[ It's cold and crisp outside, and the first step out of the mansion is bone chilling--were he tired, he'd be awake now. Whatever exhaustion has set into Stiles is deep in his bones, started with mourning for his mother and helping his father into bed and hiding the bottles of jack while he was passed out cold and ending with the darach kidnapping his father. he still doesn't know if he's alright, and it weighs on his conscience with every move he makes, "mom would have believed me", and then he was gone. bottling his sadness comes with years and years of practice, things he'd never bring to light until they slapped him in the face, wheezing, pained panic attacks that brought him full force back to wonderland a couple of months back.
that's what coping is for him. it's not really coping so much as forcing things down, down, staying the comic relief, trying to lighten the mood when everyone around him is struggling. it usually works, but things like this ("i don't blame you for it" from scott's mouth after the mines, cora coughing and hacking and hanging onto dear life again, the way everyone just looked hollow) are hard to just bounce back from. every single blood vessel in his body is singing with guilt, you survived, you were the useless human and you survived, you should have protected them better, you should have protected him better, and after thanksgiving, it felt like that darkness around his heart that his mirror had said was growing three sizes too big.
stiles has always been talkative, but it's when he's hurting that he has nothing to say. there's no real need to press an issue with allison, because she--she just gets it. it's something stiles appreciates in more words than he can possibly put into the air, and so he just walks beside her, keeping his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes ahead, occasionally flicking down to look at the ground or up to the stars ahead.
it's maybe ten or fifteen minutes into the walk when he finally opens his mouth, walking with his head turned up to stare at the stars overhead, and it feels a little like fumbling in the dark, to try and find something to say that just makes sense. ] I don't think I've slept in a couple days. [ it's not asking for pity, or sadness--it's just a fact. ]
It makes it feel like a really long dream, y'know? Like if I go to sleep finally-- [ then the zombies will come back, they'll take everyone he loves one by one, they took scott once, they'd take him again, rip derek's head off until there was blood everywhere, so much blood -- ] --then I'll wake up at home in my bed in Beacon Hills.
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that's what coping is for him. it's not really coping so much as forcing things down, down, staying the comic relief, trying to lighten the mood when everyone around him is struggling. it usually works, but things like this ("i don't blame you for it" from scott's mouth after the mines, cora coughing and hacking and hanging onto dear life again, the way everyone just looked hollow) are hard to just bounce back from. every single blood vessel in his body is singing with guilt, you survived, you were the useless human and you survived, you should have protected them better, you should have protected him better, and after thanksgiving, it felt like that darkness around his heart that his mirror had said was growing three sizes too big.
stiles has always been talkative, but it's when he's hurting that he has nothing to say. there's no real need to press an issue with allison, because she--she just gets it. it's something stiles appreciates in more words than he can possibly put into the air, and so he just walks beside her, keeping his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes ahead, occasionally flicking down to look at the ground or up to the stars ahead.
it's maybe ten or fifteen minutes into the walk when he finally opens his mouth, walking with his head turned up to stare at the stars overhead, and it feels a little like fumbling in the dark, to try and find something to say that just makes sense. ] I don't think I've slept in a couple days. [ it's not asking for pity, or sadness--it's just a fact. ]
It makes it feel like a really long dream, y'know? Like if I go to sleep finally-- [ then the zombies will come back, they'll take everyone he loves one by one, they took scott once, they'd take him again, rip derek's head off until there was blood everywhere, so much blood -- ] --then I'll wake up at home in my bed in Beacon Hills.