Fandom: Teen Wolf
Authors: Sxymami0909 and Xtremeroswellia
Timeline Post episode 3x24 ‘The Divine Move’
Series: Post Finale AU
Pairings: Stiles/Lydia, Scott/Kira, Isaac, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall, Chris Argent, Jackson Whitmore, Derek Hale
Summary: When the battle is finally over the only thing our heroes left can feel is her loss leading one of them to make a decision that changes the pack forever.
Previous Parts: | One |
Warning: This took so long to get up because I started fucking bawling while editing it. Maybe grab some tissues, you know, just in case.
A soft sob fell from her throat as she sat in the McCall’s upstairs bathroom, her back pressed against the cool tiles of the wall. Lydia was huddled in the corner beside the tub, her legs pulled up to her chest. It wasn’t exactly an appropriate position for the dress she wore, but really who cared,she was alone. She placed a hand over her mouth, tears streaming heavily down her cheeks.
Lydia hadn’t been able to sleep. She got up not long ago to use the bathroom and when she’d seen her reflection she almost hadn’t recognized herself. She had taken off her blazer and tossed it on the counter only for something to roll right out of the pocket.
It had been something so small, but it had set her off. Allison’s lip gloss. One that she’d let her borrow the other day before...another sob tumbled from her throat. She was never going to get a chance to give that lip gloss back. No more late night driving and talking when they needed a break. No more study and gossip sessions.
Allison was dead. Lydia's body shook with the force of her tears, her arms gripping her legs tightly her forehead resting against her knees. Her fingernails dug into her skin, the pain reminding her she was still alive. Lydia was cold and her stomach hurt, but she didn’t know why. Her forehead felt clammy and she knew she was pale. But what did it matter? Who cared what she felt like when Allison was gone?
What was she supposed to do without her best friend? What would happen to Mr. Argent and Scott? Would Stiles blame himself? Lydia told them not to come...she thought she’d sent the message and for once it had actually gotten through. She should have been clearer. She should have said more. What good were her banshee abilities if they couldn’t save anyone? What good was she?
It should have been her that died, the pack needed Allison, but Lydia was expendable. She didn’t fight, she didn’t help with pack stuff...all she did was find the dead bodies, something they could all live without. Lydia stayed in that position, body shuddering with the force of her tears a heavy weight bore down on her chest. She wasn’t sure she was going to survive this.
Scott woke up slowly, still feeling drained and when he lifted his head and realized he wasn’t in his own bed, he was momentarily confused. He opened his eyes to see Stiles lying unconscious beside him, body huddled under the blankets, still shivering in his sleep and he reached out, remembering how simply touching his friend twenty-four hours ago had caused him to absorb pain that he hadn’t even known Stiles was feeling. He laid his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, wincing as the mere contact caused the black lines to crawl up his arm. He swallowed heavily, not pulling away for a long moment, until his own body was wracked with pain that wasn’t entirely physical.
Scott laid his head back down on the pillow for a moment, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Allison was gone. He was never going to see her smile again, never going to hear her laugh. He was never going to get to hold her hand again or talk to her at two in the morning when things were crazy and neither of them could sleep and she wanted to run plans by him. He’d gone into the day terrified that his best friend was going to die, that he wouldn’t be able to do enough to save him, to bring him back from the clutches of the Nogitsune (and some part of him still wasn’t really sure). Instead, he’d lost the love of his life, who’d died protecting Isaac from the Oni.
Scott rubbed his hands over his face, drawing in a shuddering breath as hot tears stung his eyes. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to pull them all together and get them through this when he didn’t know how to get through it himself? He heard soft noises from the other room and it dawned on him that Lydia wasn’t there in the bed anymore. She was somewhere close, though, because he could hear her crying. Looking at Stiles once more with worried eyes -- because his friend still hadn’t moved at all as far as he could tell, Scott rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom, knocking softly and hesitating only a second before stepping inside.
Scott's chest ached at the sight of Lydia sitting curled up on the floor. Wordlessly he moved to kneel beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, burying his face against her shoulder.
Lydia’s response was automatic. She wrapped her arms around Scott, clutching him tightly, her sobs growing louder and more uncontrolled as his grief mixed with hers. She could feel it all growing inside of her. Everything she’d been holding in since she’d screamed for her best friend’s death in the tunnels, finally pouring out of her in almost tangible waves of despair.
Scott held onto her tightly, sobs wracking his own body as they cried together, and yet still somehow alone, for all that they’d lost. For all that they kept losing. It was a never-ending carousel of loss in all of their lives, be it because people left voluntarily (like his dad and Lydia’s dad), or involuntarily (like Stiles’ mother), or because they were taken violently from the world (Erica, Boyd, Allison). And it was worse because he was supposed to know what to do. He was supposed to keep them all safe, somehow. Safe from everything and everyone and he kept letting them down time and time again.
“It’s not your fault,” Lydia mumbled between tears, “You’re doing the best you can.” She wasn’t sure what made her say the words, but she felt like they needed to be said. Scott had so much on his shoulders and she couldn’t imagine what that was like. Having so many people depending on him. Lydia’s heart clenched as an image of Allison popped into her head. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like everything was closing in on her and she wondered if that’s what it felt like for Scott too.
He loved Allison just as much as she did and she was ripped away from both of them and Lydia was angry. She was angry at Allison for ignoring her warning. She was angry that the Nogitsune took Allison from them. She was angry that she couldn’t prevent it or help it or change the outcome in any way. She should have tried harder. She should have done something. She was Lydia fucking Martin...she should have made sure her best friend stayed safe because that’s what best friends did.
Scott’s arms tightened around her just a little at the sound of her words. “Yours either,” he whispered. “It isn’t your fault, Lydia.” They’d ignored the warnings she’d left and he knew she’d left them. Knew because Allison had texted him about the message on the car window. But instead of trusting her, instead of listening to her, they’d forged ahead, determined to save her from the Nogitsune that wore his best friend’s face like a mockery. “It’s that thing’s fault. Not yours. Not Stiles’.”
Lydia’s hands clenched against his shirt, “Scott, what are we going to do without her?” She whispered another bout of tears spilling from her eyes. Lydia couldn’t picture a life without Allison in it. Without their Sunday morning trips to the local cafe, without shopping for prom dresses and staying up late talking on the rare nights that they had a sleepover that wasn’t pack related. Without laughing at lunch and fighting aside one another. “I feel like there’s something missing inside of me. I feel like I can’t breathe,” She murmured her chest tight. “There’s so much...so much,” she whispered.
Scott shut his eyes for a long moment, hurting for her. For all of them. Like he’d lost a limb. He swallowed hard, pulling away to look at her, looking every bit as exhausted and forlorn as she felt. “We live,” he whispered back.
Lydia closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “What if we don’t know how?” She asked opening her eyes and searching Scott’s face knowing he was hurting as much, if not more than she was.
“Then we do the best we can. Together,” Scott answered, reaching down and taking her hand. “Because we’re going to need each other.”
Lydia threaded her fingers through his and she nodded, a few tears still rolling down her cheeks. “You, me, and Stiles.” She said softly. “He’s going to get better...he has to. We can’t lose him too Scott. We can’t,” she whispered squeezing his hand. It had become very clear to Lydia in the past week just how important Stiles was to her and she knew how important he was to Scott.
Scott’s chest tightened painfully, nodding. He reached up and brushed some of the tears off her cheeks. “We won’t.” He’d already felt like Stiles had been gone for so long. He’d been there periodically as himself, but he still wasn’t Stiles. Not really. And Scott couldn’t help but wonder, if after everything, Stiles would ever really be himself again. Would ever be back to normal. He’d been stripped of the last bits of innocence he had, forced to do and say things that Stiles wouldn’t in a million years ever do. And he remembered all of it. His best friend’s words from yesterday echoed in his head like a freight train. If I die too? I don’t care as long as no one else dies because of me.
The frightening part was how serious Stiles had been. He really hadn’t cared if he lived or died at the end of the day, and the way he’d thrown himself at the Nogitsune with that sword, not knowing if killing the demon would kill him too…
Scott felt sick to his stomach. They weren’t okay. None of them. Not him, not Lydia, not Isaac, not Chris, not Sheriff Stilinski or his mom. And not Stiles. He wasn’t sure if any of them would ever be completely okay again. Everything was different now. In the blink of an eye, everything in their lives had changed so completely that it had obliterated what little bit of normalcy that any of them had.
And Scott wasn’t sure if they’d ever really get that back.
Lydia nodded, the last of her tears drying up for the moment. She was exhausted, physically, emotionally...everything. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept or ate or changed her clothes. It must have been before the Nogitsune took her. Lydia swallowed heavily the ache in her bones finally making itself known. “I’m sorry,” she said after a couple of minutes. “I’m okay now,” she said trying to reassure Scott.
Next time she’d be stronger, she wouldn’t break down. Lydia shifted, “We should check on Stiles,” she told him as she unfolded her legs and attempted to get up, her body unsteady.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Scott said softly, rising to his feet and helping her up, sliding an arm around her waist. The last forty-eight hours had been horrible. Painful.
And the next several days were going to be equally as bad, if not worse. Because they were going to have to bury someone they loved.
Lydia leaned into Scott as they walked back to the guest bedroom. “Thanks,” she said softly as they moved into the room making sure to be quiet. “Has he woken up at all?” She asked him.
He helped her over to the bed, swallowing hard at her question. “No,” he admitted quietly. And he didn’t want to say it and scare her, but Stiles’ heartbeat sounded weaker than normal, and the amount of pain he’d pulled from his best friend before going to find Lydia was alarming.
Lydia paused at the edge of the bed and tilted her head studying Stiles. She frowned, “He should be getting better...the Nogitsune was sick at first,” she said quietly, “But the sicker Stiles got the stronger he got.” Lydia remembered how strong he was right before he’d left her at Eichen House. Not exactly something she wanted to think about. “It should work the same way with Stiles...he’s dead so Stiles should in theory be getting better.” She explained.
Scott nodded slightly, reaching out and tugging the covers up around Stiles a little more. “It makes sense but...maybe it’s taking longer because Stiles is just a human,” he whispered. “Maybe it’ll take him longer to get his strength back.” He hesitated, letting his hand rest on the back of his best friend’s neck, wincing and gritting his teeth as he focused on absorbing more of the pain. It was overwhelming how much there was, and it wasn’t concentrated in any one area of Stiles’ body. It was just...everywhere.
Lydia watched Scott, the black veins sliding up his hand. She placed her hand over his arm squeezing gently. Lydia was scared, but she knew voicing that wouldn’t exactly help so she kept it to herself. When Scott pulled his hand back Lydia let out a short breath. “We should probably try to get some sleep while he’s out.”
Scott knew she was right, of course, especially now. They were all exhausted, and his body felt like a lead weight. Like he was just going to drop from lack of energy. Wordlessly he nodded, lying down beside Stiles and letting his eyes close. “Try to get some rest, Lydia,” he whispered, knowing how much there still was that lay ahead.
Isaac sat on the guest bedroom bed starting at the pressed suit that was hanging on the inside of his door. No doubt Ms. McCall had put it there for him. His hands curled over his knees, clenching them. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. Isaac knew he should be getting ready...the funeral was soon, but he couldn’t seem to move from his spot on the bed.
His wounds from the Oni were healed and physically you’d never know there had been a huge fight to the death two days ago. He glanced down his chest tightening. Isaac wasn’t sure he could do this. The thought of the last night he spent with Allison fresh in his mind. He loved her. There was no question about that.
Isaac was also angry and sad. He wasn't prepared for this and he wasn’t sure how to deal with what had happened. Isaac sighed and pushed himself off the bed. He needed to get ready even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He reached for the suit, a memory of him helping Allison and her Dad popping into his head.
Allison had kissed him that day. It was a day he’d never forget. Isaac gripped the suit, pulled it down, and started getting ready doing his best to keep his mind from wandering places he didn’t have the ability to deal with. Ten minutes later the sound of Melissa's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Isaac? Sweetheart?” Melissa’s voice was quiet as she paused outside Isaac’s door, knocking on it lightly. She was already dressed in a simple black dress and a pair of black heels. It had been a very long last couple of days. They had all begun splitting back up yesterday afternoon. She knew Isaac had spent the previous day and a half with Chris Argent, and had reclaimed his room after Stiles and his dad had gone home.
It had been endless hours of worry and tears for everyone she cared about. For Scott and Isaac and Stiles. All of her boys were so lost. Lydia, too. She’d spent the rest of the previous day cooking various casseroles and side dishes. For the three of them, for Chris, and for the Stilinski’s. It was the only thing she could think to do for any of them right now aside from hover and give as many hugs as they would accept.
Isaac glanced at the door as he stood there in the suit pants and shirt feeling out of place and awkward. The jacket to his suit was on the bed and Isaac sat down beside it. He cleared his throat and called out, “It’s open.”
Melissa twisted the door handle and stepped inside, managing a faint, sad smile as she looked at the young man in front of her. She reached out and gently cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Do you need some help with your tie?” she asked gently. “Scott can never remember how to tie his.”
Isaac opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could feel his heartbeat picking up speed as he stared at Ms. McCall. “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered his breathing growing heavy as his eyes flashed gold. He stepped back from Scott’s Mom and glanced around the room not able to meet her gaze as moisture pooled in his eyes.
“Isaac.” Her voice was soft and she laid a hand on his back. “Come here.”
He shook his head, “No,” he said quietly. He lifted his hands and dropped his head in them. “This isn’t fair,” he whispered, “It should have been me you know...if she just would have let it be she’d still be here.” A single tear slipped down his cheek and he brushed it away quickly.
“Isaac.” Melissa felt her heart compress tightly, like someone had reached inside her chest and squeezed it. “It shouldn’t have been any of you. Not you, not Scott. Not Allison. This isn’t your fault, Sweetheart.” She gently stroked her fingers through his hair.
Isaac’s shoulders drooped as he leaned into Ms. McCall’s touch. He turned around to face her a minute later and he could see the worry in her expression and he hated being the cause it. “Okay,” he said simply because he didn’t want to upset her anymore.
Melissa knew that he didn’t believe her. Not yet. Not this soon. She knew that Allison had died protecting him. Had saved his life with the last arrow she ever fired. We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Melissa pressed a tender kiss to Isaac’s forehead, knowing that for now his dropping it was as good as it was going to get. She reached over onto the bed and picked up the tie that lay there, carefully moving it around his neck as she concentrated on tying it for him.
Isaac felt the familiar moisture gathering in his eyes and she tied his tie for him. He wasn’t used to having people take care of him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Melissa said quietly, reaching down a moment later and squeezing his arm gently. “You’re not alone, Isaac. I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.” She rose to her feet, heart heavy with grief. With hurt for her children. Her boys.
Isaac nodded. He cleared his throat again, it was dry. “When are we leaving?” He asked.
“In a few minutes. I just need to check on Scott and make sure he’s ready, too.”
Isaac nodded. “Okay, I’m going to,” he paused, “I’m just going to sit for a minute,” he said letting himself rest against the bed. “I’ll be okay.” He said when he saw the worry back on her face. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Okay,” Melissa whispered, slowly backing out of his room and pulling the door shut, resting a hand over her heart and laying her forehead against the door for a brief moment before moving away, down the hall to Scott’s room. The door was cracked open and she knocked softly before stepping inside, finding her son at his bedroom window, already dressed in his suit and staring out the window. “Scott?”
Scott didn’t turn around, “Yeah, Mom?” he asked keeping his voice calm despite the fact that he felt anything but. Scott had never really been to a funeral before. Well, he was at Kate Argent’s but that was for Allison and he hadn’t been there long.
Melissa watched him silently for a moment, then moved so she was standing beside him, reaching down and taking his hand in hers, saying nothing. He sounded calm enough to anyone who didn’t know him, but she was his mother. And her son wasn’t okay.
Scott was silent for a minute before speaking. “I want to be strong for everyone...I want to be able to help,” he paused, “But Mom...it’s Allison,” he said his face contorting in fresh pain. “I loved her...I’ll always love her.” He whispered.
Melissa squeezed his hand, shifting so that she was facing him. “I know, Sweetheart,” she whispered back, cupping his cheek in her hand the same way she had Isaac’s moments ago. “You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Especially not today. I’ll do that for you.”
Scott’s eyes burned with unshed tears, “I’ve got people to look after,” he said though his voice had lowered. “This is going to make it real.” He told her quietly.
Melissa let go of his hand, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I know it is. And I’m so sorry that I can’t carry it for you. I’m sorry that you have to go through this. That I can’t make it go away. But I’m gonna be there with you every step. I love you,” she whispered.
Scott wrapped his arms around his Mom holding onto her tightly. “I love you, too,” he whispered as he tried to push back the emotions building in his chest. “Have you talked to the Sheriff? Are they meeting us there?”
Melissa tightened her hold on him just a bit. “Sheriff Stilinski’s going to meet us there, honey, but...I’m not sure that Stiles is going to be able to make it today.” Her voice was pained. “He’s still pretty weak and tired and the sheriff’s pretty worried.”
Scott’s head shot up, “Why wouldn’t anyone tell me that?” He asked his voice sharp.
“Scott,” she said soothingly, resting her hands on his shoulders and gazing at him. “He’s just been through a lot the last few weeks. His body needs time to recover. And you needed some rest, too.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped. Scott shook his head, “I should be with Stiles if he’s not getting better. I spent two days just,” he paused swallowing hard as he stepped away from the window, “moving around this house and he’s been alone and sick.” Scott turned to face him Mom. “We just lost Allison, I can’t lose Stiles too,” he took a deep breath, “Lydia can’t lose Stiles...none of us,” his words trailed off and he plopped down on his bed, his head dropping into his hands. “I hate this.” Scott mumbled.
Melissa watched him sadly for a long moment before moving to sit beside him on the edge of his mattress, resting a hand on his back. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Stiles hadn’t wanted company. “He’s getting better. Just slowly. Michael said that he’s basically slept the whole time.” She rubbed his back lightly.
Scott was silent for a long moment. “Do you remember when Stiles and I were little and we used to have sleep overs and pretend to sleep? I don’t think we actually went to bed until like four or five in the morning,” he told her his eyes glazed over. “The next day one of us would inevitably end up waking up super early and because we didn’t want to be bored we’d wake each other up.”
“Yes, I remember those nights.” Melissa gave him a faint knowing smile. “The two of you were never as quiet as you thought you were.” Though between her worry about Scott’s asthma, and Stiles’ nightmares and sleep-walking adventures, Melissa had been on particularly high alert those nights, just in case one of them needed her. Most of the time they hadn’t. But once in awhile she’d had to burst in the room with Scott’s inhaler or cradle Stiles in her arms while he screamed for his own mother. Melissa's chest tightened at the memories.
Scott lifted his tie in his hands picking at the edge, “Well those days used to always feel like we were in some kind of daze, a dream because we were both so tired...that’s what it feels like now. Like I’m trapped in some place that can’t really be real.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry that sounds about right.”
Scott glanced down, “Sometimes I just want to be normal,” he said in a shaky voice, “These past two days I’ve been thinking...I brought Allison into this Mom. I’m the reason her mom died and now I’m the reason she’s gone even if it is indirectly.” Scott moistened his lips, “I’ve got so many people’s lives in my hands and I just don’t know how to keep everyone safe.”
“Oh, Sweetheart. No,” she said, her voice more firm now. “Listen to me.” She shifted so her body was turned toward him. “Allison was going to end up in this life one way or another. Her parents were werewolf hunters. Because of you, Allison was on the right side of this fight. And if it hadn’t been for you, she wouldn’t have been, and I know that deep down you know that, because you are smart.” Her jaw tightened at the mention of Allison’s mother. “As for her mother...her attempt on your life negated any kind of sympathy I could ever have for her. That was her choice. Not yours. People are going to do what they’re going to do, Scott. And that isn’t your responsibility.”
Scott nodded trying to keep the tears at bay. “Mom,” his voice shook, “It hurts so bad,” he whispered brokenly as a few tears finally broke free and slipped down his cheeks. “Everything inside me feels broken.” He placed a hand over his eyes as pain filled his chest.
Melissa's eyes filled with tears at his words and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She stroked his hair gently. “And it’s going to hurt for a long time.” She’d never made it a practice of lying to her son because he was smart. He’d see right through her. “But I promise you that one day it won’t be this bad. One day you’re gonna wake up and the pain’s going to be a little less. It’ll be gradual, and slow, but I promise that you’re going to get through this.”
Scott held onto her, his voice stuck in his throat so he just nodded. Hopefully his Mom was right because honestly he wasn’t sure how much of this he was going to be able to take before he broke. Scott didn’t know what he was going to do without Allison in his life. Since the moment he’d met her she’d changed something inside of him and now...she was gone and Scott didn’t know what that meant for him, Lydia, Stiles or the rest of the pack.
Stiles sat still and silent on the edge of his bed, where he’d spent the majority of the last forty-eight hours. His face was still several shades paler than usual, dark circles underneath his eyes that he wasn’t sure were ever going to go away. And maybe, he couldn’t help but think, they shouldn’t. Maybe it was just part of him now, the way that the mark behind his ear was a part of him. The way that the darkness around his heart was a part of him.
He was the sum total of a lot of parts, bits and pieces, but he wasn’t whole. He hadn’t been before this, and he was even less of a whole person now.
His body still hurt. Breathing hurt -- his chest felt like there was a constant weight atop of it and sometimes he coughed so hard it felt like his lungs were brittle pieces of tissue paper that were trying to extricate their way out of his body. He didn’t blame them, really. He didn’t exactly want to be in his body either. He was weak, and tired, and his dad was in his own room preparing for yet another funeral. Another funeral that Stiles had been the cause of, even if he knew his dad didn’t look at it that way.
Stiles rubbed a tired hand over his face, willing his body to move in the direction of the bathroom so that he could shower. He hadn’t even bothered the previous day. Hadn’t been awake long enough for it to matter.
His gaze drifted to a picture on his nightstand -- Scott and Allison and Lydia together at some get together, smiling and happy. His chest tightened painfully and for a moment he struggled for his next breath because the guilt was so overwhelming, so crushing that he wasn’t sure he had the will to draw in another mouth full of oxygen.
It should have been him. He knew that. Everyone knew that.
Chris should have killed him that day. Should have pulled the trigger and ended it before the worst had happened. Hot tears stung his eyes and he lay back in the bed, body shuddering as he pressed his hand to his face, wanting to scream. But no sound escaped him.
Michael fixed his suit jacket and let out a long breath. This wasn’t right. Allison had been too young to die. He couldn’t seem to reconcile everything that had been happening lately with the teenagers he knew. Every day was a struggle for them, a new danger and he hated it. He hated that they had to deal with the things they dealt with on a daily basis.
Michael turned away from the mirror in his bedroom and moved slowly out into the hallway his movements measured. “Stiles,” he called out as he made his way towards his son’s bedroom. Michael stepped inside and frowned, moving forward quickly. He gripped his son’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked worry clear on his face.
Stiles needed to pull himself together because he could hear the worry in his dad’s voice even if his vision was too blurred with tears to see it. He drew in a shuddering breath, nodding and rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, Dad.” His voice was thick and he knew he was a mess in more ways than one and he had to pull himself together because this wasn’t about him. This was about her. This was about Scott. And Lydia. And Isaac.
It was about Chris Argent. Chris Argent who literally had no one left at all.
Stiles swallowed hard, forcing himself to sit up and pretend that he didn't believe every single bit of what happened was on his conscience. “You leaving?”
Michael nodded as he rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Yeah, in a few minutes.” He said quietly. “Melissa called a little while ago saying she was going to try and get Scott and Isaac out of the house soon,” he explained. “Everyone is meeting up at the cemetery.” He told Stiles. Despite the fact that he was glad to have his son home, Michael was worried.
Stiles wasn’t doing great and sure he knew it took time, but it had been two days and he didn’t see that much of an improvement. Suffice it to say Michael was scared. He needed Stiles to be okay.
Stiles nodded slightly, trying very hard not to let the guilt he felt reflect in his eyes. “Did she say how Scott was doing? Is he okay?” It was a stupid question, really. Of course Scott wasn’t okay. Scott’s best friend had gotten the love of his life killed. Even Jackson hadn’t done that.
Michael sighed, “I think we both know Scott’s not okay, no one is okay.” He said quietly, “He’s worried about you though,” he added as he rubbed the back of his neck trying to read the expression on his son’s face. “Talk to me Stiles...what’s going on in that head of yours?” He asked lightly.
“I’m just worried about Scott and Lydia.” He swallowed hard. “And Mr. Argent.” He dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers twisting together anxiously and he wondered if it was too soon to take another Xanax. It was the latest prescription he’d grown increasingly in need of.
Michael nodded shifting his hand and resting it on Stiles’ arm. “I’m worried too,” he admitted. “Scott’s got a good support system though with his Mom and us,” he squeezed his son’s arm gently, “Everyone is going to get past this eventually. It’s going to take time but eventually it won’t hurt so bad.”
Stiles nodded even as tears burned his eyes again, swallowing heavily, past the lump of sorrow and guilt that seemed to be a constant presence there now. “You should probably get going,” he said quietly.
Michael hesitated, “Stiles, you know that if you’re feeling up for it you can come with me right?” He asked quietly, “The only reason I suggested you stay home was because I was worried you weren’t feeling great. I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.” He explained.
“I know, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, because he did understand. He knew his dad was afraid, afraid that despite the fact Stiles wasn’t possessed anymore, that he was still going to lose him somehow. Stiles was kind of afraid of the same thing for different reasons. He knew what a heavy toll the last few weeks had been for his father. For everyone. It seemed like it was going to get worse before it got better, and Stiles held no illusions that it was going to get better anytime soon. He’d lost enough people since he was eight years old that he knew the road to everyone healing was going to be long, bumpy and most of all, incredibly painful. The thought alone was exhausting.
Michael nodded and sighed, “Okay,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “I’m going to head out then. If you need anything just call. I think I’ll do a drive by past the Martin house on the way,” he commented as he stood.
Stiles' heart clenched at the mention of Lydia. “Okay.” His gaze strayed to his phone where he knew he had a lot of unread text messages.
Michael sent Stiles half a smile. “I love you, son. I’ll see you soon.” He squeezed his arm one last time before turning and heading for the bedroom door.
“I love you too, Dad,” he said quietly, watching him go.