today i saw the whole world, teen wolf

𝟎𝟑𝟔 home is where the heart is.

Frantically, his hands dig through a mess of papers belonging to Mr. Felch—the music teacher who's desk Stiles had been rummaging through without care—a man who had suddenly disappeared before his last period class and hadn't been seen since.

When Stiles and Paxton had parted ways, he had gone to Deaton for help with the things they couldn't understand, and when Deaton shared his wisdom, Stiles could only hope Paxton had been as lucky as he were.

If only she had luck by her side, maybe she wouldn't have witnessed her mother betray her—not that there was much relationship to betray—or maybe, she wouldn't be covered head-to-toe in blood belonging to man who did what he thought would help, leaving her to witness his near-death experience.

At least Stiles had gotten lucky, or he was until he received a call from Lydia. Her voice had been shaking so badly that he couldn't understand much of what she had breathlessly rambled out. He could only piece together a spill of words, 'Paxton didn't answer... I don't know what to do,' which was enough to send him flying out of the vet clinic and to the school where Lydia said she was right before he hung up.

He made the strenuous trek to the other side of town quick with his impatient driving to bend time. He drove in the quietness of the Jeep, his desperate thoughts seeking Paxton despite the trouble that had fallen onto his lap the moment Lydia called. Perhaps it was their CD playing quietly that reminded him of her, or maybe it's how Lydia said, 'Paxton didn't answer.'

The sentence replayed in his head like a broken record. Scratching the surface of his aching mind. He wondered if she were hurt, if he should call her. He wanted to tell her of all his findings, to be excited about discovering something and share that feeling with her. But how could he when all he can think about is if she's hurt?

He didn't want to be clingy either, though the life they've led validates checking in on each other, but after their conversation earlier that day—where he had panicked about the sacrifices and the meaning of their relationship—he's afraid to push her away. To scare her into the corner she uses for protection when things become too real. They're complicated, never giving themselves enough credit when they have nothing to worry about. Even after that conversation hours ago,  and the many things that happened between then, they're all the other could think about.

It's a strange stretch of time; when they're apart. It feels like an eternity had been spent, that the planet's axis spins more slowly when they're not together. And it complicated things, emotions mainly.

In spite of the complications, they could always feel a pull on their body's when the other is nearby, as if an invisible rope had been connected between them, pulling like a magnet when in proximity.

Stiles groaned, giving up on his search for clues. He shuts the metal drawer of the desk with force as he falls to the floor. There his mind went back to comfort. He glanced up to the clock above Deaton and Lydia as the two converse in whispers about the missing teacher. "Paxton," he mumbled under his breath before jumping to his feet.

Hearing the faint rasp of his sarcastic tone as Stiles asked Deaton for help, Paxton caught herself smiling. She lowers her blushed face, concealing her rosy cheeks despite a door blocking anyone's view of her. Her eyes fall to her hand hovering above the door's handle.

Like her eyes, her smile falls as well, a frown weighing it down. Derek's blood had dried into every minuscule line and crack of her hand. She examines it, frightened by it, remembering the reason she had dared not to look at her reflection on her way here. She must look insane. Her shaking hand turns over, revealing an even more stained palm. Traces of rust is glued down by the crimson blood.