Mysterious ways

Chapter 4

Stiles left the loft right after Scott and Derek. As soon as he gets home, he runs to the bathroom and locks the door behind him. Lowering himself to the ground and sitting with his back against the wall, Stiles hides his face in his hands and starts crying, sobbing silently and trying not to panic.

Back at the loft, he couldn't tell Scott what happened because he was not sure himself. Stiles hadn't been much more of an annoying brat than he usually is and he'd had worst arguments with Derek. And he wasn't even addressing Lydia so her cries were a little out of line, even for her. He just wanted to make sure that she was okay but because Derek was already helping her, Stiles wouldn't dare move or breathe, not after the glare she gave him.

Stiles remembers once telling Scott that the guys are the ones who apologize, that it's what they do. That anytime a guy thinks he hasn't done anything wrong, it means he's definitely done something wrong. And the thing is it was his fault. You fucked up big time, Stiles. And as Lydia loudly told him to shut up back at the loft, it's like all the air was ripped from his lungs and he couldn't see straight. He wanted to cry, god he wanted to scream! But he couldn't. And he hurt her. And he never meant to hurt her. Not Lydia. Tears keep flowing.

He couldn't tell Scott about it, and when he couldn't talk to Scott about something he would turn to Lydia, but obviously that wasn't going to happen.

Stiles has been keeping quiet for a few weeks now, spending less time with them and more with Malia, testing the waters. It's stupid, he knows, but he couldn't think of anything else. Scott would just tell him how bad of an idea that was and Lydia would probably shoot him a glare and make a snarky comment, only to right after sit beside him and help him figure something else out. But he couldn't put Lydia in danger, certainly not because of him and his big mouth.

If it weren't for this, Lydia would probably be laying on her stomach reading on his bed right now, and he'd be sitting on the floor next to the bed and next to her as they have done so many times when they are researching for the pack. Stiles shakes his head slightly at the memories but the pain doesn't go away.

He's protecting the pack really, but they probably won't believe him when they find out. Not for a while. He doesn't think of it as a sacrifice on his part, but more like a compromise. He will endure the situation for as long as it takes, as long as the others stay safe. Stiles couldn't be more okay with that. They are more than pack, they're family. And to him that makes it worth it. But in the end he's just human, and his emotions get the best of him. Stiles cries his heart out, not moving for a long time.

He's mostlty oblivious to his surroundings until he hears a knock on the bathroom door.

"Stiles, are you in there?"

Shit. "Go home, Malia." Why can't she use the stupid front door? Stiles checks the time on his phone. He's been in there for over an hour.

"Are you crying?" she asks, an annoyed tone in her voice. Stiles could swear he heard her growl.

Getting up and glancing at the mirror, he can't recognize himself. His eyes are red and his cheeks wet from all the crying, his t-shirt is a mess. He's still out of breath but he doesn't care. He unlocks the door to face the werecoyote.

"Yes. What is it to you?" His words are harsher than he intends but fuck it. He walks past her, heading downstairs to the kitchen.

"Stiles, what's wrong? What happened?" She looks worried as she follows him, not sure what to make of the different emotions she can smell on him. "Is this about her?"