He's been trying to sleep for the past three hours and it just is not working. He can' turn his brain off, hasn't been able to since the nogitsune, if he's being honest with himself. He isn't dealing, he knows that. He's completely freaking aware of that, actually. He needs to talk, he knows it, but he's been avoiding it. He doesn't want to have that conversation, doesn't want to deal with the pitying looks and the "it wasn't you"s. So he's been keeping to himself. But he can't anymore.
He can't.
His dad's been trying to talk to him for the past two weeks but he has blown it off every time and now that he's ready, his dad's at work. He could call him, could ask him to come home, but he doesn't want to do that. He'll wait, talk to his dad tomorrow. Tonight he'll go to the other person who is always there for him.
Tonight he'll go to Scott.
His trip to the McCall's passes by in a blur and he's mildly frightened by the fact that he can't really remember driving there. He tries to shake the feeling as he exits his jeep and heads to the front door. He knocks, nervousness subsiding when he tells himself he's there to see Scott and Scott will be able to help surely. He always does.
It's not Scott that answers the door, though. No, Melissa McCall appears, staring at him in confusion.
"Stiles?" she asks worriedly, noting that he didn't just walk in or use the key she is well aware he has.
"Uh, is Scott here?" he asks, nervousness back full force.
"No, he's not," - and God why had he not thought of that possibility!? – "but you can wait for him, if you want."
Stiles briefly considers running to his jeep to flee the awkwardness of this situation when he realizes he never even tried to call Scott, but he decides against it. Running will only make this more awkward. So he agrees and steps uncomfortably inside the door and he's never felt this uncomfortable in the McCall home. He's always considered it his home away from home, but now that he's aware how crazed he probably looks and how stupid it is to show up without just calling Scott, he doesn't know how to act.
Sensing his uneasiness, Melissa gestures toward the stairs, telling him, "You can head up to his room if you want. He won't mind, Stiles."
Stiles nods and rushes off, desperate to escape. She watches him go before heading into the kitchen and calling Scott, realizing Stiles might not have been in the proper state of mind to do so himself. It goes straight to voicemail though, signifying his phone's dead.
Melissa gives Stiles a few minutes before heading upstairs to check on him and see if he needs anything. She opens the door to see Stiles pacing frantically.
"Stiles? You alright, kiddo?"
He freezes when he registers her presence in the room. She walks toward him, gripping his elbow gently and leading him to Scott's bed, afraid he might fall. He allows her to push him to sit.
"Did something happen, sweetie?"
"I – I guess not," he said hesitantly, pulling his legs up to his chest and she doesn't have the heart to chastise him for putting his shoes on the comforter she just washed. She sits on the edge of the bed near his legs.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Staring at his knees, he replies shakily, "Everything. I can't sleep and I'm not sure that I'm even me and my dad's at work so - "
"-so you came to see Scott," she finishes for him.
He looks up at her, eyes full of so much raw pain.
"Yeah," he confirms, looking back to his knees.
"Stiles, you've been through so much. It's going to take time to heal, kiddo. You're doing fine. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but you are," she tells him gently, rubbing a hand up and down his arm comfortingly.
He leans forward, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, and taking in a shaky breath as she wraps her arms around him. She can feel his tears soak her shirt while she continues to whisper words of reassurance.
She hears her son walk in, but doesn't move, allowing Stiles to be the one to pull away when he realizes Scott's there. She keeps a hand on his shoulder as he wipes his tears with the back of his hand.
He gives a small smile and a wobbly, "hey, Scottie."
Scott doesn't ask any questions. He just slips off his shoes and climbs onto his bed behind Stiles. He rubs his best friends back as Stiles begins to cry again, this time closer to sobbing than the stoic, silent tears he shed earlier. Melissa runs her hand through Stiles's hair, listens as Scott takes over and begins telling Stiles sweet-nothings.
When Stiles starts nodding off, Melissa stands and they urge him to lie down. She pulls his shoes off, setting them beside the bed, and pulls the blanket over the both of them as Scott curls around Stiles protectively. She leans down to press a tender kiss to each of their foreheads before hitting the bedroom light off. She settles herself into the chair Scott keeps in the corner, content to keep vigil over her two boys.