After Benji's little "outburst" at dinner, things had grown a little awkward. Stiles had, finally, shut up, leaving the table in a heavy silence. The quiet, however, was disturbed by Stiles' almost constant shuffling and fidgeting.

Was he ADHD or something?

Benji didn't care enough to ask, so instead he focused on chewing the lettuce of his house salad and ignoring the growing feelings of shame and guilt building up inside of him.

He had no reason to feel bad, he told himself. No reason at all. The car ride to the house was however, less quiet, as Lydia had apparently decided that she had enough of what she considered Benji's "sulking". She kept trying to engage him, using all the skills she learned from her Psychology textbooks back in college, but the strawberry blonde was only capable of bringing out one word answers from the. emotionally and mentally exhausted fourteen year old.

Lydia decided that it was better than the grunts he had been giving Stiles earlier.

The house Lydia and Stiles lived in was nothing special, just a single story house with blue siding and a small fenced in back yard. The yard was well kept, Benji had to admit as he passed by the green bushes lining the pathway to the front porch, clutching his duffle bag uncomfortably. The inside of the house was nice as well, with an open floor plan taking up the majority of the house and a small hallway on the right leading to the three bedrooms in the house. After Lydia pointed out where Benji's room would be, he practically bolted towards it, closing the door softly behind him as he escaped the overly present gaze of his new guardians.

Lydia looked at her fiancé. "He reminds me of you," she said quietly, not wanting Benji to hear them discussing him.

Lydia didn't really know what to think of their new ward. He was confrontational, angry, distrusting. but there was something in his eyes that reminded her of Stiles, an intellect that, despite all of the negative emotions darkening his already dark eyes, still managed to burn through.

Stiles ran his hand through his styled brown hair, his dark eyes focused on the door. "In what way, the obvious lack of sleep or the inability to trust anyone?" he asked with a slightly forced grin.

Lydia hesitated. She hated discussing anything that happened during Stiles' own possession, and everyone in the pack, including Stiles, avoided any mention of it. Void Stiles was unlike anything they had ever faced, more traumatic than anything else, simply because instead of facing an unknown enemy they were facing one of their own. Though what happened was over a decade ago, that period remained etched in everyone's mind, though Lydia knew it weighed more heavily on Stiles than anyone else.

Stiles sighed. "He reminds you of me from back then, doesn't he?"

Lydia paused, then nodded. "The look in his eyes.… they're like yours, when the nogitsune left, and when Theo got in between you and Scott. He looks like he's seen hell and back." She sank down into the sofa, staring at her hands. "I want to help him, but I just can't figure out how.

Stiles sighed again and sat down on the sofa.

"Scott said that even before the nogitsune attacked, his life wasn't exactly the happiest. Though, since everyone who would know why, other than Benji himself, are dead, so we don't really know why. And Deaton said that the nogitsune had been inside his mind for over a year. So it's not exactly surprising that he's this fragile."

The couple were quiet. They were unsure of how to proceed, how to care for a mentally unstable high school freshman who seemed to despise them. "He seemed to like Derek," Lydia ventured. "Maybe, I don't know, we can get him to help.

"Derek? Trauma personified? Yeah, great idea, maybe they can have their own miniature therapy sessions," Stiles drawled, his eyes darkening at the mention of Derek.

Yeah, Sour Wolf and him didn't exactly get along, not after the Incident.

Stupid emo wolf.

But it was for Benji, he supposed, and he knew he shouldn't let old grudges damage Benji's recovery. And, for some strange reason, Derek and Benji seemed to get along- well, as much as Benji seemed capable of at the moment. So with a sigh, he pulled out his phone and began to type out a message.

If Derek had what it would take to help Benji out, then Stiles supposed he could keep his "smashing Derek over the head multiple times with a wolfsbane-covered baseball bat" dream just that- a fantasy.

Though, he could make no promises.

Derek was insanely annoying, after all.