"Stiles, what are you doing?"
His father's voice snapped him right out of whatever he was doing and looked up to him as a greeting before looking back at what he had been doing - writing up his crimes, all the bad stuff he had done. Because that's what they all were; crimes. He should be punished for that. "I eh..." Stiles wanted to explain it to his father but he'd probably be told that he was being silly, that he should not do this to himself, all that jazz. "Nothing," he said as he gathered his things. He was going to finish it in his bedroom, where he was alone.
"He's been writing down his crimes."
He blinked as his eyes focused on his best friend. When did Scott get here? How did he know what Stiles had been writing? Oh right, wolf vision. Oh, damn, Scott was probably with him to talk about Allison with him. Again. Right. "How are ya, Scott?" He asked as he folded the paper a few times and stuffed it in his pocket. No one was going to read this until he was done. Then again, everyone knew damn well what he did.
"Good, you?"
"Great."
"Yeah, I can see that, is that why you were lost in space just now? Again?" Scott huffed and got up from his spot on the couch. "Come on, let's go outside."
"And do what?"
"Anything but to sit here and mope, I need to do something." Scott pulled him up as if Stiles weighed nothing - stupid werewolf - and dragged him outside. For some reason, his lacrosse gear - and Scott's - were laying outside. How convenient. "Let's get some practise in before school starts."
"I don't want to."
"Well, I do." Scott had this big evil smile on his face. Well, not evil but Stiles didn't trust that smile.
"What?"
"I recall you actually liking it to hit me as hard as you could with those balls when we were trying to control my heart rate."
He thought for a moment and let out a chuckle. "Yeah, that was fun." But it had to hurt, right? Scott might be this mighty werewolf with super strength and super tolerance of pain but it had to hurt somehow. Hadn't he hurt Scott enough? He had pushed a fucking sword through him, for fucks sake. He had seen the pain and despair in Scott's eyes when he did it and it tore him to pieces as he could not stop what he was doing, what his body was doing. "But no thanks."
"You won't hurt me, come on."
"Scott."
"Oh, we've been over this man, it wasn't you."
"It were my hands." Stiles angrily threw the ball towards the back of the yard and sat down on the grass. "It were my hands. I screamed and I... I tried to stop it but..."
"I know," Scott sat down next to him and pulled his knees towards his chest. "I know and there wasn't anything you could have done to stop it."
"I should have. I could have killed you."
"It could have killed me, yes. But it didn't. I'm still here." Scott decided to shut up, they had had the same conversation over and over again, and it never stuck. Stiles was smart, but he also had a huge sense of responsibility that told him otherwise. Someone had to be blamed for everything and since Stiles had the evil twin, it was only logical that it had to be him. Of course, it was all bullshit. No one blamed Stiles for Allison's death. Or any death, for that matter. It wasn't his fault.
"Allison isn't. That's my fault too." He started to fiddle with his hands, running his hands through his hair before settling on picking on lint on his pants. Stiles' mind was in overdrive, full of guilt and blame but if he had to rationalize things, nothing that had happened was his fault. He knew this. Deep down, he knew this but it was best to continue to blame himself because... no, why would it be? It was no one's fault. If anything, the blame lay with Kira's mom. But it was wrong to hate the mother of the girl your best friend was dating, so yes, blaming himself was the best thing.
"Stiles," Scott chuckled and playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "It's no one's fault. Not yours, not mine... we'll get through this. We always get through this and we owe it to Allison to keep our head high and continue to fight the good fight."
"That's easy for you to say, Mr. Natural Alpha guy." A chuckle escaped from his mouth. Maybe Scott was right, maybe he just had to stop blaming himself. He could try.
"So, fancy a game of throwing balls at the werewolf or shall we actually practise?"
"No werewolf powers." Stiles scrambled to his feet, followed by Scott and gathered his stick.
"I promise."
"Yeah, you always promise, that's the problem. You always use them!"