The Most Painful Companion
Everyone knew. Stiles took a shaky breath, trying to ease the tightness of his chest. Try as he might, he couldn't erase the image of Scott's betrayed expression when Theo finally let slip the truth about that night in the library. It was the same expression he had seen when a grief-stricken Allison - and there goes that tight chest again - had briefly turned on them. Once, he had never expected to see it aimed at him, but his web of lies had finally collapsed and now the memory was seared into his mind. Scott had yet to return any of his calls, to listen to his extensively practiced explanations, and so Stiles was here, sitting in his living room, turning his phone over and over in his hands, leg bouncing against the couch, desperately wishing he still had his Jeep so he could just drive until werewolves, chimeras and dead teenagers were all left far behind.
His phone suddenly lit up, and Malia's smiling image appeared on the screen. Stiles hesitated, before deliberately rejecting the call and turning off his phone. He knew she was trying to help, but Malia's whole-hearted support for Donovan's death clashed horribly with his churning guilt, and he couldn't quite bring himself to accept what she was saying. As much as she insisted it was self-defence, the traitorous whisper in his mind countered with a quiet 'Then why did it feel so good?' She argued that Donovan was a monster, that he deserved to die, and his inner voice replied 'Then what does that make me?' For every show of support she offered, his stomach burned and his guilt bit deeper, and eventually he had pleaded out with a need to go home to see his father. Malia's hurt expression at his obvious lie had done nothing to help alleviate his anxiety, and there was another apology he was going to have to make soon. But not today, he told himself firmly. I can't deal with it today.
The clock ticked over and Stiles jumped, glancing at the clock on the wall and realising that if he was ever going to eat, he would have to start cooking sooner rather than later. More importantly, if he wanted to stop his Dad from grabbing take-out on the way home, he needed to have something ready for him before his shift was over. He was halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rang loudly, and he frowned. Scott wouldn't be talking to him any time soon, Lydia was spending quality time with her mother, and Malia wouldn't bother to use the doorbell. His heart started racing, pounding in his chest, his breathing harsh and uneven. Come on Stiles¸ he berated himself, a potential murderer is not going to ring first. All the same, he grabbed his baseball bat with sweaty palms before stepping softly to the door and peering through the peephole.
"Kira?" Stiles opened the door slowly. Kira smiled hesitantly back at him from the doorstep.
"I brought lasagne," she said, lifting her arms, and sure enough there was a covered dish weighing her down. "You said you were going to be cooking tonight, and I was cooking for my family, and I figured it's just as easy to make two lasagnes as one, so why not save you some trouble?"
Stiles blinked, before smiling slightly as his heart rate settled back down and he stepped back from the door to let her through. "Thanks, Kira, I always knew I liked you. Have you eaten?" He led the way through to the kitchen as she answered with a negative, and for a while they worked together with a casual ease to fill two plates and store the leftovers. They were halfway through their meals before Stiles was struck with the realisation of just how strange this was. It seemed like forever since he'd had such a blessedly normal hour, and with Kira? He hadn't been lying when he said he always liked her, she was a sweet person, but it wasn't like they ever spent any time together. She and Scott only ever had eyes for each other, and Stiles was always busy with Malia or Lydia or his father…in fact, Stiles realised with a start, this was the longest conversation the two of them had ever had.
"Stiles?" Her voice cut through his musings, and he looked up with a start. Her furrowed brows gave away her concern, and her voice was gentle. "You haven't spoken in a good ten minutes. Are you still here?"
Stiles smiled crookedly back at her. His heart had started pounding again, and he tried to take a deep breath, only find that tight feeling had returned. Kira looked puzzled, and Stiles felt the smile slip off his face. "Kira, why are you here?" he asked bluntly.
Her mouth tightened and Stiles kicked himself. Another apology to add to the list, he thought, and opened his mouth to explain, but she cut him off before he could start.
"It's okay, Stiles. I guess it is kind of weird, especially considering everything that's been happening lately. I'm not offended – okay I'm a little offended, actually, because we've been friends for a while now, and I'd like to think we can have a meal together without you thinking it's weird – but it's okay." She paused for breath, and Stiles opened his mouth only to have her cut him off once again. "Scott's being an idiot."
Shocked, Stiles fumbled for a reply. His stomach churned, and his heart was beating so loudly he was surprised Kira couldn't hear it. "What – Kira, no, Scott's just got his morals, I understand –"
"No, he's wrong," she replied, and the anguish in her voice brought Stiles up short. "He has to be wrong. Or else I'm a monster too."
"Kira, what are you talking about?" he asked, confused.
"William Barrow," she said softly, and Stiles has never seen her look so upset. "If killing makes you a monster, than I guess we're monsters together, because I killed him, Stiles."
Stiles could almost feel her fear and regret, and he was reaching across the table to hold her hand before he realised what he was doing. "Kira, that was not your fault. He was trying to kill you! He was the one trying to use your powers, and they backfired on him on their own. There was nothing you could have done to stop it from happening."
"Just like there was nothing you could have done to save Donovan," she countered, and he pulled his hand away shakily. "He was trying to kill you, all you did was try to stay alive. There was no way you could have known that he was going to fall onto that pole. It was an accident."
Stiles pulled a few deep breaths into his lungs, feeling nauseous. "It's not the same," he argued. "I didn't mean to kill him, but I made the decision to pull that pin from the scaffolding. Barrow made his decision to try and steal your powers, and he electrocuted himself. It wasn't you."
Kira let out a mockery of a laugh. "But it was! You did something that caused Donovan's death, but I didn't even try to stop Barrow's. And that's just as bad, if not worse. I didn't control my abilities at all that night, but what if I had? What if I had tried harder, if I had fought for longer, if I was able to reign it in? Maybe he would still be alive."
"Kira, no, you didn't know," Stiles insisted. "No one could have expected you to immediately have control over your abilities. No one blames you for that."
"I did." Stiles felt a fresh wave of guilt pass over him. It had never occurred to him that Kira would be anything but grateful for Barrow's death, let alone blame herself for it. How had he not noticed? "For a long time, I felt as though it was my fault, particularly once I realised that I could control my abilities. It took a lot of sleepless nights and nightmares before I was able to forgive myself for it, and even now I struggle with it sometimes. Particularly now." Kira's was staring at the table and Stiles bit his lip, thinking of Kira's recent loss of control. Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand again, this time with deliberation.
"I'm sorry, Kira," he said. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that, and I'm sorry that we weren't there for you." He was rewarded with Kira slowly lifting her face to look at him, and he made sure to keep her attention as he continued. "But there's still absolutely no way that Barrow's death was your fault. He brought it on himself, and there was nothing you could have done at the time to stop it, no matter how much control you learned afterwards."
Kira leaned forward, voice firm and steady. "If you don't blame me for Barrow, you can't blame yourself for what happened with Donovan." Stiles' breath hitched as her words sank in. "You might have pulled that pin, but you didn't mean to kill him, and I didn't control my powers, but I didn't mean for them to kill Barrow. We're equally at fault, so you can't go and say that you're a murderer without dragging me down with you."
Stiles laughed a little, sardonically, and was shocked to find that a fraction of the tightness in his chest had been released. "Damn, Kira, you could give Lydia a run for her money." Kira let slip her first real smile of the evening, but Stiles wasn't quite ready for that. "There's more, though," he said, and was a little surprised at himself for how much he was opening up to Kira, of all people. Still, he'd come this far, he might as well push through it all. "I felt glad, Kira. Not now, but at first. When I realised that he was dead, I wasn't feeling guilty, or sad. I was glad that he was gone. Now look me in the eyes and tell me that that's the reaction of an innocent man."
Kira's mouth quirked. "Do you really think a part of me wasn't slightly glad when Barrow died? He tried to kill me, Stiles. I think it's to be expected, despite how awful it sounds. Besides, if you're feeling guilty over feeling glad, than doesn't that sort of cancel out the feeling glad?" The twisted logic resonated with the thoughts that had been bouncing around the back of his mind for weeks, that he had not allowed himself to even consider, let alone put into words.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles exhaled shakily. His heart, he realised, was no longer pounding heavily in his chest, and the burning in his stomach had somewhat eased. He hadn't noticed just how much weight he had been carrying until suddenly a portion of it was lifted. Finally, he realised, he had what he was waiting for – permission. Someone who knew everything, who fully understood the tragedy of that night, was able to forgive him. And now she was giving him permission to forgive himself. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.
Stiles looked across the table and smiled.
It wasn't an immediate fix. Kira knew it wouldn't be, but it was a start. Stiles smiled at her that night for the first time in weeks, and as the months went on he slowly returned to the good-humoured friend that she had feared was gone forever. Scott came around, eventually, and if the pack noticed that she and Stiles would sometimes go home together after school, no one commented on it.
And if occasionally Stiles would call her in the middle of the night, voice shaking and thick with tears, then she would stay on the phone with him until sunrise, voice calm and steady.
And if occasionally she would clench her shaking hands, heart thudding at the thought of accidentally harming her friends, than he would hold her hands gently and give her a reassuring squeeze.
It was slow progress, but at least they had each other.
Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
Written for this tumblr prompt: post/126473438955/alright-but-do-you-know-what-i-need-i-need-a