This Isn't The End {Stiles Stilinski}[1]

The Healing Touch of a Friend

Chapter 7: The Healing Touch of a Friend

Rolling over, it took me a moment to realize that the bed I was in was not actually my own. Slightly startled, I glanced around me, noticing the small things (like the Darth Vader bobblehead I had gotten him for Christmas) that made up Stiles Stilinski's room.

Turning around, my eyes darted frantically to see if he was in the bed beside me, a sigh of relief floating from my lips as I realized he must have slept on the couch. Falling back against the covers, I recalled all that had happened the night before as a groan fell from my mouth.

Grabbing a pillow from behind my head, I pushed it over my face, not wanting to face anything that had to do with anybody today.

Sighing, I thanked god it was the weekend and continued lying in my cocoon of blankets and pillows until I heard a soft knock on the door. Shortly after, I heard the door slowly opening and a soft chuckle before it shut again.

"Are you dead?" Came his amused voice, seeming to be standing right over me.

"Go away." Was the throaty groan that came out of my mouth, my voice cracking from all the screaming last night.

"No can do comrade. Get up, dad made breakfast." I started to feel light pushes on my arms over the blankets and groaned loudly, causing Stiles to laugh.

"I hate everything. Go away." All I heard was a chuckle before shuffling noises emerged. Before I knew it, I was being pulled, blankets and all, off of Stiles' bed.

A noise like a screeching cat emerged from my throat as I tried to claw my way onto the bed, but it was too late. 

My cocoon had betrayed me.

Falling onto the ground didn't hurt too bad with all the padding as Stiles proceeded to pick me up and haul me over his shoulder and down the stairs. Wriggling like a caterpillar, I yelled at him to let me go.

He did not listen.

Eventually, I heard a deeper chuckle and realized we were in the kitchen, the smell of bacon and John's laughter echoing around us.

"Put her down Stiles. The poor girl is probably suffocating." Despite his words, I could hear the smile in his voice and the soft chuckle that escaped his lips afterward. Luckily, for once, the son listened to his father and set me down on the ground.

Crawling out of my safe haven, I knew I looked like hell when I got out; glaring at everything around me, messy hair, makeup still on my face from last night, streaking down it like miserable war paint.

"Jesus, kid, what happened to you?" John questioned in surprise. I could now see that he was dishing out the bacon I could smell before.

"Long night John, long night." I croaked out. Finally standing up from the ground, I adjusted the sweats I had on and stalked to the table, trying to smooth my hair out as I went.

Stiles had already seated himself at the table and was waiting for his father to bring over the trays of food; very obviously a hungry teenage boy.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked as walked over to the table, looking all the concerned parent he'd always been. In reality, John was more my father than my own dad was.

"Not really. I just want to eat some food, take a shower, and mope for the day." In emphasis, I grabbed a sausage he had just put on the table with my fork and tore into it, letting out a satisfied hum.

"Well, you can do all that here if you want to. I've got to go into the station soon, but I think Stiles is supposed to be home all day, right son?" Turning to look at his son with a questioning expression, the Sheriff bit into a piece of bacon before setting it down on his plate.