It's raining. Of course it is, Stiles thinks, how incredibly fitting. It had been four months since Allison's death and they already had a new issue on their hands: berserkers, loads of them. They showed up in town in the form of a gang. At first, the pack had thought they were just a bunch of ass holes looking to cause trouble, just looking for something to tear down. It was Allison's father that had let them in on the myth and had told them what they were dealing with. He is in a perpetual state of grief yet he can't seem to stop fighting for the pack. Stiles thinks that he knows it's what Allison would have wanted. Thinking of her places the familiar ache of grief in his chest. It feels like someone is shoveling out his insides.
He looks out the car window, the downtown of Beacon Hill's passes by in a blur. He can feel her looking at him periodically, inspecting him with those sharp green eyes. Lydia insisted on driving him home after what happened. It was getting too obvious, his self-destruction. At first, he made purposefully getting hurt in these confrontations look like an accident. He always chose the right moments to let his guard slip and allow one of the berserkers to land a particularly brutal blow to his fragile, human frame. A punch here, bruise there, gash there went unnoticed. Every member of the pack got banged up so he blended right in with the familiar shades of black and blue.
Tonight was different.
They had been out in the woods, staking out one of the gang meetings and it had been going fairly smoothly. He, Lydia, Scott, Derek, and Isaac were going unnoticed to the group of hulking men, actually gaining useful information about their hierarchy and how they did things. Stiles could see that it wasn't going to come to blows and he felt rage bubble up in the back of his throat like bile. He needed this tonight but there he was watching his opportunity slip through his fingers minute after minute.
So he let his foot fall more solidly on a branch that he knew would break under his weight. The sound had echoed through the forest, the familiar snap reverberating off of the trees. He tried to look apologetic, tried to look like it had been an accident but she saw it and she saw everything else after that. She saw him loosen his grip on one of the men so that he could get free. She saw him slow his reflexes down so that the man coming at him could hit him squarely in the jaw, knocking him onto his back. And she saw him laying there, trying to look helpless, while he wailed into him. Once Scott took notice he immediately yanked his attacker off of him, throwing him back into the darkness of the preserve.
Stiles knew that she was inspecting him now. The car was quiet as they drove, their usual conversation replaced by a weighted silence. They had leaned on each other heavily after the night Allison died, she more than him because he wasn't as open anymore. Not that he was an open book beforehand but after the Nogitsune he didn't let his guard down, not even around Scott.
His house came into view as they turned onto his street, his dad's cruiser absent from the driveway. Great he thought, knowing that his father working late meant that Lydia would most likely come inside. His suspicions were confirmed as she pulled in, parking and turning off the car. She didn't even look at him as she unbuckled her seatbelt and huffed out of the driver's side.
Stiles knew there was no point in fighting her so he got out as well and went to unlock his front door for them. She pushed past him, heading up to his room. He knew he was expected to follow and could feel the fight coming on. He didn't know what approach to take here. Pretending that he didn't purposefully start the fight and have the living shit beat out of him was just an insult to Lydia's intelligence. Yet, he was still hesitant about being honest with her. This burden was his to bear, not hers.
He didn't look up as he entered his room, just closed the door and went to lean against his desk. She was openly staring at him now with a calculative expression.
"So, do you want to tell me what the hell that was?" the words fell past her lips in a soft but decisive manner. She didn't seem frightened or appalled which confused him on many levels.
He sat there, perched on the worn wood as the seconds ticked past. How could he explain? How could he even begin to tell her that he needed it, needed to feel punished? That everything he had done or had let be done to his pack, his family could not go unnoticed? That he couldn't forgive himself as quickly as they had forgiven him? That, in a way, he felt responsible for all the shit that had happened to them?
He settled for two simple words, "It's complicated." The words were faulty. It sounded like a cop-out, an excuse.
Lydia's eyes flashed, angry now. "Don't you dare give me that bull shit, Stiles. How dare you even presume that I would let you get by on that reply? I'd say my ability to understand complicated things is on the high side so why don't you explain to my why you did what you did tonight?"
Her voice had risen in volume by the end and her nostrils were flared. She looked like a bull getting ready to charge at someone.
He couldn't be mad at her, welcomed her anger actually. Stiles hated them handling him like he was made of porcelain, treating him like he was still the innocent boy he once was.
"What do you want me to say, Lyds?" He sighed, he really didn't want to tell her all of this but he could see that determined look in her eye. He would never be able to go to bed if he didn't respond, as if he slept these days. "Do you want me to tell you that I gave away our position on purpose? That I wanted to get into that fight?"
"If it's the truth, Stiles," she said immediately, "then yes! I do want you to tell me that because you've been lying to me, to everyone for months! If you finally tell me something that is remotely true then yes I want to hear it!"
"Fine!" He spat out, the anger coursing through his veins again, hot and violent, as he pushed himself off his desk, "Yes, I gave away our position on purpose. Yes, I wanted to get into that fight and yes, I let that guy go berserk on me, pun intended by the way, because I fucking deserve it, Lydia! He could have killed me and I would not have given a damn because I deserve it after everything that I've done. Is that what you want to hear?"
His chest was heaving with the force of his words. Saying them out loud cracked him wide open. He felt like a tree that had been split in half by a lightning strike, raw and vulnerable, as she stared at him in disbelief.
Lydia's eyes were wide as she took him in. He saw her lip quiver and he deflated, he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her but, she tightened up immediately. Not letting her emotions get in the way just yet, she made her way over to him, turning him towards the mirror hanging crooked on his wall. He hadn't looked at himself in days, sickened by the sight of his own reflection. He looked like a different person at the moment. His face was smeared with blooming bruises; his top lip was split open, caked blood making the wound look grimy. There were too more cuts on his eyebrow and one on the sharp edge of his jaw. The rest of him, as per usual, was also covered in various scrapes and dots of purple and yellow where fresh bruises appeared and old ones began to fade; he was a mess.
Lydia spoke up then, "I remember one of the last times we were in here like this, do you?"
Even though she knew he was aware of what she was mentioning, her tone demanded an answer, "Yes, I remember," he grumbled, disgruntled by the memory, "Gerard."
Grabbing his arm, she made him face her then, "Yes, Stiles, Gerard. That night I was saying things that were very similar to what you just said. I didn't care either, about living or dying. As long as Jackson was safe, as long as it all stopped. You know what changed my mind about that? You."
He looked away from her, remembering his long-winded speech about how he would feel if she died. He had been thinking of his mother and what it had been like for him to lose her. He couldn't fathom why someone would choose to do that to the people who loved them, choose to put them through that loss when it didn'thave to be that way.
"You shook me out of that by simply telling me how much my death would affect others. The difference between you and I, though, is that you think that it will fix things, make them better," he looked away from her then, bottom lip fixed between his teeth. Of course she knew. He often forgets how well she could read him. "But guess what, Stiles?" she continued, "I'm sorry to break it to you but, it won't help a lick. You were not the problem, you did not cause the shitty things that happened to us, and you do not deserve to be punished for chaos and havoc wreaked by the Nogitsune."
He began to protest, started to tell her that she didn't know a damn thing about how that feels. To watch yourself twist a sword through your best friends stomach, set up traps and bombs that took the lives of innocent people. She had no fucking clue about what he went through.
She saw him begin to argue though and she put one of her dainty fingers to his mouth to silence him. "I already know what you're going to say and you're right. I don't know what happened to you, Stiles, and I can't fathom the guilt you have. That doesn't change the simple fact that it was not you and you did not cause those events. I need to you to believe that because I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't as true as me saying the sky is blue. I'm not going to push you and I'm not going to tell anyone but if I see you pull that again, so help me, I will make sure Scott and Derek know what you've been doing and that you are not present for anything but pack meetings, you got it?"
He couldn't do anything but stare. Her threat was real, he could see it in her eyes and the firm set of her mouth. It should have comforted him; the thought that she cared this much, but all it did was infuriate him more.
He yanked his whole body away from her, practically knocking over his desk chair in the process. "Lydia, why do you care?" he said in disbelief, "Why the fuck do you care if I live or die? Why do any of you care? I have done enough, allowed enough to happen to you all that you should have killed me yourselves by now. If it hadn't been for me she would still be here!" his eyes were welling now, unshed tears fogging his vision. There was no need to say Allison's name, Lydia knew who he meant. "It should have been me! They should have killed me. If they had, the nogitsune would have been gone, the oni would have been called off, and she would be here. You would all have been better off if it had been me; I would contribute more to this pack if I was lying cold and rotten in a hole in the ground."
His tears were flowing now and he couldn't seem to stop them. Every thought that had been running through his mind was spilling out. "And I'm so fucking angry! All you guys do is treat me like I need to be handled with care. Yet, I'm the one who was putting you all in danger. I'm so pissed at myself for being so weak, for letting it get inside my head. Do you know what that's like? I know that you get what it's like to be out of control of yourself, be in a fugue state, but, you didn't let it happen to you did you? You didn't consciously let Peter take over. I let him in, Lydia! It's funny isn't it?" he laughed without humor, running a hand over his damp, tired face, "I thought I was helping, Malia. I thought that if I just gave in he wouldn't hurt her that I could save her. But where is she now!? Gone! She skipped town months ago and I was left to watch this- this thing dismantle all the things that I've ever held dear to me. Some days I wish you and Scott hadn't gotten into my head to bring me out, that the final solution would have been to kill me and that I would be long gone because, God damn it, I already feel dead so why not make it permanent right?"
He was shaking with rage now, needing something to take it out on, something that would hurt him. Lydia was standing, wide eyed as he paced the room. He looked up and came face to face with himself. His reflection in the mirror only forced visions to play before his eyes, all of the devilish things he had done while seemingly shackled within his own mind.
In one fell swoop his fist collided with the glass, the force of his fist sending shards flying every which way, silently falling to the carpet. His breaths heaved through his lungs painfully, the burning reminder that his wish for death had not been granted, as he looked into the fractured image of himself. This was a more accurate portrait, he thought. This is how Stiles saw himself, a fractured shell of a person covered in blood and destruction.
A sob tore through him, the sound seeming to come from someone else. He fell among the debris, his back slamming against the wall. She was at his side at once, holding him as he cried for what felt like hours. He hadn't cried like that since his mom had died. Lydia's small hand came up to cup his face, holding him to her, as the other ran soothing fingers through his hair. When his tears ran out, they just lay there against the wall, his face buried in her neck as she wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders; her own tears falling silently down her face.
He wanted to say something, apologize for the mess he made, literally and figuratively, but his throat was raw from his cries. He felt her kiss his hair before getting up, moving into his bathroom where he knew she would find his first aid kit. She was always the one to clean him up after quarrels the pack would get into. Lydia returned quickly, kneeling before him and lightly grabbing his hand to start cleaning him up. Stiles didn't wince as she used tweezers to pick out the small shards of glass from his cuts, too exhausted to feel anything at all. In no time his wounds were cleaned and she was wrapping them up in gauze.
After she put the kit away, she was in front of him again, her hands gingerly grabbing his. He looked up through battered, unfocused eyes at this beautiful girl who for some reason cared for him. "Come on, let's go to bed." She whispered.
Sleepovers happened from time to time. Neither of them was able to sleep after the Nogitsune was extinguished. Lydia because she was haunted by nightmares of Allison's death and Stile's because, without someone there, he was too afraid to fall asleep. They both knew that Stiles wouldn't be able to sleep tonight no matter how exhausted he was so she shrugged off her jean jacket and toed off her shoes as he put on pajama pants. She was dressed down for once, only in leggings and a flowery tank top, other times she would have needed to borrow something of Stiles' to sleep in. She guided him into the bed, situating him under the warm, down comforter before turning off the light and climbing in after him.
They lie facing each other, knees bumping together but neither really cared anymore. Stiles heard her inhale as if to say something. She hesitated before saying, "You asked me why I care… if you live or die. So, for the record, Stiles, you're one of the most important people to me," she rushed out, the words a confession in the safety of darkness, "I… I honestly don't know what I would do without you now and I would never be the same if you were gone."
The last word was choked out, caught on the lump he could hear in her throat. He knew she was crying; he could hear the tremble in her voice. Bringing an arm under her to pull her to him, Stiles wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. She cuddled into him, crying silently while he held her.
He knew then that he would stop trying to get himself killed. Her hushed admission was enough of a reason but he knew he would never be able to do it to his dad or Scott. Forgiving himself and moving on, however, would be a whole different beast. Yet he knew without a doubt that he was more than capable of enduring as long as she and the pack at his side.