Chapter Text
Thinking about it now, Stiles supposed it was probably a long time coming--if not for the fact that his dad was a sheriff, but because he was a Stilinski. After all, Stilinskis didn’t have a good record of living much past their 50s, if their lack of family was anything to go by. Maybe he was actually lucky to even make it to 40, considering the nightmares that blew through this town on a daily basis.
Too logically, these thoughts floated through Stiles’s head as he sat there in the quiet of the hospital room, holding onto a dead man's hand with his own still covered in blood. In the back of his mind, it felt as if the last tether that held him to this earth and told him to keep living… fell away.
Riding on the coat tails of a despair that left him exhausted and devoid of most emotion, Stiles couldn’t even find the energy to cry, much less even process what was going on around him. He didn’t register that Melissa was herding him out of the room and into an empty hospital bed, and he didn’t hear the words she spoke or feel the delicate stroke of her fingers through his matted hair, the soft and meaningless platitudes whispered as he drifted off into sleep.
The first thing Stiles saw upon waking was soft, strawberry hair and sad eyes, and in an attempt to placate and soothe, he smiled at her. “Hey, Lyds, you’re looking better.” Especially considering the last time he'd seen her, she was bleeding from her head and had almost died… again. To be honest, he hadn’t seen her after having sat down with her mother and explained everything supernatural in an attempt to avoid a situation like that ever happening again.
Drowning in his thoughts, he was suddenly jarred to the present when Lydia spoke, all sad eyes and watery smile. “Hey you.” Taking a deep and steadying breath, she suddenly blurted, “Mom's taking me away; we leave at the end of the week.” Then she shut her eyes, awaiting the judgement, or the yelling…
But none of that came. Instead, she heard a sigh, equal measures relief and resignation, and as she peaked through her lashes, he spoke, voice rough with old grief. “Thank you… for coming and telling me. Thank you for staying alive. I needed to know you're safe, and if it means you leaving and never coming back? I'll take a few Skype calls and long distance roaming.”
A tear-filled laugh escaped her as she tightened her hold on his hand. “Don’t go getting sentimental on me now, Stilinski.”