A/N:
I don't own Teen Wolf, I don't own the characters within Teen Wolf, and I am not making money off of this.
But, let's be honest, if I could make money off of this I probably would.
However, I never will, so that's pretty irrelevant.
Anyway, this is AU because they are both human and whatnot.
It's really fucking annoying to hear slamming doors and yelling at three in the morning, especially when that yelling and slamming makes your whole head throb with questions that you don't want to answer; questions that you know the answer too but don't want to know the answer to because you're at fault always, always, and it hurts to know you're wrong.
So you turn over and throw a pillow over your head, try to block out the sudden silence with more silence, because you know what that silence means. You know what that silence means and you can hear that silence calling you, saying your name in the empty void, reminding you that you could redeem yourself if only you got out of bed.
You don't because, really, seventeen years of ignoring makes it hard to try. It's easier to just stay in bed and pretend like that yelling and that slamming and that silence was all a dream.
When you go to school and see the bruise you'll know it wasn't a dream but it's so much easier to be an asshole when you have an audience.
Still, after lacrosse practice you might slap him on the back like he's done a good job, making him jump because his back is turned and he doesn't expect anyone to notice him. When he turns to look, you'll smile and say something partially friendly and go on your way. You'll hope, even as you walk away, that he says something back but he never does.
The rest of the day, well evening, will be spent doing homework while drowning out any possible silence or slamming or yelling with music. Your parents might tell you to turn it down because you'll bust your eardrums and maybe that's what you're hoping to do, since you'll have a legitimate excuse then. If you can't hear the slamming and the yelling then you can't really do anything about the slamming and the yelling.
That night, the night after the yelling and the slamming and the bruise, you'll fall asleep faster than you should and feel a little bad for it in the morning. You'll feel bad that you slept well all night while the bruise probably kept him up. You'll feel bad when you see him in the halls and notice the dark circles under his eyes, dark reminders that he isn't living like you are.
Someone might notice you looking and make fun of you for it though you've told them that it's just that he's on your team and isn't getting much sleep. It worries you, the fact that he isn't sleeping, because he could potentially cause you to lose the next big game. They'll tell you to talk to him, ask him if he's ok, but you'll shrug it off and say he's fine and everyone loses sleep every now and again.
You won't mention that he never really sleeps.
It's a pretty consistent cycle and you kind of lose yourself in it because, really, it isn't that big a deal. Everyone has to live their own life, it doesn't make sense to get caught up in somebody else's. You have your own problems, you don't need to deal with his.
It can get too much though, one night when there's yelling and slamming, so much that you have to get out of bed just to see. You walk downstairs and out the door and across the street, you see him on the porch and you sit beside him. You offer him a ride around the block and he accepts and you get in the car. If he's hungry, he never tells you you just have to guess, you get him some food. If he's tired, you let him sleep in the car as you make constant loops around the block until the sun is rising.
He thanks you but you never answer because you should be doing so much more than you are.
He gets out of the car and you get ready for school and you slap him on the back after practice, he still jumps but not so bad, and when you say good job he might actually answer.
It feels good to hear him answer so of course you reply and a small conversation follows. He's funny and nice but so quiet you have to strain to hear him. The locker room empties and you leave because you have other plans but you don't want to.
That night you hear slamming and yelling so you get out of bed and do the whole thing again. It feels good to have him in the car, to see his mouth turn up at the corner, to know that he's ok even though his head is bleeding and he winces a bit when you mention it.
He falls asleep in the car, it's a lot warmer than the porch, and you let him.
You keep him until the sun rises and he says thanks and you let him but you owe him so much more.
After seventeen years you owe him so much more.
And, maybe, you'll tell someone and he'll go somewhere else and you'll meet him one day and he'll say thanks and you'll tell him no problem because, really, you owed him that and he'll smile a full smile and he won't jump when you slap him on the back and you won't have to strain to hear him.
Maybe someday, maybe someday, but for now you can't even get out of bed.