Stiles was coming back into himself. It was slow, and there was still that mixture of anxiety and rage in the back of his mind, but he'd been living at about a four on the stress level scale since this all started, so he could deal. It was different though, he could tell. There was an urgency, a sense of needing to get the hell out of there that he'd never felt before and that terrified him. He was walking away, and he knew, he knew he had to. His father was gone. They needed to go, go and find him, and he couldn't do, he wasn't—
Maybe he wasn't entirely back into himself.
"Stiles. Stiles did you see—"
"Is Lydia alright? Where are—"
Allison and Isaac were stumbling over each other's voices in front of him. In front of the door. Stiles had made it to the front of the auditorium, and he could see the main exit just behind them.
If he looked to his right, Stiles knew he'd see inside, knew he'd see more death, more blood, more supernatural crap that he didn't have the space for anymore. He didn't have space for anything these days. Not love, not sadness, not weakness and for damn sure not for death. There just wasn't any more of anything inside. Stiles Stilinski was full to the brim and still leaking from every angle.
After a moment of silence that he didn't know he had sanctioned, Allison's face softened, and Stiles felt himself wince at the pity she gave. It was a long forgotten habit that he didn't know he still had.
"Stiles are you…what happened?" She took a step forward, and if she let go of Isaac's hand, then Stiles pointedly did not notice. He ducked his head.
"They're in Blake's room." He muttered, still peering over zealously at his shoes, "She, uh, she's the darach, so that's—that's new."
He couldn't, wouldn't look up. He didn't want to see it on someone else's face.
"Is Lydia—"
"Lydia's fine." He bit out, "She's got superpowers now like the rest of you, so she's absolutely perfect."
The words were back. Stiles could feel it rising again, the hurt, the anger. It was all laced with something else now, though. There was shame. Shame in himself , for his outburst in the classroom, for this rage that he didn't know what to do with anymore.
"She took my dad. Blake I mean. He was there first. I mean," he let out a cruel laugh, "He's the—"
"Guardian." Isaac finished. Stiles forced himself to look up, to meet their eyes.
Isaac's eyes were already giving him away, the gold seared back at him. Allison had a hand over her mouth, and for a warrior hunter princess, her eyes were suspiciously wet. She reached out, and Stiles dodged her touch.
"Don't. Okay? Just don't. I kind of—I fucked up back there, and I just—I need to go? There's nothing I can do right now with my human-y-ness, so I'm just. I'm done. I'll be at the hospital. Waiting for the body."
Stiles looked at them pleadingly. Allison had lost her doe-eyed look and replaced it with something much more sinister. A steely resolve stared back at him and he was reminded of her mother for a brief moment.
"Okay." She nodded a few times and never quite met his eyes. He could see she was already calculating, already reaching for the bow in her mind. Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked past them, so close to the door already.
"Stiles, you can't just leave—"
He wheeled back around, feeling the rage finally break over him, a tidal wave that he was powerless against. Powerless against everything else.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can, actually." He snapped, "Because, she took. My dad. One of the three people in my life that I actually—" Stiles paused and sucked in a deep breath. He threw his hands in the air.
"Look, it's not important anymore because he's as good as dead, and we all know it. And, it's really, really not important because the other two are—they're probably not reciprocating the feeling right now because I—"
He wasn't making sense out there. He knew it. The words were making sense in his head, in his heart, in his mouth, but then they got into the open and they were jumbled. It was just him. Just Stiles. Stiles, who could feel the panic rising again.
His father was gone, and Lydia was a fucking Banshee, and Scott was a werewolf, but that wasn't new. It was new that he had fucked it all up, and maybe even that was history repeating itself. All three of them had cared, and now after today they probably didn't. He had cared, and still did, but now he was alone.
Isaac took a step back, jaw jutted out, hands tensed at his sides.
"Because you're the only one who's lost somebody here." He snarled and Stiles bristled. The fangs weren't visible, but they were coming. And he didn't care. Rip him to shreds, look on the outside like the inside.
"No. I'm not, Isaac, but if you haven't noticed, I'm the one that's been running around picking up the pieces for everyone else the past two years. So sorry if I'm having one moment where I get to reconsider this cracked out voodoo wolf life that I. Didn't. Choose." Stiles' hands were grabbing at his hair and his eyes were shut again. Maybe if he just kept them shut—they were open again. Wide.
"And by the way, I'm the only one here that doesn't get the perks this comes with. I get all the shit, and I pick up after everyone else, and at the end of the day, I'm still just weak, right where I started. Right back with nothing."
Isaac snorted and took a step forward.
"Like you've never had the choice—"
Oh. The claws were out at least. Why wasn't he afraid? He was afraid all the rest of the time. Now he was angry. He was never angry. He never yelled. Refreshing.
"Isaac. Isaac stop. Let him go. It's not—let him go."
Worth it. That's what Allison had been thinking. Ripping him to shreds wasn't worth it. Scott would be upset, probably. Or not right now. Most likely not. But Allison had that whole 'touching Isaac" thing going right now, so why care what Scott thinks? Because Stiles was still just not worth it. Stiles closed his eyes again. Rage dissipates into exhaustions and he just barely makes out—
"I'll be at the hospital. Text me when someone's dead."
And as he pulled out of the parking lot, he wondered when exactly the talk of death had become a when, rather than an if.
A/N Thanks so much for the positive responses on the first chapter. I'll be honest, this is very much more of a character study for me, and I hope you guys bear with that. I'm sorry not much happens in this one, but I promise it picks up next time. I don't know how long it will be, as I'm not planning any sort of huge canon divergent time story currently, but we'll see. Next chapter is Lydia.
