I knew something was wrong. Even if I hadn't been able to hear the erratic beating of his heart or practically smell the anxiety rolling off of him in waves so overwhelming that it threatened to nauseate me, there was no mistaking the way his body trembled, after weeks of living in constant panic and trepidation. I had seen him like this before; this was how he had most often reacted in the aftermath of the panic attacks he'd experienced so frequently since this whole mess started.

And they were many.

Too many.

And just like all those times, I had no idea how to help him, and the feeling of complete helplessness left me fidgeting in a way that closely resembled that of my best friend. Or at least how he used to be. No matter how hard I tried to remember the last time that Stiles had made a joke, or smiled – and not from relief after realizing that the terrors he'd witnessed weren't reality but only nightmares, and not that strained grimace that pulled at his lips when the Nogitsune was in control of him, but I mean, really smiled – nothing came to mind. It was like everything that our lives had consisted of before… well, before, had somehow ceased to exist all together; for me that meant school, lacrosse, my job with Deaton at the clinic, and trying to make a good impression on Mr. and Mrs. Yukimura. It just didn't matter anymore. For what seemed like forever, everything had been about survival, and, against all odds, we had survived it.

Or, not all of us…

I immediately prevented the thought from bearing out and forcefully pushed the memory out of my mind, along with the almost overpowering sense of grief and guilt that accompanied it. I couldn't do anything about that, she was gone, no matter how much I wished for it to be different. I couldn't change what had happened to her… – but I could try to be there for my best friend, I reminded myself as I forced my eyes to wander over to where Stiles was currently sitting on his bed, his upper body hunched over legs that were drawn up close to his chest, arms wrapped firmly around them. Just looking at him made me want to… Scream? Comfort him? Cry? He looked so vulnerable, worn-out and broken – a shadow of his former self, my mind whispered before I was able to stop the thought, and an involuntary shiver coursed through me – that I didn't know what to do with myself. I wanted so desperately to take some of the pain that I knew he was feeling away. But every time that I made an attempt to touch him, or just come close to him, he cringed.

As much as I told myself that it was only to be expected, that he was weary from everything that had happened, it still hurt.

He had let me help him out of the Jeep, his legs still too wobbly to fully support his weight, and up the stairs to his room, but as soon as he'd made it to the bed he moved away from me. Never once did he meet my gaze, and we hadn't exchanged one single word since he'd woken up after the… after the Nogitsune had been taken care of. Though I was desperate for him to talk to me, or at least acknowledge my presence, I didn't push. I just couldn't bring myself to say anything, too afraid that a hasty question would only increase his distress. Words weren't my strong suit, it had always been Stiles' department, and these past weeks had made me realize just how much I missed, and needed, his endless ranting and rambling…

The sound of his breath hitching pulled me from my reverie and I instinctively stood from the chair I had been occupying since we arrived at the Stilinski residence. I felt as though concern was literally pouring out of me when I took in the fragile, exhausted frame of the one who was the closest thing to a brother I had ever had, and ever would have; his face pale and gaunt, cheeks hollow and eyes glazed over with unshed tears and regret, his whole body emanating fatigue and self-loathing.

I stopped where I stood.

"Stiles?" I studied him closely, but he made no sign of having heard me, though I could hear his heart beat picking up its pace again. I slowly crossed what distance remained between us and cautiously sat down next to him, surprised, and even more worried, when he didn't react at all.

"Hey Stiles, you okay, man?"

It was a stupid question considering what we, and particularly he, had been through lately, but I didn't know what to do. I just wanted a response, a reaction, anything except for this uncharacteristic silence.

He shook his head so slowly that I thought I'd imagined it at first, before mumbling something unintelligible.

"What was that?" I asked, leaning in a little closer. "What did you say?"

He lifted his head from his knees slightly, hazy eyes still locked at the opposite wall.

"I can't believe it worked" he repeated, and though his voice was tired and raspy from sleepless nights and weeks of constant strain, it was the best sound I'd heard in a really long time.

"It worked" I confirmed, feeling a tired smile of gratitude towards whatever deity that had made it so tug at my lips.

"I honestly didn't think it would" my best friend muttered, almost sullenly, his attenuated countenance reflecting none of the relief that was flooding through my system. "I really thought that I was going to die, and I didn't care. I was prepared for it. If it would've kept you guys safe, I wouldn't have cared." When he continued his voice was nearly a whisper, and he cast me a look so full of pain and defeat that it made my eyes burn.

"I just wanted it to be over."

I reached out on mere instinct and gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, relieved when he didn't shy away.

"It is over, Stiles" I assured just as quietly, my own voice thick with emotion. "And we're okay. You're okay."

I put emphasis on the last part although we both knew that him being "okay" was highly debatable – it would probably take some time for all of us to process everything that had happened during these past few weeks. Stiles didn't seem up for debating, though, but only gave me a humorless smile and leaned into my touch.

We sat in silence for a while; me wanting to give him the space and time he needed, as well as to let him be in control for the first time in weeks, and he apparently lost in thought once again, his gaze returned to stare at the far off wall.

"It shouldn't have worked" he said suddenly, and there was something in the way that he said it that immediately made me uneasy. He turned and looked me directly into the eyes, his own hazel brown radiating so many feelings that even I that knew him better than anyone had a hard time pin-pointing them all. I saw the sadness though, and the anger, regret, fatigue, and guilt; a combination of emotions that I had never wanted my best friend to experience, and it was physically painful. But at the same time, at least those were his eyes, and his emotions. And that was, in itself, something to be thankful for. Considering the alternative.

But what he said next made me realize that he didn't share my point of view.

"I should have died, Scott" he stated matter-of-factly. "Had there been any logic to this mess, any at all, I would have died when, it, fell and evaporated to dust. But I didn't, and it makes no sense! Did you know that even though we had separated physically, we were still connected? I could still feel the pain from your bite, and the jolt in my body as Kira thrust her sword through itschest. I should have died, but I didn't, and I can't understand why!"

His head sunk to rest against his knees again, as if he had drained what little energy he had left, and he sighed tiredly before adding:

"Mother nature must be seriously pissed at me right now."

I smiled weakly at this last part, but worry seared through all attempts of any real humor. His words bothered me more than I wanted to admit, because even though he was no longer under the influence of the Nogitsune, this wasn't how Stiles was supposed to talk.

No one would ever call me smart or particularly bright, least of all me, but I could read Stiles better than anyone else. I knew him, and this broken, despondent boy was not who he was, even though it was one hundred percent him sitting next to me.

And it terrified me.

"You didn't die… because you weren't supposed to" I said carefully. "Stiles, you did nothing wrong."

The change was almost immediate. He jolted upright as if being tased and stared at me with such disbelief and anger, whether towards me or himself I couldn't tell, that it made me flinch.

"Nothing wrong, nothing..! Alright, okay then, I did 'nothing wrong'. Let's make a recap of my impeccable behavior and unquestionable actions during these last few weeks then, shall we?"

"Stiles, that's not what I…"

"First, I made you all think that it was Kira, not me, that was the bad guy going around murdering people, which resulted in her almost getting killed…"

"Stiles…"

"I electrocuted Isaac – not exactly an actual part of the plan, I'll grant you that, but it still put him in a freaking coma for several days which, considering the fact that he's a werewolf and should have healed almost instantly,can only mean that it was really, really bad and, not to mention, unbelievably painful…"

"Stiles, don't…"

"Then I kidnapped Lydia and put her in some kind of freaky tunnel thing where she was assaulted by the dead screaming at her and with shadow-me as her only company – although that was when we had separated so I guess that technically was all the Nogitsune…"

"Stiles, please, just…"

"And then, let's not forget that I freaking stabbed you in the gut! And I twisted and turned Kira's sword around in your stomach like I was, oh I don't know, excavating your intestines, practically mangling your insides. A real' peachy memory to share during the family holidays, wouldn't you say?"

"Stiles!"

"Okay okay, you're right. I wasn't actually the one stabbing you, however I did order the Oni to do it so that I could devour your pain later on, but never mind that because it didn't stop there! Remember what else I did?" He was practically screaming now, eyes wide and unseeing. "I thought 'You know what, I don't think that my friends have suffered enough, no, I have to take it to the next level, but how, huh? How do I do that?' And then, it hit me! I knew exactly what I had to do, something so awful and terrible that it would destroy all of you; I had to kill someone! But not just anyone, no, no, no, this had to be someone whose death would have a huge impact on as many of you as possible, someone that you all cared deeply about, it had to be someone kind and sweet and caring and innocent – or, as innocent as a hunter can be –"

"STILES STOP!"

I don't recall ever getting up, but suddenly I found myself at the side of his bed, staring down at him, my whole body shaking. He breathed heavily, dark hair plastered against his forehead and his eyes almost feverish as they met mine, and I felt absolutely petrified.

"I could have killed you, Scott" he muttered after a while, when he had managed to get his breathing under control. His eyes glowed with pain and guilt. "You could have died.And all that I just mentioned isn't even everything that I did. And you still believe I did nothing wrong?" He shook his head in incredulity. "Are you even hearing yourself?"

"Are you?" I stared at him with a mixture of resignation and disbelief. "You couldn't have controlled any of those things, Stiles, you know that. It wasn't your fault!"

"Exactly!" He hissed, his anger flaring again. "I couldn't control it, I couldn't!Because I was too weak, because I let him in, innocent people died. Allison died, Scott, Allison!"

I couldn't prevent the image from entering my mind:

Her body went from rigid to completely slack in my arms and as she looked up at me, I could see that she was already starting to slip away. I grasped her hands in an attempt to take her pain away, while trying desperately to come up with a plan. Nothing happened.

"I-I can't, I can't take your pain away…" I realized horror-struck, voice winded and laced with fear.

She looked at me sadly, eyes growing distant.

"It's because it doesn't hurt."

"N-No." I shook my head. This wasn't happening, this was not happening!

"It's okay." Her voice broke and she tried to smile reassuringly. "It's okay."

"Allison…"

"It's okay."

She smiled, lips spotted red.

"I love you. I love you… Scott. Scott McCall…"

I shut my eyes, willing the tears not to fall.

"Stop it" I whispered. "Please just stop it."

Stiles let out something between a snort and a sob.

"I can't" he said, and I don't think I've ever heard so much misery in so few words. "Because every time I close my eyes, that's what I keep seeing. All of those horriblethings that it did to you, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't do anything to stop it. Just like I can't stop thinking about it now."

It seemed as though all the fight had gone out of him, and he returned to sit with his legs drawn to his chest, eyes closed, and his chin resting heavily against his knees. Moonlight seared through the open window and illuminated parts of his face, making his already pale reflection ghostly white and the darkness under his eyes even more profound. He looked like he was still dying, and even though I knew that he was going to be okay – we had defeated the Nogitsune, the Oni were freed, Stiles was finally Stiles again, so he should be fine, right? He had to be! – my chest suddenly felt very constricted.

I just couldn't lose him too. Not after everything.

I swallowed hard before speaking.

"Would you at least let me take some of the pain away?" I asked. "I know you're hurting, just… let me help."

Stiles slowly but resolutely shook his head, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"No, Scott. This isn't something you can heal. And besides," he added silently, "I deserve this."

"Stiles, that doesn't make any sense!" I groaned exasperatedly.

He gave a small chuckle and peered up at me, and I was once again assaulted with the emotional chaos that radiated from his tired eyes.

"Probably not."

I watched him silently for a while.

"So, then I can…"

"No, Scott, you can't."

I sighed, the all too familiar sensation of helplessness stirring up inside me, but I didn't push the issue.

Silence dominated for a while, both of us too emotionally drained to say anything. It wasn't until I started moving to take up my previous position in the chair opposite him, that Stiles' faint voice reached my ears.

"Could you leave, please."

I turned around, a yet-to-be-determined protest already on my lips, and froze as I saw a steady stream of tears slowly trickle down my best friend's cheeks. I looked at him helplessly, wondering if he would ever understand that seeing him like this hurt me more than anything else that had happened during these past few weeks.

"Stiles," I begged, "just let me…"

"Don't. I just want to be alone for a while. Please."

I swung my arms weakly.

"I just, I… I want to…"

He gave me a watery smile.

"I know, Scotty, I know."

I left after that, forcing myself to move although everything inside of me screamed at me to stay, and carefully closed the door behind me. I stayed nearby though, reluctant to let him out of me earshot even for a second. For lack of anything else to do, and in an attempt to give him the privacy that he wanted, I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, without really watching it.

The static sound soon filled the house, but I still heard it; every whimper, choked-up cry, and wracking sob, as if he'd been sitting right next to me. All I wanted to do was run back upstairs and help him, save him from falling over the edge and into the very real threat of infinite despair, to just drag him close to me and hold him and never let go, but I knew that wasn't what he wanted. So I stayed put.
I made no move, no sound, even as the pit in my stomach finally erupted, and my own tears started to fall.