Burn It Down || Stilinski || Book One

Thirty-Three

On their way to pick up Scott, Sierra was scared to speak. He stared at the road blankly with one hand on the wheel, the other anxiously tapping against his knee. She knew he didn't want to talk about it, because if he did he would probably cry. And tonight, he couldn't; there was too much riding on their plan. It had to work. So instead, Sierra silently reached over the console to slip her fingers underneath his hand, and intertwined them gently. Stiles felt himself relax slightly from her touch, appreciating the gesture and understanding greatly.

He held her hand tightly as he continued to drive, but still didn't speak until they had arrived at the rave with Scott. The teen wolf held the back up while Stiles unloaded the mountain ash, confused on to why his best friends were being so quiet. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, directing his question to the pale boy.

"Yeah," Stiles replied simply; Scott didn't need to know his troubles. The guy had enough problems. "Why?'

Scott shrugged, "You just didn't say anything the whole way here." His gaze flickered over to Sierra once Stiles assured him he was fine, wondering if she knew why he was upset.

"Can one of you grab the other bag?" Stiles changed the subject, but both of them had to shake their heads. Deaton said he had to do it alone, and even though Sierra didn't know why she couldn't help, she wasn't going to take any chances. "Okay, this plan is really starting to suck," Stiles announced just as Scott's ears perked at a sound in the distance.

The werewolf took a step forward, and grumbled under his breath. "Not here, not now." He took off in a sprint, which caused Stiles to call his name out in protest to no avail. Stiles sighed at the sight of his friend disappearing inside the warehouse where the rave was being held, leaving Sierra to stare at him in concern with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You okay?" she questioned softly but genuinely. His mind was flooded with many thoughts that kept continuously bouncing around, causing his foot to anxiously tap on the concrete. His whiskey eyes snapped over to where she was, only making his brain remember what he confessed to her earlier.

"I'm fine," Stiles brushed it off and picked up one of the bags filled with mountain ash. "We better get moving if we have to completely spread this around-"

"Stiles," Sierra interrupted a little more sternly and he tensed. "Don't lie to me, alright? You know that I know you better than that. I know things with your dad don't seem that great right now-"

Letting his emotions get the better of him, Stiles interjected her coldly. "No, you don't know, Sierra, so stop thinking that you do. You don't have to know every thought that goes through my head, okay!? I've never pressured you into talking, so you don't have a right to try and force me!" he finished with a heavy exhale, his words hanging in the air. Sierra's blue eyes filled with shock and she took a small step back. She had never meant to upset him further; she just wanted to help.

Stiles knew as he stared at her that he had made a mistake. He didn't mean what he said; it was out of spite and anger. He was angry at himself for causing his father to basically lose his job, for dragging Scott into the woods that one night, and for confessing his feelings to the girl who stood before him- obviously not feeling the same. He watched as she licked her lips and nodded her head slightly without saying a word. "I think I'll just wait here," she then spoke up quietly. "I'll be here when you're done."

"Wait, Sierra," Stiles was about to apologize for his behavior that he didn't mean to take out on her but her face had fallen, telling him they needed at least a couple minutes apart before they should finish the conversation. A small sigh escaped his lips as he took the bag of mountain ash and started pouring it in a line, away from her while she stayed by the jeep.