Small Things

has the world gone mad
or is it me?
all these small things they gather round me
gather round me

Three figures stood before Lydia, their long shadows casting on the ground behind them looking down at the young girl's lap in horror as they tried to process the reality before their eyes.

Lydia just sat there unmoving. The same way she had been for the last few hours, running her fingers gently through his hair in an endless motion. Her face flushed pink from the crying, her cheeks stained with dry tears, and her eyes blood-shot red from the agony.

She didn't acknowledge their presence at first. There was nothing they could do anyway. They were too late.

And she knew what she'd see when she turned, only pain and confusion embedded in their expressions. Then again, she didn't want to move. She didn't want to face them knowing she failed them, knowing she failed him. So there she sat taking in the sight of the unnervingly still Stiles before her.

Scott tried to stand tall, but made no attempt at hiding his emotions. Tears fell down his face as he looked down at the broken figure of his best friend. And a mixture of disbelieve and denial ran through his body quicker than anything he's ever felt before.

Kira clung on to him in horror, creating an unspoken support system between them, which he gratefully accepted without hesitation.

The smell of death lingered in the air from the moment they stepped foot on the premise. The atmosphere changed so drastically, so suddenly, it nearly threw him off for a moment. He was hopeful at first, thinking maybe the two had somehow managed to escape the clutches of their captors. But as he ran down the stairs into the dim lit basement and his eyes fell to the two bodies, his heart sank in utter dread.

They were too late.

Scott dropped to the ground by his side, his eyes still desperately searching for any sign life, his hands touching cold skin as if to convince him this was real.

"S-Stil-es." He sobbed. His voice breaking at the syllables in his name before lowering his head down in the center of his chest.

"Scott, we need to go." Derek muttered under his breath after a moment. He knew they needed to get out of there soon, and deliver what remained of Stiles to his father.

Upon first meeting the adolescent, Derek declared Stiles the most irritating, annoying of them all. But as the years passed he came to the conclusion that his character traits weren't the only thing he had to offer. Stiles was surprisingly bright, and incredibly loyal. As powerless and human as he proved, he stood up for his friends, even the the enemy had the advantage. So if there was ever anything between the two, it was definitely a sense of mutual respect.

Scott didn't reply. He simply couldn't find the words to protest.

And Stiles remained limp in Lydia's arms as she ran her fingers soothingly through his thick hair, not daring to stop anytime soon. Her eyes aberrant and distant, as if she was trapped in a version of denial. The same realizing notion that she had failed them all running through her mind on an endless loop.

"Oh god—" Scott's sob broke the silent barrier as he rested a hand on his best friends chest in attempt to take anyway any pain that had been left behind. And when he couldn't find any, he removed his hand and used it to cradle his head in despair.

Kira approached the three, crouching beside Lydia. Her hand resting on the flat of her back in comfort as she looked down at Stiles, her expression crumbling at the sight of him. She knew this game was dangerous, but now she understood how dangerous. She understood why her parents went through such extreme efforts to keep oblivious of this world. It wasn't safe, it never was.

And it never will be.

Isaac, stood alongside Derek trying to keep his emotions at bay. They both stared in complete confusion. The last thing they expected to see when they entered the basement was far off from what they were facing. They could never imagine anything so permanent, so human.

Death was like some kind of inside joke among the teenagers. With every problem, every obstacle they encountered, they managed to avoid it, up to the point where they were careless—especially the wolves. That was, until Allison. Until her death weighted their hearts, never making them feel so mortal. And gazing at that remained of Stiles that feeling lingered back.

How they gathered the courage to leave that basement, they don't know for sure. But it was Scott who had the idea.

"We have to get him to Deaton—" He sniffed as he rose from his position. There was no way he was going to accept Stiles' death.

"Scott, there's nothing he can do," Derek cut him off quickly, not wanting to instill any false hope within the Alpha. "No. No—there has to be something he can do!" Scott struggled with the reality of the situation. "We can't jus—we can't just do nothing." Scott snapped staring him in the eye. He stood so determined that there was nothing they could say or do to change his mind. "Okay? T-This is Stiles... there's always something." He meets Derek's gaze. "There's always something."

But the Hale just gazed at the young boy before him. He was optimistic about everything, but now it was finally starting to get to him. "Scott, there's nothing supernatural about his death. He was shot with a mortal weapon." He tried to reason softly, knowing anger wasn't the answer, not here.

"Okay, well, I'm saying there can be something supernatural. If we just take him to Deaton we can—" But Derek shook his head. "Scott, there's nothing he can do." He wished so desperately there was another way, but the words he spoke couldn't be more true.

"I wasn't asking your permission." Scott defended. He was clearly hurt, so Derek let that one go. Nothing was getting in the way of him possibly helping Stiles. Not even Derek Hale.

"I tried explaining to him, but he won't listen." Derek mumbled lowly to the vet. It was clear Deaton was a little shaken, not only because of Stiles, but because of the actions Scott took to help him. He walked back into the examination room where everyone was currently and stared at the small crowd before him, observing everyone. Analyzing their emotional state from the expression on their faces. They looked so desperate, so lost that he didn't have the hear to let them down anymore.

Deaton exhaled sharply then turning his attention on Stiles, who appeared so young and innocent under the harsh bright lights, ultimately bringing the palm of his hand to rest on his forehead. Stiles didn't deserve this fate. He was so heroic—in his own faulty, human way. But it was that element that made him stand from the rest.

Deaton couldn't shake that somber expression off his face as he turned back to the group with a heartbroken gaze. "I'm afraid this is out of my element…" but he stopped short being suddenly drawn to the feeling of a cold, vibrant energy, his eyes scanning the teenagers before coming to a stop before one strawberry blond.

"Virtus." He mumbled in latin making Lydia freeze. She stared back at the veterinarian with her stormy, doe eyes in realization.

"Power." She translated.

is it all so very bad?
I can't see
all these small things they gather round me
gather round me