Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: Scott and Lydia watching out for Stiles after the nogitsune is gone.

06 (Catch)

"Chemistry?" Stiles' voice is hollow and distant to his own ears, but Lydia doesn't miss a beat.

"Yep." She tells him and keeps up their pace to their next class. "Easy stuff. Just a quiz on the periodic table today." It's easier with Lydia sometimes because she's like this. She doesn't coddle Stiles or edge her words around him, looking for land mines at every step. She was still Lydia. She was clipped and precise. She handled him with put upon sighs when he couldn't do something she knew he could. When the others shuffled around how to needle him into eating, Lydia threw apples and protein bars at him with a 'try and test me' crease to her brow. She challanged him and showed her frusstration and, at times, it was a very welcoming groove.

The pack all had their own ways of approaching and interacting with Stiles now. Some were overly cautious and gentle, some smiled too wide too often so Stiles' could see the strain in it, some avoided the issue all together. But they all tried. They all stayed. After everything, not one of the pack had written him off or abandoned him. It astounded him at times, really.

Stiles appreciated and loathed their different approaches to him in turn. It just depended on what horror show or level of detachment he was in at the time.

Stiles has every class with at least one of the pack. He doesn't remember that happening, but that's not really unusual.

Stiles loses time now. Mostly only minutes or hours. There are some days too, but they're more rare and usually only pass by at that length of time as some sort of waking haze. He can recall them, but has to constantly tell himself they really happened to him, even if it didn't feel like it.

Lydia is reciting the periodic table that neither of them need to rehearse anymore and haven't for years, when Stiles stops in the hall. Lydia turns quick enough that she may have been anticipating it. She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn't move just yet, watching him.

Stiles looks around and has the all too familiar experience of not knowing how he got here. By the time he's moved to press his back against the lockers on the wall, he's blanked on where 'here' even is. Lydia's in front of him and thre's no one else around. His heartbeat picks up and his throat catches. He goes absolutely still because is this real? Is this real? Or did the bell ring?

"Stiles? Stiles." Lydia's voice is soft and that's how Stiles knows this is a bad day. Lydia only reverts to that too gentle tone on bad days when Stiles literally cannot tolerate anything else or anything at all. She's close to him, working at maintaining eye contact even though his eyes are flitting everywhere restlessly. She's got her phone in hand, pushing a few buttons, still without looking.

'SOS', Stiles manages to think through, remember. To the pack or at least parts of it depending on how bad she thought this break was because Stiles didn't know...didn't know...where were they? Why was Lydia there?

There's low murmuring and Stiles almost jolts as something touches him. But then two fingers are sliding across the underside of his left wrist, passing over the jut of bone. It's a touch Stiles knows that calms him even when he can't remember the name attached to the childhood signal.

"Hey, Stiles." Scott. "I've got you. We're gonna get you home. Can you try and walk for us?" Stiles nods numbly just because there's nothing he can think of that he wouldn't do or die trying to do for that familiar presence.

Scott turns him in the direction of the doors and gets them moving. He stays within inches of Stiles at his side, but doesn't touch until he needs to. Lydia's a step behind them with Stiles' bookbag and folders he didn't recall dropping.

Stiles falters and Scott shoulders up under him immediately, arm wrapped tight around his waist and murmuring, "I got ya. I got ya."

And he did.