HORNS « STILES STILINSKI »

XI. TRIGGERS & TOUCHES

"How stupid of you to think you can." I reply, as I punch the guy on the left, and hit the leg with the baton of the right one.

I kick the right one behind the leg, and the left one tries to punch me, but I duck, making them both stumble on each other.

Stiles comes and stands by me, as we both watch the both of them groaning on the floor.

"That's it?" He asks, surprised. I give him a look. "I mean, I'm just saying, I expected more from them."

"I believe I saying this, but I agree." I tell him. "Now I get why Gerard always called me his best soldier." I turn to see him, still nodding at the bodies.

"Is it normal to be terrified of you?" He asks him, making a smirk come to my face.

"Yep." I tell him, as I grab his collar, and drag him out of the house.

"YEAH, I'M NOT FINDING any clues here." We hear the Sheriff say into his phone, as Stiles and I slowly walk up to his room. "Listen, if he... If he shows up at the hospital... Okay, thanks." He hangs up, still not noticing us. "Come on, Stiles. Where the hell are you?"

"Right here." Stiles answers, softly, as he makes his way in, and I stand at the door. "It's okay. Dad, it's okay." Stiles tells him, as the Sheriff examines his wounds.

"Who did it?" The Sheriff asks, his anger not disguised well.

"It's okay. It was just a couple kids from the other team." Stiles lies. "They were really pissed about losing and I was... I was mouthing off, you know. The next thing I know..."

"Who was it?" Sheriff asks again.

"Dad, I don't know." Stiles says. "I didn't even see them, really."

"I want descriptions." Sheriff tells him, sternly.

"Dad, come on. It's not even that bad." Stiles tries to convince him.

"I'm calling that school." Sheriff tells him. "I'm calling them and I'll personally go down there, and I'm gonna pistol-whip these little bastards!"

"Dad!" Stiles cuts him off, loudly. "I just... I said I was okay."

The Sheriff looks at him, and pulls him into a hug.

"God." He breaths out.

I SLOWLY WALK INTO Stiles' room, a cup of coffee in my hand, and see him laying on his bed, his eyes closed. I walk up to him, quietly, as to not disturb him, and kneel down near the head of his bed.

I hadn't noticed his bruises before, but they seemed to have worsen. I put the cup of coffee on the nightstand, and slowly raise my hand.

I reach for his cheek, where there was a blood red bruise, and hesitate for a second.

My fingers lightly graze his cheek, and all I can feel is anger and regret.

"I'm fine." His soft voice says, as he opens his eyes, and I just sit on the bed.

"No, you're not." I tell him, as I put my hand on his cheek. "I should've intervened before he even laid a hand on you."

"This is not your fault." He tells me, as he holds my hand, whish was on his cheek, and sit up.

"Isn't it?" I ask him, my eyes watering. "It's my fault you got hurt, and it's my fault my friend was kidnapped, and it's my fault..." A tear slips from my eyes. "It's my fault Cole's dead."