It's just a movie. It isn't real. It isn't real Stiles keeps repeating over and over in his mind.
But it feels real. It does.
The main character is a teenage girl who's possessed and she's keeps laughing and it's so unsettling. Stiles has to force himself to keep his eyes open, her vindictive smile sending shivers up his spine.
She's standing over the family's maid, knife in hand, and Stiles swears he can feel it. He can feel
the weight of the sword in his hands as he grips the handle and pushes, pushes and twists it inside of Scott and Scott's looking at him with those puppy eyes and there is such betrayal there and such sadness and Stiles can't handle it, he can't –
But this isn't real, Stiles. It's a movie. It's a movie.
The girl on the screen slits the maid's throat and Stiles wants to gag because he isn't seeing the maid, no, he sees Allison and Aiden and there is so much blood and it's his fault, it's all his fault –
No, get a grip, Stiles. You have to stay calm. Control your breathing. They're freaking werewolves, they can hear your heart rate if it gets any faster. Just calm down.
But then the girl has her mother cornered and she smiles so wickedly as she stabs the knife into her mother's heart and Stiles thinks of his dad, how close he had come to dying, to being killed because Stiles was too weak to fight the nogitsune and he can't even think about losing the only parent he has left –
"Stiles?"
It's Lydia that calls out to him because even though she is the only other human here, she is the first to notice his distress. Scott notices his heavy breathing a second later and he's on his feet in an instant.
"Are you okay?" Scott asks, his voice full of concern.
Stiles turns a deep red, still trying to slow his fast-beating heart, control his ragged breaths. IT doesn't take long for the three werewolves to know why he is embarrassed. They can smell the urine.
"I-I'm sorry," Stiles mumbles out, burying his face in his trembling hands.
Derek, who was already sitting beside Stiles on the couch, places a hand on Stiles's back and rubs circles over his shoulder blades.
"It's fine, Stiles," Scott tries to assure him and Lydia is just trying to figure out what the hell happened.
Peter crouches down in front of Stiles, gently pulling Stiles's hands away from his face before standing up and tugging Stiles with him. He ushers Stiles into the bathroom and turns the shower on, keeping his hand under the stream of water until it was satisfyingly warm.
"Go ahead," he tells Stiles, uncharacteristically soft.
Stiles waits for Peter to exit and shut the door behind him before stripping out of his damp clothes that have begun to stick to his legs.
Peter sees Lydia doing her best to clean up the couch as he passes by on his way to the kitchen. He puts the kettle on, the one Stiles had brought over as a housewarming gift when Derek moved in, and starts making Stiles's favorite tea, the stuff no one else would ever touch. It smells terrible, but Peter sucks it up, hoping the beverage will help calm the teenager down.
Derek's rummaging around upstairs, searching for any clothes he might own that'll be small enough to not fall off of Stiles's lithe frame. He finds nothing, so he settles on an oversized t-shirt that had belonged to his father and a pair of boxers. It'll have to do.
Scott's sitting on the toilet, waiting for Stiles to get out of the shower. The second Stiles does, Scott stands and holds the fluffiest towel he could find out for Stiles to step into, wrapping him up tightly. They stand there for a couple of minutes, Stiles with his head resting against Scott's shoulder and Scott with his arms wrapped securely around Stiles. Scott waits for Stiles to pull away before grabbing the clothes Derek had left on the sink and handing them to Stiles. Stiles gets dressed without any hesitation, they've seen each other sans clothes so many times it no longer fazes them. Stiles keeps the towel wrapped around his shoulders to keep the shirt dry from his dripping hair and follows Scott out of the bathroom.
Scott takes his wrist, pulling him along upstairs. Stiles is surprised to see that the TV has been moved upstairs, positioned on Derek's dresser and aimed towards his bed. Scott drops his wrist and allows him to walk to the bed where Derek is already sitting, fresh bowl of popcorn on one side of him. He pulls Stiles down onto the bed, positioning him to rest between Derek's legs, back pressed to Derek's chest. Lydia joins them, picking up the popcorn and setting it in her lap as she curls up next to Stiles. Scott follows suit and clambers onto Derek's other side, reaching down and gripping Stiles's hand. Peter emerges from the stairs and walks over to hand Stiles his. Stiles accepts the tea gladly and he allows himself to relax completely, sinking back into Derek's hold. He's never been more comfortable, one hand holding a warm mug, his other hand entwined with Scott's. Lydia has an arm linked with his, her head pillowed on his bicep. Stiles has his own head resting against Derek's warm chest, Derek's strong arms enclosed around his stomach securely.
Stiles feels at ease. He feels safe. He feels like he's at home.
And as Peter wordlessly moves to the TV and inserts a new movie, Stiles feels like words aren't always needed.