Chapter Text
Scott shifted his stance. He was tired.
The loft looked emptier than ever, Lydia was in the corner near the window just starring out with a dull expression. Scott knew that Aidan was probably something to her, even if she made it seem like he was just a plaything, a distraction. And Allison… Well no one was ready to even dare speak about that. Best not to open the wounds before they have a chance to heal…
Derek had withdrawn as well, sitting by the barren staircase, glancing over at Scott occasionally as if he wanted to say something. Sure Derek probably had wonderful advice on how to cope with something like this, or maybe Derek still didn’t know how… It didn’t matter much because the entire loft smelt like it was numb, no one was going to be able to speak…not anything past broken sentences at best. It was odd feeling this way, with his pack severed like this.
Isaac had left hours ago, opening his mouth to apologize but then slamming it shut and wiping at his eyes. “Bye.” He croaked, his voice worn with emotion. He assumed Ethan had left with him, Argent too.
Kira was back at her house, promising to come over tomorrow, Scott knew her mother was shaken from the events…and if the Sheriff hadn’t been working in overdrive to fix the damage the Oni did to the hospital and station, he’d probably want Stiles home too.
It was strange. They had all simply…floated? Back to the loft, meeting up without really coordinating it, like something had gently pulled them to each other. Almost like they were curling up around themselves. Even with the distance everyone had put between each other, it seemed like they were blindly hoping they still had a pack.
Stiles was passed out, whatever toll the Nogitsune had taken on him, after briefly fainting he had only sat on the couch for a whole minute before slumping to the side and beginning to drift to sleep.
His arm was outstretched, his legs half off the couch and it was comforting to see, Stiles sprawled out like he always was. It made realize just how grateful he was that his best friend had come back, had been able to come back from all that.
Scott felt himself smiling, despite all the background pain he felt thrumming between him and his pack mates looking at Stiles, here with them—probably getting the sleep he’d been deprived for so long—alive. He moved to grab his phone, left on the coffee table, to text his mom. She was with his dad, dealing with the surplus of patients…but she’d still want to know where he planned on staying for the night. She’d know he would want to be with them and Stiles. As he reached forward, his fingers practically grazed Stiles’s curled ones, hanging from the couch, limply.
Scott shivered at the temperature first, and when he frowned once, re-establishing the small touch at the fingertips and inhaling sharply as the pain leeched into his arm.
Derek’s head shot up and he frowned, “Scott?”
Scott shook his head and moved to sit on the coffee table as he hesitantly grabbed Stiles’s hand; cupping it with both hands he began to slowly take Stiles’s pain. It was a dull ache, a cold pulsing and prickly discomfort.
Derek stood and walked around the couch, catching Lydia’s eye but she seemed too dazed to spare them more than a few seconds glance.
Stiles’s brow creased ever so slightly and his arm pulled back as his eyes fluttered open. He yanked his hand free when he realized what Scott was doing.
“Stiles…” Scott sighed softly.
“Don’t.” Stiles shook his head; exhausted, his dulled honey-coloured eyes were accompanied by sluggish movements; that and the pain he refused to let Scott share. “Please don’t.”
The look in Stiles’s eyes shut down any protest the alpha had, and he lowered his head slightly in defeat as he let his hands fall onto his knees. “Okay.”
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The funeral service was today, Stiles didn’t end up showing, Lydia was a ghost in the crowd, blank expression like before. She had steeled herself enough to approach the casket and set a bouquet upon it, the palm bearers let the casket lower and Scott refused to watch. His gaze falling onto where Erica and Boyd’s graves were. Derek was placing fresh lilies and lilacs on them, his movements automated and stiff as he moved to his family’s section.
Scott gave his mother a quick hug before he headed down the street, towards Stiles’s house. The door was unlocked, Scott had seen the Sheriff at the session, dressed in uniform, probably came during his break and didn’t have the time to change. When Scott padded up the stairs and opened Stiles’s door he saw that Stiles had meant to come. His dress shirt buttoned and half tucked into his dark dress pants. He had no socks or tie on, his hair was a mess and he was doubled over with his elbows on his knees. Head in his hands.
“Hey.” Scott managed.
Stiles didn’t move and so Scott sat beside him, their shoulders flush. The bed dipped and Stiles shifted his head to glance at Scott.
“Sorry.” He whispered unevenly.
Scott sighed, “Stiles…”
Stiles sniffed and Scott couldn’t stop his instincts. He pulled Stiles close and rubbed his back as he began to cry softly on his shoulder. He didn’t know when he had begun to rock them slowly but it seemed to help because Stiles did relax. And Scott refrained from leeching Stiles’s pain; he knew it would only end the same way as before…
“I wanted to…” Stiles began.
“I know…it’s fine, Stiles.” Scott hushed.
Stiles shuddered, “How was….did it…was it-”
“It was nice.” Scott reassured, “Lydia brought a bouquet from all of us…for her.”
“I’m sorry.” Stiles tried again, his heart stuttering and Scott knew he’d start crying again so he tucked Stiles’s head under his chin and pulled them back so he could lean into him.
“It was an accident.” Scott reminded, his words unfiltered. “We’re all sorry, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t yours.”
Stiles sighs at that but the smell of despair doesn’t thin from Stiles’s usual scent.
He decides just to hold him and hope he eventually relaxes enough to sleep, to rest.
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