Scott hadn't had anything revolutionary to say to Stiles, but to his credit
he had at least recognized there wasn't anything to say. He'd just
said something about it not being like that, looked sufficiently lost and
hangdog, and gotten Stiles back over to his place, where Doakes had been
waiting. Stiles had felt better, once he'd learned Erica and Boyd were
going to be okay; malnutrition, slow silver poisoning, and abuse
notwithstanding, they were gonna be okay, and that was the part that
mattered. It meant something, made that tight thing in his chest ease just
a little to see Erica smile just a little at him, even though for once he
was fresh out of clever lines. He was so tired, soul-tired, and that look
was enough.
He hadn't been expecting them to run to Derek like that, hadn't expected
Isaac to stop clinging to Scott and go, but they all felt the pull. It was
hard for him to resist, because god would it have been easier to just go
where no one would ask questions. But responsibility held him, as always,
and it made it easier when it was just Scott and him and Alison. Easier
still when Chris came by to let him know--not Scott, not them, him, and how
weird was that--and to pick up Alison.
It was easy then to just throw on the piecemeal clothes of his that even
now still lurked around Scott's room, and to hop in the Jeep and have Scott
drive him to the hospital, where Ms. McCall was working the overnight.
Scott, being the good friend that he still sometimes managed to be, took
the fall, and even managed to lie convincingly about them roughhousing and
Stiles taking a knee to the face and then falling on something, or
something. Luckily, the bruising from the broken nose covered all the other
bruising, and after both of them suffered the chewing out (and the promise
of another one from Sheriff Stilinski), Stiles' nose was set and he and
Scott both were almost sent back to the McCalls'. The call from the fire
department stopped that, and amid concern for their young new
neighbors--and a near heart attack on Stiles' part--they both ended up back
at Stiles' place.
He couldn't really sleep that night. Stayed up until his dad got home,
Scott stoically trooping through the hours with him, then casually grilled
the Sheriff for details until they both got shooed away. After that, the
waiting started. And the nightmares.
He was sure Derek would come by that night, god knows why. Instinct.
Because he had nearly every night prior. Restless and barely dozing, he
tossed his way through the hours until being awake was socially acceptable
again. The day passed slowly and in a haze of pain, even with the lecture
from his dad, but he couldn't even nap. Finally, Scott's hovering was too
much for his raw nerves, and he sent Scott home with reassurances that he
was gonna take the pain meds Ms. McCall had given him and sleep it off.
That he'd see Scott Monday, and they were cool. Alone, it was harder to
ignore the tight ball of stress in his chest, to ignore the pounding in his
head and a panic he felt building under the edges of consciousness.
That night, it was impossible to sleep. Every time he'd start to drift,
he'd hear...things. And then he'd have to get up, move, do anything to make
it go away. Loud music only helped a little. Comics not at all. He couldn't
even think about porn, and that was saying something. But it was okay.
Derek would come by. Only, when he didn't, Stiles started thinking. Maybe
Derek blamed Stiles, too. Yeah, Erica and Boyd were safe, but those things
Derek had to do...he couldn't blame him. If he blamed Stiles for it. Stiles
blamed Stiles for it, too. He shouldn't have had to kill. All Stiles'
fault, all of that. And that knot got tighter, and the ball got heavier,
and sleep remained elusive.
It was late afternoon the following day before his dad finally left for
work, reminding him he was grounded under pain of worse things, and while
his eyes burned and everything ached, he still couldn't sleep. Couldn't
focus, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but let his mind chase itself
in circles and prepare for Derek never coming back again, because that was
how things happened in the Stilesverse. Bad things happened and good people
left. So that's why when Derek calls for him, he doesn't hear it at all,
lost in the too-loud music in his headphones and eyes focused on the beat
his fingers are tapping on one bare foot as he curls in on himself on his
bed. Trying to drown out the sounds. Trying to not remember.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 06:07 am (UTC)Scott hadn't had anything revolutionary to say to Stiles, but to his credit he had at least recognized there wasn't anything to say. He'd just said something about it not being like that, looked sufficiently lost and hangdog, and gotten Stiles back over to his place, where Doakes had been waiting. Stiles had felt better, once he'd learned Erica and Boyd were going to be okay; malnutrition, slow silver poisoning, and abuse notwithstanding, they were gonna be okay, and that was the part that mattered. It meant something, made that tight thing in his chest ease just a little to see Erica smile just a little at him, even though for once he was fresh out of clever lines. He was so tired, soul-tired, and that look was enough.
He hadn't been expecting them to run to Derek like that, hadn't expected Isaac to stop clinging to Scott and go, but they all felt the pull. It was hard for him to resist, because god would it have been easier to just go where no one would ask questions. But responsibility held him, as always, and it made it easier when it was just Scott and him and Alison. Easier still when Chris came by to let him know--not Scott, not them, him, and how weird was that--and to pick up Alison. It was easy then to just throw on the piecemeal clothes of his that even now still lurked around Scott's room, and to hop in the Jeep and have Scott drive him to the hospital, where Ms. McCall was working the overnight. Scott, being the good friend that he still sometimes managed to be, took the fall, and even managed to lie convincingly about them roughhousing and Stiles taking a knee to the face and then falling on something, or something. Luckily, the bruising from the broken nose covered all the other bruising, and after both of them suffered the chewing out (and the promise of another one from Sheriff Stilinski), Stiles' nose was set and he and Scott both were almost sent back to the McCalls'. The call from the fire department stopped that, and amid concern for their young new neighbors--and a near heart attack on Stiles' part--they both ended up back at Stiles' place.
He couldn't really sleep that night. Stayed up until his dad got home, Scott stoically trooping through the hours with him, then casually grilled the Sheriff for details until they both got shooed away. After that, the waiting started. And the nightmares.
He was sure Derek would come by that night, god knows why. Instinct. Because he had nearly every night prior. Restless and barely dozing, he tossed his way through the hours until being awake was socially acceptable again. The day passed slowly and in a haze of pain, even with the lecture from his dad, but he couldn't even nap. Finally, Scott's hovering was too much for his raw nerves, and he sent Scott home with reassurances that he was gonna take the pain meds Ms. McCall had given him and sleep it off. That he'd see Scott Monday, and they were cool. Alone, it was harder to ignore the tight ball of stress in his chest, to ignore the pounding in his head and a panic he felt building under the edges of consciousness.
That night, it was impossible to sleep. Every time he'd start to drift, he'd hear...things. And then he'd have to get up, move, do anything to make it go away. Loud music only helped a little. Comics not at all. He couldn't even think about porn, and that was saying something. But it was okay. Derek would come by. Only, when he didn't, Stiles started thinking. Maybe Derek blamed Stiles, too. Yeah, Erica and Boyd were safe, but those things Derek had to do...he couldn't blame him. If he blamed Stiles for it. Stiles blamed Stiles for it, too. He shouldn't have had to kill. All Stiles' fault, all of that. And that knot got tighter, and the ball got heavier, and sleep remained elusive.
It was late afternoon the following day before his dad finally left for work, reminding him he was grounded under pain of worse things, and while his eyes burned and everything ached, he still couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but let his mind chase itself in circles and prepare for Derek never coming back again, because that was how things happened in the Stilesverse. Bad things happened and good people left. So that's why when Derek calls for him, he doesn't hear it at all, lost in the too-loud music in his headphones and eyes focused on the beat his fingers are tapping on one bare foot as he curls in on himself on his bed. Trying to drown out the sounds. Trying to not remember.