two teenagers were so absorbed in their laughter, they didn’t notice the sound of someone landing on the roof, nor the sound of someone climbing into Stiles’ room.
“Scott?” Scott and Stiles jumped at the voice, Scott jumping off the bed and onto the floor, dropping to all fours. Stiles always found it endearing how he did that. How all the wolves did.
In the window, feet dropped onto the floor, was Issac. His brows were raised curiously, his stance guarded, skittish. “Oh. Issac, hey. I, uh, just got the texts…” Scott scratched his head, lips thinned at Issac’s look of disbelief, then nodded.
Stiles assumed that Issac listened to Scott’s heartbeat for it. “Uh.. hi, Issac.” Stiles waved with a lack of his usual pazazz. Issac slid into the room fully. He tilted his head.
“Why does it reek of sadness in here?” Scott and Stiles both flinched at the bluntness. Issac sat on the edge of the bed, being much more forward with Stiles than usual. Stiles shifted uncomfortably. That must have either shown on his face, or in his scent, because Scott moved closer and Issac further away.
Stiles sighed and looked between them. “How, uh, how are you guys–”
“Stop it.” Issac cut Stiles off with a glare. “Stiles, stop it. You keep– you keep asking us. But you won’t let us ask you.”
Stiles looked at his hands, they blurred. “I..” He sniffled and shrugged. “She was my friend.” Stiles hiccuped as Scott’s hand found his. “I refused to trust Aidan..” Issac’s shoulders hiked up as he listened to Stiles’ quiet, cracking voice.
“She was my friend...”
Scott hugged Stiles, his own eyes watering. Issac sat at the edge, not knowing what to do. Then, he was pulled into a hug by the two best friends. Issac’s breath caught in his throat. “She was my friend. And you guys lost your–your friend, too. You–you kn–knew–knew her better th–than I–I did.”
Scott tightened his hold on the two people in his hug. “No. She was all our friend. All our friend.” Stiles whined in the hold and hugged the werewolves. It wasn’t tight enough to constrict breathing, but Issac and Scott could feel Stiles’ fingers digging into their shirts.
Issac nodded in agreement. “How about.. We all stay together tonight?” Scott looked at Issac then Stiles and nodded. Stiles looked up at them with a watery grin.
“Why don’t we go make sure Derek is safe, too?” Issac looked confused, but Scott shared the evil grin.
—————
Derek did not know how this happened.
Neither did Peter.
They returned to the loft to find Scott, Issac and Stiles curled up on the couch, sound asleep. Stiles looked like he hadn’t slept in months, he probably hadn’t. Scott stirred as they came in.
The loft still smelt strongly of the Pack so they didn’t assume anyone was there.
Cora was sitting across from them, a dopey grin on her face. She motioned to the sleeping teens with a wave.
“What. Is that?” Peter sounded both intrigued and disgusted at the sight of the, well, puppy pile.
Scott’s eyes peeled open, he looked over at the older wolves with a smile. “Hey.”
“Scott.” Derek stepped forward. Standing above the three. Derek yelped as Scott and Issac, who they assumed was asleep, yanked him into the pile. Derek moved to jump up but Cora jumped on him, instead.
Peter took Cora’s recently vacated seat and watched the pile with a smile of his own. He met Derek’s annoyed eyes and made a ‘shush’ motion. He then pointed to Stiles.
Derek looked to his left and saw Stiles, an arm and leg curled on top of Scott, one leg under Issac, and arm captured by Cora– she and Scott were painting his nails–, and his head resting on his shoulder. “Shh, Derek.” Peter watched him with an amused glare.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Finally.” Scott chimed in, his face twisted at the strong smell of nail polish. Derek sighed and moved so he squished Issac closer into the pile, him now on the outside.
Peter looked over at Stiles. His face was slack, mouth slightly open. Peter cringed at the sight of drool in the corner of his mouth. But the boy looked.. Calmer. More at peace. Less like he was about to stand up and try to murder everyone.
Small gifts, small gifts.
—————
Stiles woke up warm, very, very warm. He also felt trapped, but he didn’t feel the need to escape. Blearily blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Scott’s face a couple of inches from his, sound asleep, Cora’s head on his opposite shoulder.
Looking down a bit, Stiles noticed Issac thrown across Stiles’ torso, Derek leaning on Issac. “Peaceful, isn’t it?” Stiles looked over wildly at the voice. Peter.
“Not going to hurt you Stiles, what is it going to take for you guys to trust me?” Stiles narrowed his eyes, wiggling to lift his head a bit higher to look at Peter. He looked dishevelled, like he’d also just awoken.
Stiles clicked, “Yeah, I’m not too keen on trusting people who have tried to kill me?” Sarcasm dripped from Stiles’ words. But there was no real heat to them. Peter hummed and stood up, tilting his head as he studied Stiles.
“You’ll be trapped for a while. I have things to do.” Stiles watched Peter leave, looking at his hands he gasped.
“What the frick!?” Peter’s laugh echoed from the halls, and Stiles figured he didn’t mind it this once.
Stiles may still feel sad, he may feel grief and guilty, but there was no time for that right now. Right now was cuddle time. Not that he had a choice, werewolves were very heavy. Especially when asleep.