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The first time it happens at Scott’s house is about two years after the werewolf thing first happens, after they’ve finally settled into a groove, after they’ve nearly died a few times, after they’re feeling kind of okay. It’s been rough lately, trying to just stay alive—hell, it still is—and Stiles thinks he’s just been on the fast track, going and going and going until he’s not even thinking about what’s next as much as remembering to keep breathing.
And then, he starts to settle down.
He stops researching as much, he starts eating green beans instead of chips again, he picks up the book he forgot he was reading, he tumbles through Scott’s window more, and he remembers how tired he is. It’s the weekend, and he and Scott have just unintentionally decided that Stiles is going to show up after school on Friday with a backpack full of clothes and not leave until Monday morning.
Stiles stops off at home first, and the jeep is barely in park and off before he’s vaulting out of the car and running through his front door, almost crashing into the wall and falling headfirst, but he catches himself on the door handle and hauls himself upright.
“Hey, Stiles,” his dad calls, and Stiles shouts something incomprehensible at him before he’s continuing through the house, leaving the front door open in his hurry.
He bangs into his room and throws his backpack toward his bed before he starts rifling through his dresser, tossing random clothes toward his bed. He finds a couple movies, grabs his laptop, and then just starts stuffing everything into his backpack after he’s dumped out his schoolbooks.
Stiles frowns at the books, trying to remember if he had homework, and he grabs a couple of them, somehow fitting them inside before he’s spinning around, and his dad is in the doorway.
“Hey,” he says, grinning wildly, “You busy this weekend? I’m busy this weekend. I’m going over Scott’s, that okay? Dad. Scott’s this weekend.”
“You feelin’ alright, kiddo?” his dad says with a small laugh.
“Hyper fabulous,” Stiles says, closing his eyes and letting his grin go wider.
“Have fun,” his dad says, turning out of the doorway, and Stiles lets out a holler, skipping around him and down the hall. “Hey!” his dad yells as he reaches the front door. Stiles pauses, swinging back around to cock his head in his dad’s direction, who’s passing through into the living room. “Give me a call, yeah?”
Stiles sobers up suddenly, nodding. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, okay. You too, okay?”
His dad nods before disappearing into the living room, and Stiles sighs, remaining a moment longer before he heads out, closing the front door quietly behind him.
Friday is okay. The first day usually is, and that’s why Stiles likes to switch between. They stay up late, cranking out some homework here and there, but mostly they annihilate each other in video games, occasionally breaking to watch a movie and whisper about Allison and Lydia, and it’s the first time in a long time they’ve been able to just hang out. They probably shouldn’t be—there’s about a million and one things they should probably be doing instead of this, but Stiles feels like they both need it, to just take the weekend off and recharge.
And so, when he wakes up late Saturday morning, he’s feeling good, really good. He wakes before Scott, and he turns toward the sun, letting his eyes slip shut again and just basking in it. Stiles hums softly to himself, something his mom used to sing to him, and, when he opens his eyes again, Scott is stretching in bed.
They used to sleep in the same bed all the time, and still would, if Stiles didn’t move so much and Scott didn’t pretend he was Allison, and so now Stiles just sleeps on an enormous mound of blankets laid out, but he likes it because he gets to roll around as much as he wants. He and Scott spend an asinine amount of time just lounging in bed, talking about nothing of importance, until Melissa comes knocking, and she smiles when she steps inside and sees them.
“Having fun?” she says, shaking her head, “I’m making a big breakfast, if you’d like to get out of bed anytime soon.”
“Food,” Stiles says happily, offering Melissa a sleepy smile, and she just gives his foot a little kick before turning back out.
They hang out for a bit longer before getting up and ready, putting on pants before they head downstairs and flop into chairs. Scott and Stiles talk a mile a minute once they get some food in them, and then Melissa is just playing the catch up game, and they hang out downstairs for a while until Melissa’s heading off for work, and then it’s back upstairs. Scott calls first shower, so Stiles does some yoga because Lydia’s been on a kick about how it’s good for the soul or whatever, and then clambers out Scott’s window to sit on the roof.
He plays with his phone for a bit before calling his dad, scrubbing a hand over his face as he puts the phone to his ear. It rings twice before he answers, “Hey, everything okay?”
Stiles sighs—he hates that he’s done this to him, worried him so much that he can’t just call him, that something’s always wrong. “Yeah, I’m good. How’s work?”
“Slow, but busy—you know.”
“Damn paperwork,” Stiles says with a small smile, “You okay having the house by yourself?”
“You kidding me? Do you even know how early I went to bed last night? It was fantastic.” Stiles laughs softly. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. Really good, actually. Scott’s mom is off to work now, so we’re just hanging out. Might see if Scott wants to go out and shoot around later, fresh air and all.”
“I hear that’s good for you. Listen, don’t be a stranger, alright? Call me if you need me. I gotta get back to work for now, though.”
“Okay. Love you, dad, bye.”
“Love you, too, Stiles,” his dad says before hanging up.
Stiles sighs and sits out on the roof for a while longer before he hears Scott getting out of the shower, and then he goes inside to take one, as well.
Saturday is excellent. They go to the high school and practice, and then Lydia’s calling and asking if they want to go out to lunch, just the four of them, for old time’s sake. They spend a couple hours laughing and talking about nothing, decide to take a small road trip and go out of town to find a beach somewhere and spend the rest of the day there. When it’s getting dark and a little chilly, they pile back into Stiles’ jeep, Scott getting in back with Allison, and Lydia is wearing Stiles’ sweatshirt, and so they go out for ice cream. They go to a nearby park, Scott and Allison commandeer the swings, and so Lydia makes this small noise right before she grabs Stiles’ hands, lacing their fingers together, and tugs him away. Though nothing more happens, Stiles considers it a small victory.
That night, he doesn’t even really consider it a nightmare. It’s so fast and so dizzying that he wakes shaking, but he forgets what it was about almost immediately, and it’s easy for him to fall asleep again. Stiles figures he should have considered that a warning.
Sunday is a lazy day. He and Scott finish up their homework, Stiles does some random research on just about anything that pops into his mind, he gets worked up enough perusing the dictionary that he needs to play Banagram multiple times, and Melissa even joins them when she comes home and finds it spread out over the table. After dinner, they game for a bit, put in a movie, and it’s a horror, but Stiles thinks enough time has passed, and he doesn’t really think twice about it.
It starts with falling. Stiles thinks, maybe, it always does. He knows he’s twitching, because that’s always how it begins, too, and his fingers are so tight in the sheets that his blunt nails are starting to bite into his palm, but it doesn’t work, doesn’t wake him. He tries desperately to shake himself awake, to stop it all before it begins, and he’ll just stay up all night, he doesn’t care.
Everything is so dark, swallowing him down, but there’s a light somewhere, a rich blue that ripples, and it gets larger and larger, but so slowly, Stiles doesn’t notice at first. He’s just tumbling through empty space, and, instead of getting tight and dark and hot like it usually does, he feels a little freer, like maybe he’s flying instead of falling.
The blue starts to take shape even as Stiles starts to relax a little, his body loosening, his breaths coming a little slower until he realizes where he’s falling to, and then he starts screaming, but he knows, he knows, that he’s only screaming in his dream because then he’s drowning.
The water comes over him like ice, slamming in around him until he’s shaking all over, these violent tremors that make him ache. He’s suffocated by it, sinking deeper and deeper as the water grows darker and colder until he’s not shaking, his limbs locked together, just trembling lightly, unable to move. He squeezes his eyes shut, his chest burning, and he sees Lydia’s brilliant smile a second before he lets go, breath exploding outward, and then he’s sucking down freezing salt water.
Stiles chokes, arms snapping out so his hands can come up, fingers clawing at his throat, and he flails wildly, screaming silently into the bottomless ocean, so black and so endless that he can’t see his body.
Something moves near him suddenly, jerking him to the side, and he sobs, still choking but still hanging on, a cycle of drowning without dying. The water ripples again, tossing him, and then something curls around his leg, and Stiles howls, thinking of Lydia, and that’s how he wakes up.
He jerks awake with a low, trembling roar, and Scott is hovering above him, one hand tight around his shoulder. “Stiles!” he yells, but Stiles can’t see him, can’t see anything but the blackness all around him, can’t swallow down anything but more water, can’t breathe, but he’s still screaming, still kicking out, and so Scott wraps around him at the same time white light flares around them.
Scott looks up at his mom, face open and terrified as Stiles fights him, tries to get away, sobbing, his screams broken now. Melissa drops down in front of them, hands coming up on either side of Stiles’ face, frowning when his skin is hot though he’s drenched in cold sweat. “Stiles,” she says softly, and he jerks, going suddenly still, looking but not seeing. “Scott,” Melissa says, “Get him up.”
“What?”
“Scott, get him up.” Melissa and Scott haul Stiles to his feet, and then Stiles goes limp. “Come on, sweetie, you’re okay.”
Melissa leads them into Scott’s bathroom, leaving Scott to hold Stiles up before she goes over to turn on the shower. Scott jumps into action immediately, heaving Stiles over and stepping inside, slumping down. He braces an arm across Stiles’ chest, pressing their temples together and closing his eyes. Melissa steps back, giving them space, and Scott just breathes audibly, trying to get Stiles to breathe with him. He doesn’t speak, just breathes, and, eventually, Stiles starts to relax, and there’s a split second of calm before he’s turning his head away, his whole body coiling tight as he tries to contain it.
“Mom,” Scott says softly, and Melissa reaches in, turning off the water. Scott wraps his other arm around Stiles and holds him tightly. “Let it out,” Scott whispers, and Stiles shatters.
They sit in the shower for a while longer, Stiles crying quietly, shaking, until Melissa helps them out. Stiles won’t look at them, then, won’t even lift his head. Scott goes to find clothes for each of them, and Melissa touches his elbow at his dresser. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me,” she whispers, and Scott nods.
“Thanks, mom.”
She presses a kiss to his temple and then goes to Stiles, cupping her hands around his jaw and sighing. She smiles sadly at him before laying a kiss on his forehead, as well. “You’re going to be okay,” she says softly before she leaves.
When Melissa is gone, when the door is shut, Stiles looks over and says, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Dude,” Scott says, turning and frowning at him, “How fucking dare you.” Stiles’ eyes widen a little, and Scott shakes his head. He throws a shirt at Stiles. “That you would think I wouldn’t be here for you, that I wouldn’t help you through this. Stiles, you’re my brother, no matter what, and if I have to go to fucking hell and back to figure this out with you, I’ll damn well do it, and you can’t stop me. Don’t be an asshole.”
Stiles looks down at his lap, closing his eyes as he feels tears well up, and he bites his lip, trying to stop them. Scott sighs and comes over, sitting next to him and leaning against him. “I love you, Stiles,” he says, taking his hand and holding it, “All the freaking homo, too, man.” Stiles lets out a soft, short laugh, just a little burst of air, really, but it makes Scott smile. “Come on, let’s platonically cuddle.”
Stiles looks up and over, and Scott just nods and squeezes his hand. “Whatever you need, I am here for you. And look, I get it. I was there in the beginning, remember? This isn’t my first nightmare rodeo, dude. I know how it goes, and I’m cool with it. Okay? So don’t fucking push me away cos I will pull you right the fuck back.”
“Thanks, Scott,” Stiles mumbles, and Scott just squeezes his hand again before getting off the bed to change.
They get into dry clothes, and then Scott gives Stiles a shove toward his bed before climbing in himself. Stiles linger for a second before slipping in under the sheets next to him, and he just lies there, trying so hard to be still, but he still feels so cold, like he’s trapped in icy water. Scott sighs and yanks him closer, wrapping around him like an octopus, and it breaks the spell until Stiles is curling into him. He falls asleep like that and wakes like that, and he thinks maybe things might be okay.
The next week, their parents start disappearing.