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1866 WORDS
Stiles crouched besides Lydia, the girl curled up into Aiden's chest carefully bowing her forehead into his heartbeat in a calming manner. Again he lifted himself up adjusting the strap of his gun over his shoulder and turned toward the front door. Deaton had told him it was safe, but he still positioned watches just in case, especially with the other group, or pack, or whatever they call themselves up stairs. Scott says a few of them are awake in the house as well. About 10 others were in the house besides their little group.
Stiles slowly pulled open the door with a soft sigh, his heart in a slow version of his normally fast speed. Scott looks at him worried as the human offers a hand inside to switch positions.
"It's cold out there." Scott states softly.
"I'll live." His brother returns quickly. "Anything?" He questions, one word saying every worry.
Scott shakes his head. Looking stiles up and down, who stares out the door almost expectantly, he catches the small marks on his arm, the worry lines in his forehead, and sadness in his eyes.
"Great." He whispers, Scott almost not catching it.
"You know it wasn't your fault." The wolf starts softly as he crosses his arm. He shifts his weight watching Stiles's hand fall free from the door nob handle.
"What?"
"Amber... what you said earlier. There was no way to be sure- safe. It's wasn't your fault. We work together, everyone to keep everyone alive. It's not all on you."
Stiles scoffs and turns away. "And how's that. You want to be friends with everyone Scott, that's how her parents died in the first place."
"And I can't even begin to understand how you took blame for that as well. I trusted that guy when we met him- he turned out to be infected, that was my fault."
"I should've turned him away." Stiles snapped back not looking at his brother.
"Theo was cunning- it wasn't your fault, it was mine. I should've listened to you." Scott shook his head.
"Yeah. And what about this time. This time it was my fault- I should've held her back or something. Pushed harder for her to get pulled up first."
"So that you'd be the one dead instead. No way!" At this point the two were whisper yelling at one another. And most definitely have woken someone up. "Or- and you better know I hate to say this- with both of you alive that thing would've chased us all the way here."
Stiles hadn't told Scott about his talk with Deaton. But know, with Scott's thinking, he wish he had. Maybe it would have, or wouldn't have, but they probably all would've been safe and fine. Even with the damn rouge on their asses. But Scott is right. And he hated that, not because he seemed illogical, but because he felt he should be the one thinking these things.
Stiles pealed off the gun strap sticking to his shoulder from sweat, adrenaline burning under his skin and making his hands shake. He drops it down and inhales a heavy breath, desperately trying to regain his mind as it spiraled. He kicks aside his four barrel shot gun as Scott watches him angrily beat at what must've been an old table, or door side table of sorts. Amber was strong, and close to stiles, they bonded over their versions of how the whole world wreck started. Stiles panted, his brain was mush with logic long gone, he didn't care about the open front door or loud crunch of wood. Nor Aiden poking his head around the corner and Allison following with a knife trained and ready to thrown.
His back was turned anyways as he panted, tears that once stung the back of his eyes pooled forward. Scott waved the two away, watching them move back into the living room with a nod. Stiles gripped his hair in his fists and stressed his throat with an unvoiced scream. He begged himself not to make any pathetic sounds he wouldn't be able to take back, begged himself to only show anger and not weakness. Then the footsteps, those that finally, and suddenly, and surprisingly snapped him back. Footsteps decending the stairs, heavy on wood, and yet still oddly silent.
Stiles turned his head as did Scott to be met with green eyes in the dark.
"Hi.." he muttered out of pure lose of self control, he hated his voice, scratchy and tear ridden. He swiped the ball of his palm over his eye as another tear fell. "Hi." He said more strongly and offered a stern look.
"You're loud." Derek responded. That's when stiles noticed the small yellow beady eyes peering over the top of Derek stair railing.
Stiles blinked at that. A kid, a kid werewolf, but a kid. In this world, he blinked again and watched the small young boy bolt from the edge. Stiles's eyes fell to Derek agin, he again swiped his know dry eyes and stiffened his position.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to bother your beauty sleep." Derek's nose scrunched with the snarky tone.
Scott pressed his hand to stiless shoulder and squeezed. "Stiles I think he was already awake." The human nodded but kept his eyes on Derek.
"It's about three in the morning, I normally get up now and go for a run." Scott met Derek's eyes, stiles remembering his creepy Deaton conversation. Scott makes the friends, allies are safety.
"Think you can take my animals with you." Scott squeezed tighter and tugged slightly on stiles's shoulder. The human grunting and then chuckling. "What."
"You're such a dork." Scott mutters as stiles pulls away allowing himself to bend down and sit the know partly broken table up right, then grab his gun. "But," Scott meets Derek's eyes again, the man having moved to stand at the bottom of the steps and cross his arms. "Do you think myself and my pack could join you."
Derek squinted at Scott and then turned away, "no. You should leave before the others wake up."
Stiles scoffed watching Derek leave, the man turned around the corner behind the stairs, small pattering feet were heard soon after. A small boy practically jumping down the steps, swung around the bottom rail to run after the alpha wolf at that stiles couldn't stay mad, in fact he even winked at the boy who paused to look at him for a moment, a sliver of who he once was slipping through the slim cracks of his faux walls of strength.
"You are such a softy for kids." Scott bit at stiles playfully. The human rolled his eyes
"Shut up."
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Stiles slung his gun over his shoulder and stuffed the other in his belt. He sighed and nervously rubbed his palms on his pants, then dropped his head back. The group was gathering their things and getting ready to leave. They got about five hours of rest, most of them hadn't slept too much, but they slept enough.
Stiles gripped his hands into fists and moved forward, passing the stairs and finding that behind them were more stairs. Instead these led down into the ground, a basement most likely. After that to either side, we're large rooms. To his left was the kitchen, or what once was, and repurposed. Someone had remade the counters, only out of wood and not whatever was used before. The cabinets looked like nothing sturdy but they held bunches of cans and below it under the remade counters were stacks of water bottle packages.
The kitchen had two buckets and a leather rag- most likely made of deer skin. It had a rake which hung meat- it seemed fresh and stiles has no idea how it wasn't smelt by his wolves. He'd have to look more into that. When stiles turned to look at the other room, to the right, which seemed like a sort of open space he caught small yellow eyes again.
The boy from before hid himself around a back door, the locks on it undone as he stood in the doorway. He blinked at stiles curiously.
"Hi." He said softly and slowly crouched. "You know you got some bright yellow lights there?" He asked with a playful tone and waved before his own eyes.
The kid bowed his head and blinked a bunch before looking back up at stiles with his bright brown eyes. He boy grinned and stiles matched it.
"What's your name? I'm stiles." The boy shook his head no, in return stiles raised his hands in defense. "Alright. That's fine, I don't need to know anything." His grin deepened with another wink. The kid smiled weakly. "I'm just looking around before we leave, can I do that?"
The boy looks behind himself out toward the woods, then meets Stiles's eyes again, he nods with a curious look.
"Want to help, show me around?" Stiles suggests lightly. The boy blinks and steps forward, he looks right- or better yet, stiles's left. Then toward him again.
Stiles smiles as the boy moves forward- he couldn't be more that 4 or 5 years old. The kid reaches stiles quickly and grips his hand tightly. He pulls stiles toward the right room to show him that instead.
When they made it inside the room, through the open doorway, stiles found large, white, slightly raised mats. They were like boxing mats, for training. He'd seen them before, just not in the bloodied state these were in. Like they'd witnessed a murder. He smiled down at the boy looking up and watching him carefully. The kid pulled on his hand again, only actually holding two of his fingers in his small hands. Stiles watched as the kid pulled him through another doorway leading into a large library. The books scouring the walls led high and the old chandelier hanging from the roof was burnt up and half ruined.
The books were clearly brought in after, not kept from the fire. A fire stiles of course knew nothing about, the only indication was the house was literally burnt to a crisp. A long table was in this room, down the center of the room with chairs surrounding it and papers all along it. When stiles moved toward the table the kid stayed put, slightly tugging on the older's hand as if to say no. Instead stiless softly pulled his hand with a soft smile and kept moving.
He stopped at the table and scanned his fingers over the dusty pages. He looked over steady made lines, clear strikes of the pen and or pencil. Buildings that would be seen in New York. Others, versions of the world covered in vines. Some were intricate and delicate and the buildings would be a work of art themselves. A beautiful sketch of a woman caught his attention for only a moment before he noticed sketches of the home he stood in know. As he set the page down a voice interrupted.
"Kai!!" It was angry and desperate and when stiles spun he noticed the worried boy bouncing his eyes from stiles to behind himself.
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