SANITY | STILES STILINSKI

7 | Twelve is Gold

"Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation."
― ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

BIRDY ; SHINE

VII. TWELVE IS GOLD

STILES POV

"Twelve?"

The brunette girl stood there in the cold, slightly shivering, her cheeks a deep tint of red and stained with her own makeup. There were deep bags under her eyes, and her eyes, they were missing a light in them. Everything about the sassy, energetic midget Scott and I have grown very fond of reeked of exhaustion. She looked like she needed a friend, or hug, she needed something and whatever it was I wanted to give it to her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, and as if it took every atom and bone in her body she said the five words I thought would never fall from her lips, "Still wanna hear my story?"

Immediately my face contorted with confusion, and she took notice of that, looking down at her hands. I was confused, confused as to why she wanted to do this now, why she wanted to do this at all to be completely honest. She kept pushing it off earlier tonight with Scott and I, so what made now the right time?

But then I came to conclusion that this was always the thing with Twelve. She was weird, confusing, complicated. She was either way too loud or way too quiet, either took something seriously or couldn't care less about it, she wanted to talk or would stay quiet for a good amount of time, and she either wanted to do something, or she didn't. There were some things she loved with everything inside of her and some things she despised with ever fiber in her being. When it came to Twelve, there was rarely ever a grey area.

"Hey, hey what happened to you, is this about earlier today?" I asked her in the lowest most softest voice I could muster. She seemed okay when Scot and I dropped her off at home about an hour ago, now she just seems out of it, like a switch has been set off in her head. It was weird, seeing her in this kind of light. Before I ever got the privilege to know the mystery that is Spencer Finstock, she seemed so, unemotional. The stone cold loner who simply enjoyed solitude. Although now I know that this is far from the truth. Twelve is so comfortable with this wall that she's built, the one she uses to protect herself. But what she doesn't realize, or just doesn't want to take a chance to realize is that everyone in this world isn't Lydia Martin, and everyone in this world isn't her mom, and whoever else has hurt her. Twelve's perspective on life was very shallow, she either trusted you or she didn't. I don't exactly know where Scott and I fell when it came to those options. I mean, she wants to help Scott, which I think is the craziest, weirdest, unrealistic, yet sweetest thing in the world. But she doesn't want to tell us things about herself, things we'd like to know. She wants to help us so now we want to help her, protect her even. But that stupid wall she has up isn't going to make any of that easy. But walls don't fall without effort, and maybe, just maybe I could be that force.

I wanted to be that force.

She shrugged as I pulled her inside of my house. Once she was in, she cocked a brow whilst looking at all the photos on the wall, like family photos were unfamiliar to her.

She licked her lips, "My dad and I― we got into it. He just pissed me off, flipped a switch or something I don't know."

She was shaking, and I didn't know if it was because she was really cold or just plain tired. But it concerned me, really concerned me, and I didn't know if she was five seconds away from breaking down or breaking my parent's wedding china.

I nodded, "What was it about? Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"He wanted to know where I was, and I know that sounds all fatherly or whatever but he said― he said that he was trying to be a good dad, but he isn't. Spontaneously popping up on me and asking me where I am isn't called trying, right? I mean where was he when I actually needed him? Where was he when I, you know it doesn't matter. I don't know what's wrong with me Stiles. I don't know anything." She said, pacing around the hallway that led to my living room, pulling the strands of her jet black hair. "Can I sleep here tonight? I really, I just, don't want to go back home."