AN: Song: The Rolling Stones - Laugh, I nearly died

When Stiles was a kid he hurt himself on a daily basis. He ran too fast, stumbled over his own feet, ran against furniture, bumped into people. His constant energy never letting him slow down. He scraped his knees, wounded his hands, fell on his face and got bruises all over his body, but that never stopped him.

Once he pretended to be Batman, climbed up a tree, whilst fighting against the wicked Joker. He had been so close to winning the fight. But then he suddenly lost balance – Joker was probably playing tricks on him – and he fell down the tree. It wasn't high, but enough to land on his leg in a weird angle. He had been six, that was his first time being in a hospital again after his birth.

It didn't stop with a broken leg. When he was 8, he sleepwalked and fell down the stairs. He'd been lucky to only break his hand during his fall. With 13 he had his skateboard phase, where he sprained his foot once or twice.

As a kid he had thought there was nothing worse than needing to stay in a hospital bed all day long. He wanted to explore the whole building, was curious. But when he had another injure with 16, a broken arm the cause of a rough lacrosse game, he knew better. He hadn't known as a kid, he couldn't have known. Because he still had his mom during that time.

But after his mother's death, he knew there was nothing worse, than being at the hospital – not because he was hurt, but because someone he loved was. Sitting at the edge of his mom's bed every day after school. Doing his homework halfheartedly in her room and stealing Reese's out of the vending machine to eat at least something.

He'd never understood why his mom always asked him to be more careful, hadn't known why she always worried. He did know now though. He got it. And he wanted to apologize to his mom for making her worry about him, wanted to tell her he understood.

Stiles, sweetie, I love you and every facet of you, but please try to be more careful. Can you do that? You're so brave, but I'm not, I can't see you hurt like this. You're gonna be careful next time?

"Sure, I promise, mom." Stiles mumbled sleepily. His eyes felt heavy, but he forced himself to open them to look at his mom. He blinked to the right side of his bed, then to the other. There was no one there. He was alone. His mom wasn't with him.

Sadness spread in his chest as he realized he'd only dreamed of his mom. It felt so real. He could still feel the lingering touches, whenever she had stroked him gently through his hair. Lydia sometimes did it the same way. And he would always bury his face in her neck and hug her close.

Stiles slowly sat up. His body hurt and he got a headache. He rubbed his fingers over his temple, but flinched with a hiss, when he touched a seemingly wounded area.

His brows furrowed. He was confused and couldn't put all the pieces together yet. He remembered being at Danny's party. And he drunk a bottle or two, but not that much to blackout and wake up in the hospital again.

Cautiously he slipped out of bed. His eyes instantly looked down over his body. He was in the same clothes as yesterday. His shirt got blood stains he couldn't explain.

He felt a little dizzy getting up. He blamed it on lack of water, so he made a grab to the water bottle on the table next to his bed. He filled the cup and drowned it, only then noticing how thirsty he really was. He filled the cup again.

Stiles made his way over to the bathroom attached to his room. Even though he'd felt like he didn't drink anything the last past hours, he still was in desperate need of the toilet. He used it and then went over to the sink to wash his hands. The mirror he'd ignored while walking in the room, now showing a beat up face. His face.

"Holy motherfucking shit." He mumbled to himself and leaned forward to get a better look at his injuries. His lip was split, he got a red bruise on his cheek and a blueish one around his eye. And on the side of his head, where he'd touched it before, was a stitched up wound.

Bit by bit last night flashed behind his eyes. He remembered fooling around with Lydia, playing the stupid game and then getting into a fight with Jackson.

He observed his face a moment longer and then pushed himself off the sink.

He got into an argument with his dad, remembered getting yelled at and - oh yeah, right. His heart pulled itself together, as he remembered the words his father said to him. Do you think she would be happy with the way you're handling things now? He'd gone outside to get fresh air after that. But then.. he didn't know what had happened after that. He did his best to concentrate, though it was no use. He couldn't fill the blank.

"Goddammit."

Stiles went out of the bathroom, pulled on his shoes and then walked straight up to the door of his room. He didn't want to stay here any longer. He wasn't a big fan of hospitals and he felt well enough to leave. Besides he was in need of a shower and fresh clothes.

He left the room and looked up and down the hallway, before going left. He knew his way around by now. The hallways were clear of people, only when he reached the registration, he came across other people as well as nurses, who were working there.

"Excuse me?" Stiles spoke up to the woman sitting behind the registration desk. "I just woke up in my room. I'm feeling well, so I was wondering if I could, you know, leave?" He knew it wouldn't be that easy. They needed his dad's confirmation for that. But he thought it was worth a try anyway.

"What's your name?" The nurse asked, ready to type his name into the computer in front of her. Stiles told her his last name and when she found what she was looking for, she nodded shortly. "Wait here, I'm gonna call Dr. Geyer."

Stiles muttered a quick thanks, before walking over to the benches to wait for the doctor. He sighed and scratched his head - avoiding his wound mindfully. He really wanted to know what happened, his memory still not quite recovered.

His leg started to bounce as minutes passed. Stiles eyes wandered around the hallway and over the people in there. He spotted a few people with minor injuries, but what really got his attention were the others, who had worried looks on their faces or even tears in their eyes.

He knew what it felt like to sit there without being able to do anything other than wait for either good or bad news. His dad had been shot once during work and though he'd had enough bad memories with his mom in the hospital, he hadn't been prepared for that. It had happened all of a sudden and to this point his dad was all he'd got left. Stiles never wanted to experience that ever again.

"Mr. Stilinski.. Stiles, right?" Stiles got ripped out of his thoughts by the question. He looked up, finding Dr. Geyer standing beside him.

Stiles stood up and nodded. "Yeah, hey, uhm so I was wondering if I need to stay here. Because I actually feel good right now."

"Did you feel dizzy after waking up?" Dr. Geyer asked without acknowledging Stiles' question. He had a clipboard in his hand, ready to write anything down, Stiles would tell him. The teenager tried to get a look at the paper, but didn't manage to catch a glimpse.

"Uh, well.." Stiles started. He considered lying, but Dr. Geyer looked at him, as if he already knew the answer. "I did feel a little dizzy, but not that long. I drank the water on the table beside my bed and feel better now."

Dr. Geyer's eyed him up, looking for any sign that could give away his actual state of health. But Stiles did feel well. He didn't just say it so he could leave, even though that was something he desperately wanted to do.

"What do you remember of last night?"

Again Stiles answered with a thinking sound first before actually replying with words. "I remember getting into a fight at a party. My dad was pissed at me and we had an argument at home. It was pretty bad."

A nod from the doctor followed with every word Stiles spoke. He wrote something down on his papers, before looking up again. "Anything else?"

"I.. don't really know. I remember getting out of the house after our fight. To get fresh air I guess, but from there on it's kinda blurry."

"I see." Was the only answer Dr. Geyer gave. "Follow me, Stiles."

The doctor started walking down the corridor and Stiles stumbled after him. That's why he always hated talking to docs. They asked questions and demanded a detailed answer, but they themselves never spoke more than two words when it came to giving information.

So Stiles didn't even try talking to Dr. Geyer, knowing he wouldn't get a proper reply anyway. He followed silently, but observing. The doctor lead him into a separate office. He pointed at a chair in front of the desk and Stiles sat down. Against his expectations Dr. Geyer sat in the chair beside him and not in the one behind the desk. They both turned towards each other.

"Here's the deal." Dr. Geyer began and simultaneously placed his clipboard on the desk. He intertwined his fingers and looked at the teenager in front of him. "The fight with your dad triggered you into a panic attack."

Stiles furrowed his brows, because he didn't remember that. But it wasn't really shocking, it wasn't his first and wouldn't be his last attack. "Okay, well that's nothing new." He answered casually with a shrug of his shoulder.

"So you just accept it without trying to work on it?"

"I am working on it. And I'm managing it just nicely as well." Stiles saw the need to defend himself. He knew panic attacks weren't something to just ignore or take as easy as he did. But for him they were almost a part of him, something normal he'd learned to accept.

Dr. Geyer nodded, looking like he knew better and Stiles didn't like it at all. "No one was with you at the time you had your last attack, so we don't know for sure, but it seems like you were struggling so hard to breath, you collapsed at some point. If that's how you manage your episodes, I advise you to change your tactic."

Stiles blinked at that. Well, this definitely was new. That had never happened before. Without even noticing, he reached up and tenderly touched the wound on his temple. He fucking fell on his head, because of his annoying panic attack. Could this get any worse?

"How do you want me to change my tactic?" Stiles asked despite his better judgment. He knew the answer already. He should go to therapy again, talk his feelings out, share his deepest fears with other people in group therapy. Yeah, that was a no for Stiles.

Dr. Geyer suggested just what Stiles had expected, so he had his perfect answer on his tongue already. "Listen, doc. I know you mean well, but I already tried talking to a therapist. It didn't help much. I'm better on my own and it's not like I'm completely alone. I've got my dad and my girlfriend. They're helping me much."

"Except when you have a panic attack on your own. Then there's no one to help you."

Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. His bruises stung at the touch, but he ignored it. "I usually can take them on my own, okay? That never happened before."

"So it's getting worse." A statement, not a question. And it was pissing Stiles off. Dr. Geyer twisted the words in his mouth. On purpose.

"I'm fine. Can I go home?" Stiles asked, because he didn't see that conversation ending well. They wouldn't agree on that matter. Stiles never ever wanted to go to therapy again. It wasn't like he felt bad during it. But afterwards he always felt weak and open. And the sessions weren't really helping much either.

"Your dad needs to come and sign those papers." The doctor replied calmly and pointed at a file on the desk. Stiles only then noticed his name written on it. "How about I call him and until he's here, we're gonna talk some more?"

It sounded like a question, but Stiles knew it wasn't one. Though he had to give the doc credit on letting him at least think to have a say in this one.

Stiles shrugged one shoulder, since he didn't have a choice anyway. Dr. Geyer stood up, now going behind the desk to make the call. When the Sheriff picked up, he seemed to worry much, because Dr. Geyer immediately assured him everything was fine and that he could take his son home.

The doctor sat on the chair. He faced Stiles and observed him silently. Stiles starred back, showing him that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"What did you do during therapy?" He finally asked, relaxing himself back into the backrest.

Stiles crossed his arms, which he knew looked like a defense position. He didn't care. "We talked a lot. That's nice and all, but I don't need my dad to pay someone to talk to me, if I can just go and talk to him instead."

"Are you talking to him?"

"Yes."

"About everything?"

Stiles hesitated. "Mostly. What I don't tell him, I tell Lydia."

Dr. Geyer took his clipboard to hand and started writing again. Stiles felt vulnerable knowing someone wrote his problems down. It was strange sitting there and just watching the other work out his opinion on him. Ms. Morell, his former therapist, never had done that. She'd always taken notes after their session.

"When did you go to therapy the first time?"

Stiles went seeing doctors since he was a kid. But he guessed Dr. Geyer wanted to know about the therapy of his current problems. "With fourteen, after my mom died. Nightmares, anxiety, insomnia, panic attacks; it all hit me at once and my dad sent me to therapy immediately. We worked out tactics, I could use to calm down and stuff. But other than that it didn't help me much."

Dr. Geyer kept writing, though it looked like he was actually listening. Stiles didn't get why they needed to talk about it. He just wanted to go home and live his life like he had before. He didn't want any therapy sessions or people who claimed to help him. He just wanted to be left alone.

"How long did you go there?"

"For two years."

"And no results?"

"No. Everything got worse over the years. When I turned sixteen I told my dad I didn't want to go there anymore. We worked on it alone and at some point it got somewhat better. Now it's getting worse again. It's always coming in episodes. Some times are easier, some harder. I learned to live like that." Stiles emphasized his last sentence, making it clear, he didn't want to change anything. Of course he wanted it to get better, but he knew only he himself could make that happen. There was no one, who could just take his issues away from him.

Dr. Geyer leaned forward again, he still looked calm, but his eyes had a serious touch now. "Stiles, you need to understand how serious this is. You suffer from mental illness. And it's getting worse, the longer you ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it, I'm-"

"Working on it, yes, I know. And I understand you want to make it on your own, but if this goes deeper, and it seems like it does, you could have a real psychiatric disorder for which you maybe need medication or regular therapy to get better. Some things you can't handle on your own."

"Oh, so I'm a full on nutcase now?" Of course Stiles was aware of the fact, that his mind wasn't 'normal'. He knew there was something wrong, he'd been in Eichen once for a reason (something he didn't want to think of ever again). But he had always hoped whatever he suffered from wouldn't be that bad. That he could go through it as long as it lasts and then never have to worry about it again. A diagnosed disorder meant long term therapy, and he wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to hear he needed to take pills for the rest of his life.

The doctor ignored Stiles' sarcasm, he was used to any kind of patients by now. "Stiles, this isn't something you have to feel uncomfortable with or be ashamed of." He says, his voice soft and understanding. He took the folder in front of him and quickly read it over. "You're ADHD diagnosed, right?" He read from the papers.

"Yeah, why?"

"And you take Aderall regularly?"

"Used to. I don't need it that much anymore."

Dr. Geyer had a little smile on his face as he closed the folder again. "If a therapist should diagnose another disorder, and I say if on purpose, it wouldn't be any different from your ADHD. You would go to therapy in the beginning. You did that as a kid as well, right?" When Stiles nodded in confirmation, Dr. Geyer continued. "If there's medication you'd need, you would learn when and how to take it. But other then that it wouldn't change much in your life, except that you'd start to feel better. And I'm only talking about the worst scenario. Maybe there's no other disorder and all you need is a little professional help."

Stiles didn't say anything after that. The doc had a point, and still Stiles didn't want to think of anything like that. He couldn't go back to therapy. He had a feeling, that would make everything worse. He wasn't ready to start all over again. And it wasn't like he couldn't manage his episodes on his own. Maybe Dr. Geyer was right, and he needed professional help for a long term recovery, but until then he would hold up on his own. This was the first panic attack that went wrong, he wouldn't let that happen again.

The doctor didn't need any words to know what Stiles was thinking of. But that was often the first reaction. Sooner or later, he would accept help, and Dr. Geyer could only hope it would be the first. The sooner Stiles started taking it serious, the easier it would be to work something out.

A red light on the phone blinked up, signaling an incoming call. Dr. Geyer picked it up, the nurse on the other side of the line telling him the Sheriff was there. He said his thanks, before ending the call again. He shared a last look with the kid in front of him, then he stood up and walked around the desk again. "Your dad is here."

Stiles got up immediately. He couldn't wait to get out of there. He felt cornered and angsty. This whole talk about therapy didn't do him any good.

They left the office together, walking beside each other down the hallway without sharing another word, which Stiles was grateful for. They went up to the registration again, where he saw his father leaning on the desk with his arms, one hand on his forehead, while he talked to the nurse in front of him. Stiles was so caught up in his dad's tired looking form, he didn't even notice the nurse he was talking to was indeed Melissa, who seemed to get ready for her shift. He thought it was strange, how Melissa always had been working here, but Stiles never had seen her or at least noticed her. He had spent so much time in that hospital, he wondered why they had never crossed parts before.

As soon as his dad spotted him, he left the desk and walked up to him with big steps. He could see the relief in his father's face, before he got pulled into a tight hug. He barely managed to breath, but he let his dad have the moment. Slowly, he put his own arms around his dad's body. He didn't show it much, but he drowned in the familiar feeling, the familiar scent of his father. He felt like coming home, even though he hadn't left the hospital yet.

"How are you feeling?" Noah asked after their long hug. He put a hand to Stiles' head, angling it in a way, so he could have a better look on the wound at the side of his head. It broke his heart to see his son beat up like that - the black eye, the bruise on his cheek and the split in his bottom lip -, but the worst thing was the stitched up area. Knowing that this was his fault, not Jackson's. He had triggered that panic attack. He had let Stiles walk away, even though he suspected an upcoming attack. Noah never had felt that guilty.

"I'm fine, don't worry." Stiles usual answer to that question.

Noah noticed the familiar words as well, but chose to not dig deeper for the moment. "Ready to go home?" He asked instead.

Stiles lips pulled up in a little smile. "Yeah."

The Sheriff patted Stiles' shoulder twice, before turning towards Dr. Geyer. He shook his hand gratefully. It was his job helping people, but Noah felt the need to show his thanks anyway.

"I forgot the papers in my office, if you follow me, you can sign them there, Sheriff." The doctor said and Stiles eyes turned to little slits as he watched him and his dad walk down the hallway, where they had been coming from earlier.

"Forgot the papers my ass." He mumbled annoyed.

"Come again?" Melissa asked amused behind the desk. Stiles had completely forgotten she was there as well. He hesitated briefly, before walking over. He gripped the edges of the desk and leaned a little forward.

"He didn't forget the fucking papers, he let them there on purpose, so he could talk to my dad alone. I'm not stupid, why's he like that?" Stiles actually liked Dr. Geyer. He was young, motivated and cool. He made jokes and was relaxed, especially around teenagers. Though this time Stiles couldn't help but feel annoyed by him.

Melissa chuckled quietly, while typing something in her computer. "I think he knows you figured it out, but still tried to be discrete about it."

Stiles only let out a huff through his nose as an answer.

They stayed silent afterwards. Melissa still typing things into the computer, while Stiles waited impatiently. He wandered up and down, left and right. It felt like hours were passing, when in truth only a few minutes had gone by.

"Hey, Stiles?" Melissa called for him, her voice so gentle, Stiles was afraid of what was coming next. He stopped his mindless walking anyway and looked over to his father's partner, as she asked. "I hope you really are okay."

Stiles kept looking, as if he hadn't caught what she was saying. But he did hear her perfectly. He wasn't used to having a mother around him anymore. And while he didn't see Melissa as his mother, it didn't change the fact, that she still was one. She had the motherly instinct, knew how it felt to worry about a son. She behaved like a mother around him without even meaning to.

"I am." He finally answered. Short, but honest.

Melissa nodded, a smile playing on her lips, before she broke their gaze and turned her attention on her work again. She didn't want to pressure him, so she only made sure he was okay, because that was the most important thing. He didn't trust her yet, she knew that, the only thing she could do was show him she cared enough to not leave. Not his dad, not him.

After another minute, his dad came back again. He looked a little worried, though Stiles didn't know if it was more than usual. Dr. Geyer had said the same to his dad, as to him before, he was sure of it. So there was no way, that left his dad unaffected.

Still, Noah didn't say a word (yet). He went over to Melissa once more, said his goodbyes to her and then walked with a hand on Stiles' shoulder outside the hospital. The son followed, not knowing what to say, maybe there wasn't even anything to say.

They sat in the car and the father took off. It was quiet around them for a while, only the radio playing softly in the background. But then Stiles remembered something, he hadn't gotten an answer to yet. His curiosity broke the silence.

"Hey, dad?" Noah hummed an asking sound, signalizing he was listening. "I just wondered.. well, I don't really remember what happened after I left." His question was vague. Technically he didn't even ask a real question.

His dad understood though. He suppressed a sigh, something he did often these past days. He got one hand on the steering wheel, his other brushed over his hair.

"You went outside.. no, I let you go outside. You were panicky, but I thought maybe you just need some space to calm down." His dad's voice was quiet and calm, almost as if he was telling a story he wasn't involved in. "Scott said he wanted to go look for you shortly after. And I.." A scoff left his mouth. "I stopped him and said you just needed time."

Stiles knew exactly what his dad was thinking; he blamed himself. It wasn't his fault though, but it wouldn't matter what Stiles said to him, he wouldn't believe it. So all he did was waiting for his dad to continue. "Scott insisted on going after you, told me, that you always behaved like you didn't want anyone near you, when in truth you'd needed someone with you. I can't believe he knows you better than I do." Noah said it with a smile, but Stiles could see the sadness behind it. "Scott only opened the door, then he was calling for us already. You were.. you were lying in the driveway, there was so much blood.."

Noah didn't finish his sentence and Stiles didn't press further. He took a look at the side mirror, seeing the wound on his head. It did look kinda bad stitched up like that, but it wasn't that big of a wound, which made him wonder how it could have bled so much. Stiles averted his gaze again, looking to the hands in his lap. He didn't want his dad to feel bad, because of a stupid thing he had done himself. He had known he was about to get into an attack, he felt it was worse than usual and still he had left. It wasn't like his dad could've stopped him.

Cautiously, Stiles placed his hand on his dad's shoulder and squeezed it gently, hoping the gesture itself would say more than any words could.

At home Stiles went upstairs, ignoring Elias on the couch. He didn't really want to let his dad alone, but he desperately wanted a shower and fresh clothes. He took a change of clothes from his room and then went into the bathroom. He stripped out of his dirty outfit, put it in the hamper, cut the wrist band of the hospital off his arm and after that, he risked another look into the mirror.

He looked bad. He couldn't remember ever looking that bad actually. He came into a fight or two before, but usually he ended up with a bruise somewhere or a black eye. But never had he had that many injuries. That look even topped his sleepless-night-face, where he was all pale with dark circles under his eyes. He always looked like death then, but this right here somehow looked even worse.

Without another thought to his appearance, he stepped into the shower and let the water on. He actually sighed happily as soon as the water hit him. He had felt dirty and sweaty and bloody, all that went right down the drain now and made him feel weightless.

After his shower he slipped into a pair of sweat shorts and a simple shirt. He wanted to feel comfortable, after these stressful hours. Next he brushed his teeth, getting rid of the taste of beer and blood. And then he finally felt like an actual human being again.

Stiles walked out of the bathroom, intending to go down to his dad and talk to him, but his eyes fell on the boxes stacked up in hallway. He still had to go through his mom's stuff, he hadn't found time (or motivation) to put up with his painful past, though now it suddenly felt like the right thing to do.

His mom would always be a touchy subject, but he couldn't get triggered into panic attacks for the rest of his life just because someone mentioned her during an emotional situation.

Slowly, he knelt down in front of the boxes. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, but it was nothing more than nervousness. He swallowed thickly, yet he didn't hesitate taking the first box off the stack to open it.

It was her painting stuff. His mom had painted the craziest things, for one of them she even won the first price at an art contest. The picture still hung in their living room. Stiles wondered how long colors could be left untouched before they got unusable. His mom was dead for three years now and during her sickness she didn't paint much either. He would ask Lydia about it, maybe she'd get inspired and could use them. If not, he would sort them out.

Stiles pushed the box with the colors to his left side, deciding this one would be for stuff he had no use for and his other side for things he'd like to keep. He didn't like the thought of throwing stuff away that belonged to his mom. But as his dad had said; they couldn't keep it forever stacked up in a room. After all, he loved his mom for who she was, not for what she had owned. And he had enough memories to remember her without boxes full of her belongings.

His heart still made a jump whenever he opened another box, but it got easier – more or less. It felt final going through all her possessions and deciding on what was worth keeping. He had a lot of things pushed up to his left side. Old magazines his mom loved to read, while cooking; clothes, where Stiles only picked out a self made blanket, loving the idea of giving it to his kid if he ever should have one; her jewelry, he had no use for.

Though it looked like he had most things to his left, there were a few to his right as well. The knitted blanked, he had fished out of the clothing box; a few books of which Stiles remembered were her favorites; CD's and Vinyl he wanted to add to his own collection. It was mostly stuff he thought was more personal. Things he could make a connection with. He didn't need her clothes stuffed into a box beneath his bed, but having a few of her favorite things in his room, like the music and the books, gave him a warm feeling and brought back nice memories.

God, he missed his mom so much.

"Stiles?" His dad's voice came up behind him, sounding cautious and hesitate. "What are you doing here, kiddo?"

Stiles turned to look at his dad, a small smile on his face to show, that everything was fine. He raised the hand he was holding his mom's knitting stuff with. "Just going through mom's things."

Noah walked up to his son, watching him place the knitting needles and wool back into the box he found it in and then shoving it to his left side to some of the other boxes. The father stepped over the things, carefully tiptoeing so he wouldn't step on something. He then sank down to the floor, a hand on the wall to keep his balance until he landed on his butt in front of Stiles.

"You sure it's a good idea to do this now?" He asked, while placing a hand on top of one of the boxes. Dust covered his hand, as he tried to get a feeling of his past.

"More than ever. It feels right, dad."

Stiles turned his attention back to his mother's belongings. His dad wordlessly did the same. He opened the box in front of him, looking briefly over the items inside, before fishing out a hairbrush. When Claudia had died, he didn't bring it over his heart to throw anything away. He literally had every single thing of her stacked up in this boxes.

Noah eyed the brush in his hands, a few strands of her hair still stuck between the rigid bristles. Reminding him of Claudia's soft brown hair, he used to stroke over whenever they sat together. It felt unreal to see and feel something of his wife, when the rest of her body was no longer with them. His chest tightened uncomfortably, making him put the hairbrush aside.

"No, not there." Stiles mumbled and took the brush to lay it on his left side. Unlike to his dad, he didn't seem to notice the little details, his mom's hair the only sign left she actually had existed, placing it without another glance to his side.

"What's the matter?"

"Everything that's here" Stiles gestured to his left. "is sorted out. You can go through it, maybe there are some things we could sell or donate instead of just.. you know, throwing away." He looked over to the objects on his left, making sure he didn't see anything he'd liked to keep there, before continuing. "And on the other side are the things I wanna keep. I know, I know, it looks like it's too much, but I really wanna-"

"It's okay." Noah interrupted gently. "I told you to keep everything that's got a meaning to you." Indeed it was the Sheriff now, who had a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of throwing anything away. He wanted it that way, needed it to happen. But now actually seeing it happen made him feel a little uneasy.

His gaze fell back on the brush with the hair strands in between. How could he manage to throw the only remaining thing of his wife away? He couldn't keep it either though. It just wasn't fair.

When Noah was still young, he always thought his life would turn out better at some point. He had met Claudia and was sure she'd be his cure. He'd had a rough start with his mother and father, so he always imagined his own family being the complete opposite. No bad feelings, just happiness. And while there never was sadness or bitterness because of each other, there was a lot of tragedy no one could have prevented. His beloved wife got sick without any chance of saving her. His son struggled mentally since then.

Life wasn't easy on Noah.

But never would he decide differently. Even though there were really hard times for him, he couldn't be more grateful for the years he'd gotten to spent with Claudia. She had given him just as much happiness, the real feeling of a family and the most important thing to him; his son.

"I was wrong." Noah said, while changing his position. He dragged himself over to the wall, so he could lean against it, making his back hurt less. Stiles looked over to him, confusion over his face. Before he could asked further, the Sheriff started speaking again. "Your mom? She would be more than proud of you."

Stiles heart clenched painfully in his chest. He wished he could believe his father's words. "No, you were right. I am making trouble. Constantly. She wouldn't want that." He looked down to a book he was holding in his hands. He wanted to keep it, but suddenly didn't feel worth having it anymore. He put it to his left.

Noah, knowing how much his wife had loved the book, took it back and added it to the other pile. All the while coming closer, so he could put a hand on Stiles' arm. "Look at me." He commanded softly.

"I can't." Stiles croaked.

"Look. At. Me." He didn't put pressure to his words, but spoke them slowly one by one. It took a while, Stiles' trembling fingers showing his edgy feelings. His nerves wrecking his insides. He didn't want to imagine his mom thinking badly of him. His dad had been right though. Everything he had said. She couldn't be proud of him. There was nothing he did the right way.

Nevertheless, Stiles raised his gaze to his father's.

"It doesn't matter. You, making trouble." He clarified. "Nothing like that matters. You're my son. You're brave and smart – actually way too smart if you ask me." A little laugh escaped Noah's lips. "You're doing so well. You've got a great girlfriend and good friends. You're honest with me. You don't lie to me, at least not more than any other teenager." The Sheriff smirked at his son, squeezing his arm lovingly. "I am so proud of you. And I'm sorry for everything I said last night. It wasn't true."

Stiles choked on his emotions. He was aware of the love his dad had for him, but he also knew how much pain and despair he caused. He didn't see himself as a good son, there was too much he did wrong and put his dad through. "You shouldn't be proud, I know mom isn't either. I'm getting into fights, I started smoking again, I got detention again next week. I'm totally crazy and dragging you right with me. Don't think I'm not seeing how exhaust you look whenever I scream myself awake at night or-"

"I told you, it doesn't matter." Again, Noah interrupted him. He needed to, he couldn't let Stiles say all these things. Maybe they were true, but it didn't change anything. Not for the Sheriff. "Have you any idea how much I love you? You're here, right with me. That's all I want. If I had the chance to change you I wouldn't do it. This is who you are and there is nothing wrong with it."

Noah's eyed were intensive, while he looked at his son in front of him. It hurt him so much to know he was one of the reasons Stiles doubted himself. He shouldn't have said anything of that during their fight. He'd been angry, but that was no excuse to put his own son down. He now would do anything he could to bring him back up.

"Wait here." The father said and pulled himself to his feet. He put a gentle hand to Stiles' head and stroked him through his damp hair, before walking around him and heading into his bedroom. Stiles blinked after his dad, watching him go into the room. He saw him looking for something in his nightstand.

When his dad came back, he got a small book in his hands and a ring box on top. He sank down on the floor again next to Stiles and sat the little box aside to get a better look at the notebook. Tenderly, he stroked his fingers over the cover, before handing it over to his son.

"What's that?"

"Your mom's diary. She started writing in there after she got the diagnose."

Stiles gaped at his dad. He had never heard of that diary. Swallowing, he looked down to the little book, that seemed to keep so many memories hidden. It felt unbelievably heavy all of a sudden.

"I'm giving this to you, because your mom thought the same about herself as you." Noah said, his eyes fixed on the diary in Stiles' hands. "She.. said she turned crazy, hating herself for attacking people she loved because she didn't recognized them anymore."

"She was sick." Stiles defended his mother's own words.

"Just as you are." Noah whispered softly, hoping Stiles would understand it hadn't ever been and still wasn't his fault. "We need to work on that, but you shouldn't put yourself down because of it."

Stiles frowned. He didn't like hearing it, though he had long accepted that he was indeed sick. Just speaking it out loud always made him feel small and vulnerable. He thought back to his talk he'd had with Dr. Geyer. Thought about going back to therapy, if only for his dad to feel better.

"Here's something else." His dad spoke up and brought him back to reality. He looked at the little box in his dad's hand and took it gently from him, almost as if he could break if he wasn't careful enough. "It's your mom's engagement and wedding ring."

Stiles opened the lit of the case, showing off two rings he had seen on his mom's fingers since he was a kid. It was weird seeing them hidden inside the box, he had thought his mom had them with her when she'd gotten buried. "Why didn't she keep them on?" Stiles wondered out loud.

Noah smiled sadly, his fingers stroking over the little diamond on the engagement ring. "I wanted her to. But before she died she'd said to me that she wanted you to have them. To give them to someone you love."

With wide eyes, which were showing openly his feelings, Stiles starred at his dad, who in return only grinned knowingly. Since Stiles introduced Lydia as his girlfriend he had thought about giving him the rings. Not that he wanted to encourage him on marrying at a young age, but he could see this was so much more than a normal teenage romance. Both Lydia and Stiles acted really grown up in their relationship except for a silly argument or two. Though even adults could fight about the stupidest things sometimes. So Noah was sure, these two would stick together. Of course no one could know that for sure, but he had a pretty good feeling.

Stiles cleared his throat and then closed the ring box again, laying it on top of the notebook. He turned to his dad and closed him into a tight hug. With his arms slung around his dad's shoulders, he buried his face in the soft cotton of his shirt. He was so grateful to have his dad still by his side, he didn't know how to express it, but he hoped his father knew how much he meant to him.

The Sheriff welcomed his son in his arms, giving him the comfort he sought.

Later on, after he and his dad had worked through most of his mother's stuff, Stiles was laying on his bed. He had his pillows popped up behind his back and leaned against the headboard. The old 'The Rolling Stones' vinyl plate he had found in one of the boxes turned on the record player, the song 'Laugh, I Nearly Died' filling his bedroom walls.

His fingers stroked along the closed notebook he held in his hands. His mom had written everything in there. Her feelings, her thoughts, the pain she had gone through, the little happiness she'd felt on good days. It felt surreal.

He had never really gotten the chance to talk to his mom about her disease. Both her and his dad wanted to keep him away from her as soon as her condition got worse. Of course he still got to see her, but his dad had made sure he never stayed over too long. He'd been mad at them, had been so angry. Now he understood though.

He had said he could handle seeing her like this, talking to her even though she didn't recognize him anymore. His dad had protected him from that, because he knew better. He knew Stiles wouldn't have survived it. And now Stiles knew, too. He'd only gotten a glimpse of how his mom changed bit by bit. And now he was a mess. The teenager didn't want to know where he would be, if he had experienced his mom's full disease.

With shaky hands, Stiles opened the book. The pages feeling smooth underneath his palm, as he caught sight of his mother's handwriting. Carefully he caressed the letters with his fingertips. She had written down her own name, birth date, her parents names, his dad's name along the word husband, just as Stiles' name and the word son.

Stiles breathed deeply, before he turned to the first page.

May 14th, 2013

Today I got the diagnose.

Frontotemporal dementia.

I knew something was up. Felt it. Noticed it within my strangely changing behavior. Having a diagnose now though, is making it terrifyingly real.

I'm gonna meet a few doctors later the week. To know what to expect in the upcoming chapter of my life, which will probably be my last. There's no cure. That much I know.

I don't want to forget anything, but I know it's gonna happen. So, I'm gonna write everything down. My past, my dreams I'm still chasing for a future I will never have, and my journey through the disease.

I want to remember even when I forget.

Stiles choked. He hadn't realized he'd held his breath until his lungs started to burn. He couldn't read this. He felt shaky, he wanted to cry and scream. That's how it all started. And his mom had been so brave. She didn't ask why it was her, who had to go through this. She didn't complain. She didn't pray. She accepted it.

He couldn't read how she just welcomed death with open arms.

Yet, he flipped to the next page.

She wrote a lot about her doctor's appointments in the beginning. In between pages where she thought back of her past. She wrote about her wedding, Stiles' birth and other things – smaller events of her life, they didn't seem magnificent, but maybe they had a deeper meaning to her. He would never know.

Driven by curiosity, he marked the page he was reading before and then skipped to somewhere in the middle. Her writing got sloppier, there were words stroke through or written over, making it harder to read.

March 23th, 2014

I forgot him.

I tried to hurt him, because I thought he wanted to hurt me.

I hate myself for it. Hate myself for needing Noah to stop me hurting my own son.

I'm confused and don't feel well.

Can't lose him, can't forget him. Never.

Not him.

Mischief.

The scraping noise of the needle against the vinyl plate turned into a background noise. Stiles remembered that day. He had skipped his last classes to get to his mom sooner. With his red hoodie covering his body, he had ran all the way from school to the hospital. His dad hadn't been in the room when he got there. Just his mom. The whole time he had been there she had eyed him warily. Scooted away from him, when he tried to hug her or actually twitching, whenever he moved too fast.

And at some point, she'd just flipped. From one second to the other, she had thrown herself out of bed and grabbed Stiles by his hoodie. She had screamed at him, insulted him, said over and over again she wouldn't let him kill her. She hadn't even stopped when his dad came in. He had to hold her back or she would've attacked him again.

His dad had explained to him it came from the disease, that he shouldn't take it to heart. And even though Stiles had cried in his dad's arms, he understood. He had known she didn't mean it, but reading her true feelings about that incident made his heart ache even deeper now.

June 9th, 2014

Noah told me, Stiles got an A for his English essay.

At the beginning, his teacher had been praising him to no end. Not even five minutes later, he got punished with detention. Apparently, Stiles got bored during class and started throwing paper planes and didn't stop, when the teacher was asking him to.

He's going places with that stubborn mind of his.

I'm so proud of him.

Proud. There was the word again, that seemed to haunt him since last night. She had been proud of him at some point in his life. She had been proud of him, because he was smart and because he wouldn't let himself get stopped by anybody. Maybe she wouldn't like seeing him beat up like that, maybe she would have yelled at him just as his father had done. But in the end she'd still be proud of him. No matter what. He needed to remember that.

Stiles choked out a little laugh, tears welling in his eyes.

"Fuck, I miss you so much."

He whispered the words into the silence around him, his gaze turning up to the ceiling. She was there, watching him. It had to be like that. What was the purpose of living, if you ended up being nothing but a lifeless corpse in the end?

Stiles pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, forcing the tears to not spill over.

After the short moment, he looked back to the book again. He actually starred at it, seemingly forever, until he opened the book to its last written page.

September 24th, 2014

I was watching the autumn leaves fall down the trees with Stiles today. We spent the whole morning in front of the window, enjoying nature at its finest.

In the afternoon, Noah joined us after his shift. We were watching "A Nightmare Before Christmas" together on the laptop Noah brought with him.

Stiles loves that movie. He's got an adorable crush on Sally.

We spent the rest of the day together until Stiles fell asleep in my arms.

I watched Noah watching me. We weren't talking, we didn't have to. We both felt it.

This would be my last day feeling alive. Being myself. With my family.

Before I'll slip away into the sound of my son breathing next to me.

A last beautiful, perfect day.

This would be the end.

A loud sob escaped Stiles' throat and before he could stop it, the tears were streaming down his face like an endless river of pain. His heart clenched, he couldn't take it. It was too much, he should've known. Reading about his mother's thoughts, getting to know what she was feeling this whole time, only waiting for death. He wished he would have known sooner. He felt like he didn't do enough while she was still alive.

Stiles curled up on top of his bed, the book pressed against his beating heart.

He didn't even try calming down. He just let it all out. Every tear that needed to spill, every sob. He screamed into his pillow, muffling the painful sound in soft cotton. He wanted to know. He wanted to know if he would ever get over this. It didn't seem to get easier. He was the same mess he had been since the first day without her.

It wasn't until his lungs hurt, he stopped screaming and crying. For a while, all he did was lying there afterwards, calming his breath down. His nose was running and his face damp from tears. He hated being this weak. His dad always called him a fighter, but he wasn't one. Not even a survivor. He felt dead on the inside whenever he was alone. The people he loved were the only thing keeping him alive, but at some point they would realize it didn't make much sense to keep a dead soul by the living.

Outside he heard a familiar rumble, causing him to get up from his pathetic position on the bed to look out of the window. Scott jumped out of his beloved blue Jeep. His brows furrowed deeply until he remembered his dad took him home in the Sheriff's car last night.

Stiles blew his nose and washed his face dry with his shirt, but his eyes were still red. Fortunately, his injuries were drawing the most attention so maybe no one would notice he'd been crying. Shoving the little book beneath his pillow, he steadied his breathing and then got out of the room and down the stairs.

Scott just walked through the door, yelling a 'Hey, I'm home' at no one particular. He stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed Stiles standing at the bottom of the stairs. It only took him a few seconds to get over his shock, before he marched with quick steps to Stiles' uneasy form.

"Thank god.", he mumbled and wrapped his arms around Stiles' shoulders.

The other boy swallowed thickly, not really knowing what to do. His dad watched them amused from his place on the sofa. He put his arms in front of him, hugging the air to gesture Stiles he should return Scott's hug.

Before he could interact though, Scott was pulling back again. He had a worried look in his eyes, but a gentle smile on his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess." Stiles' voice was hoarse, causing him to clear his throat uncomfortably.

"Here, I got you your Jeep back."

His key were tangling from Scott's finger in front of his face. He took them in his hands with a genuine thanks. After that, they just stood there side by side. Making it awkward for Stiles, while Scott was just happy to see his brother being healthy.

He'd been the one, who found Stiles in the driveway. Blood pooling around his head, making him look terrifyingly dead. And that's what Scott had thought as soon as he spotted him laying there. Until he had rushed to his side, seeing him breathing shallowly. His mom had been with him in seconds as well, calming him down and telling him that especially head wounds could bleed badly even if there weren't big, which had been the case with Stiles.

And though it all had looked worse than it actually was, after seeing Stiles laying there like that, Scott couldn't stop looking at Stiles, making sure he really was fine.

Stiles scratched his neck in an unsure manner, not knowing what to do or say. He clamped his fingers around his keys, reminding him of what he wanted to do since he stopped crying pathetically to himself.

"I uhm.. I wanted to go see Lydia." He said out loud without even knowing who he was talking to.

Noah's head popped up from over the backrest of the couch as he shook it with a laugh. "No, forget it."

"What?" Stiles blinked confused. His dad had never forbid him to see his girlfriend, especially during times like that. "Why?"

A sigh left Noah's lips. He turned around completely to get a better look at his son. "Because the last time I let you go anywhere you collapsed."

"Dad, I'm fine now."

"No."

"It's right around the corner."

"Distance doesn't matter, Stiles, you collapsed right in front of our house."

Stiles huffed through his nose, letting himself fall back against the wall behind him. He needed to see Lydia. So much had happened the past week and they still hadn't talked about their fight. It was time to get past this, so they could start working together again. He needed her with him.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to his dad.

"I need to see her."

Noah raised his gaze back up from where he was looking at the newspapers in his hand. His eyes were observing Stiles harshly, trying to find any sign of uneasiness. He wanted him safe. Last night was a living nightmare for the father. He hadn't slept one bit, way to upset about what had happened.

What should he do though? He couldn't stay at Stiles' side for the rest of his life to make sure he was okay. But seeing him hurt like that, unconscious, beat up; Noah was tired of it. He couldn't bear it any longer. Stiles was all he got. He couldn't lose him.

Stiles was waiting for an answer – patiently for once.

Another sigh, then: "You gonna write me. Ten minutes after you leave, if I don't get a message, I come looking for you. And believe me, if I should find you all happy and healthy then, I'm gonna-"

"Thanks, dad!" Stiles spoke out relieved, a bride grin showing on his face, while he was already sprinting toward the front door.

"Ten minutes!" The Sheriff yelled after him.

The door fell shut mid words.

The ride over to Lydia's wasn't long, but Stiles still got enough time to completely drown into his thoughts. All he ever wanted for his girlfriend was happiness. He didn't think she was happy like this. They were fighting a lot.. maybe not fighting, but arguing. Then he often did things to upset her. He could only imagine how furious she must have been about the Jackson-thing.

She loved him, that was save to say. And whenever they had those small meaningful moments, they truly were happy. Stiles just thought these few moments weren't enough for her. Not because she was thinking so, but he wanted more for her. She deserved better. He wanted to make it better.

Parking his Jeep on the side of the road, he was motivated enough to have that long awaited talk with Lydia. He got out of the car, wrote his dad a quick text and walked up the driveway to her house. Ringing the bell with one hand, and knocking simultaneously against the door with the other, he waited patiently to get welcomed.

The door opened with Natalie Martin on the other side. He had hoped to sneak around her, but luck wasn't on his side these days.

"Hey, Ms. Martin." He greeted with a friendly smile. As his lips turned up he felt a sting in his bottom lip, making him remember of the way he looked like at the moment. Which explained Ms. Martin's shocked expression perfectly.

Natalie just looked at Stiles, one hand still on the door. "Hello, Stiles.", she finally answered after what had seemed like forever. Of course she knew what happened at the party. Lydia had told her, she usually told her everything. They had a nice mother-daughter relationship when it came to that. But she hadn't expected to see Stiles that badly beat up.

"I'm here for Lydia."

"Okay.."

"Uh.. she home?" He asked, when Ms. Martin didn't say anything else and didn't let him inside either.

She raised her head a little, in a way he'd seen Lydia doing a lot of times. She usually did it, when she was preparing herself for an argument.

Oh, here we go. Stiles thought.

"Stiles.." Ms. Martin started and stepped out on the porch with him, leaving the door behind her ajar. She wouldn't let him in. Stiles knew it. She would tell him to stay the fuck away from her daughter. He'd waited for that moment since he started dating Lydia. Waited for that rejection for over two years. And now that it was coming, he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to fight again, he wanted to rest just one fucking moment. Preferably with his beautiful girlfriend by his side.

"How are you?" Natalie asked, startling Stiles for a few seconds, because these weren't the words he'd expected.

"Fine, I'm fine, thank you?" He felt unsure, didn't know what to say other than that, so he waited for her to say something again.

Natalie had her gaze turned towards her daughter's boyfriend, observing him. It reminded Stiles of the way his dad had looked at him, before he allowed him to drive over to the Martin's. "What I really wanted to know was.." She started, sounding hesitate, but sure of herself at the same time. "Are you mentally stable?"

Stiles was gaping at her like a little fish. Was she serious? She looked serious. Oh god, she was serious, wasn't she? He swallowed, trying to not feel offended. He guessed it was a normal question to ask in a situation like that. After all, he'd been in the hospital, because he couldn't handle his panic attack. He wondered who told Lydia about it. His dad probably, or maybe Scott.

After what seemed like a lifetime of only starring at each other, Stiles finally nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"You need help, Stiles, it can't go on like this." She said, but then stepped back to open the door again. She walked to the side, gesturing to him to come in. "Lydia is upstairs in her room." She added, making it clear she didn't necessarily needed an answer to what she had said.

Stiles hesitated, but then walked past Ms. Martin into the house. Even though Lydia's mom wasn't his biggest fan, he had always felt like this was his second home, alongside the Argent's one. If home got too depressing, the walls getting to close, the memories too much, he could always come here in the safe place of Lydia's arms. And Natalie accepted it just as much, letting him stay over for dinner and later on in their relationship he even was allowed to sleep over officially.

Which made him think, that maybe he owed her an answer. "I.. talked to a doctor this morning. I can start therapy any time I want." He said to her, his voice smaller than he had hoped for. "I don't think I'm ready, but if Lydia wants me to, I'm gonna do it for her."

His hand was resting on the handrail of the stairs, his fingers drumming over the smooth surface. He wasn't nervous, not really. It was just a bad habit of his, he seemed to do in every kind of situation these days.

Natalie studied him from where she was still standing by the front door. Stiles had a good heart, but a heavy soul. A cruel combination. "You should do it for yourself, not for her." She finally decided to say.

She was right. But he'd never been good at taking care of himself just for the sake of himself. Everything he did was for his mom, so she could rest in peace; for his dad, to not have him worry too much; and for Lydia, because he loved her.

Stiles nodded anyway, before turning around and going up the stairs without another word.

He prepared himself for whatever might come, then he knocked on Lydia's bedroom door.

"Mom, I told you I'm studying."

Cautiously, he opened the door, slowly at first, until he spotted her on her bed not studying, then he walked fully in. Lydia's head popped up from her pillow, ready to complain again, but she stopped whatever words she wanted to say as she noticed who really had been interrupting her.

"Stiles." She whispered, whilst sitting up, her big green eyes worried to no end.

"Hey, babygirl." He replied just as quietly.

The last time ha had seen her had been at the party, when they were playing Truth or Dare. He hadn't noticed her during or after the fight. It made him feel even worse. There was much apologizing to do this day. He felt like shit and looked like it as well, but he didn't care. He couldn't start getting better, when there were still people he'd hurt and he hadn't even said sorry to.

Slowly, he walked towards her. She was resting against the headboard and he took place in front of her in the middle of the bed. He crossed his legs, while he let er watch him. Her eyes traced over his injured face and she arched to kiss it and touch it to make all the pain go away.

"How are you?" Her voice was still soft and so quiet, he almost didn't hear her. "Please be honest." She added, knowing her boyfriend far too well.

Stiles crooked a smile at her, as he rested both his elbows on his knees and let his fingers dump against each other in no specific rhythm. "My face hurts a little.. my heart as well, but I'm holding up."

Lydia looked at him with a sad expression. It wasn't that kinda look she got whenever they were fighting, it was the look she got when she was watching him closely after he'd had a nightmare. She didn't feel sad about herself, she felt it for him. Because of him.

She wasn't mad about what had happened, not really. Of course there would have been other solutions, but she needed to admit to herself, that if another girl would have went after Stiles like that, she wouldn't have managed to stay calm either. When it came to that, she could be quite fierce as well.

Still, the mood between them wasn't right. There was so much left unsaid and it was catching up to them now. Every single word they had thrown at each other during that fight almost a week ago.

"I went through my mom's stuff." Stiles started, just trying to get into light conversation, before they would go to heavier topics. "It was hard, but.. I managed. My dad helped me later on and it was so freaking nice to spent some time with him again like that. God, Lyida, I didn't realize how much I missed talking to him. We didn't really do that since the whole moving-in-thing, you know."

There was still so much they had to get used to as a family, it wasn't really anyone's fault they didn't find much time to talk like they had done before Melissa and Scott moved in with them. But that didn't prevent him from missing these talks with his dad. Especially because all they had done lately was fighting.

"You and your dad always were close." Lydia commented softly.

"Yeah."

They fell quiet for a while, both of them trying to sort their thoughts out. Even though no one was mad at the other anymore, they had to talk about these kinda things. Lydia thought about the way she had talked to him, how she'd put him down, even though he already hadn't been feeling well. And Stiles got haunted by the way he had treated his girlfriend. It hadn't been fair of him to push her away, just so he wouldn't have to deal with her maybe leaving on her own.

Stiles was the first one to talk.

"When I lost my mom.. that was like.. it felt like that was the first bad thing, that ever happened to me. Before that, I didn't knew things like that could happen to my own parents, you know. It was like my whole life and the world I lived in wasn't real anymore. Her death consumed me in the worst way possible." Stiles was sure she knew all that already, but he needed her to hear the words again, make her understand how he'd felt a few years ago and still felt every now and then.

He continued. "You made everything better again. I felt lighter and happier and.. and I know you're always trying to look for something that's gonna heal the wounds on my soul for good, but all you have to do for that is look into a mirror. You're something, you are my something and that terrifies me to no end."

Stiles gulped heavily. He was slightly out of breath, not because he felt panicky, but he actually started ranting at some point, the words leaving his mouth like a honest wave of confession. "You are the core, that keeps everything alive within me. And it shouldn't be like that, because I don't want you to feel pressured in that kinda position, knowing you either make my life better or end it for good. But I need you to know that you aren't the only one being afraid of crushing me, because I am as well. And that's why I'm acting out over and over again. Because I think maybe, just maybe, it would be better to break things off before it's too late. Letting go of you, before I'm in too deep, but I already am. And I can't let you go. And it's not fair to treat you like shit, just because I've got one of those moments again. I'm sorry."

The silence was too loud for Stiles' ears but he forced himself to bear it. He deserved to get punished like that. Not knowing what Lydia thought, floating helplessly around, just like she always did because of him.

Lydia starred at him. Nothing he'd said was new to her and still it was making her feel all vulnerable and open. She understood it, every single word he'd said, but he only saw half of the picture. "Stiles, do you have any idea how much I love you? I mean it, I love you so much, that sometimes my chest pulls itself together at the very thought of you. You ground me, you showed me what it feels like to get loved. While everyone around me only saw my beautified shell, you were the one who thought it was worth digging deeper. You made me the person I am right now. I know you need me so you won't break, but I need you to keep being myself, so I won't lose myself."

It was toxic how they were depending on each other, how much they needed each other. But Lydia thought it was okay to be toxic as long as they kept being the cure for each other as well. They had grown up together, didn't know a life without the other. It was okay to need and to be needed.

Stiles looked at her in wonder, as if he only now would realize how much he meant to her. After over two years of being a couple it finally seemed to get through him. It wasn't like she had never said things like that to him, he just never saw the desperation behind her words. Now though, he could see what she was feeling, it was all over her face. Her love, her need, the fear of losing him.

And she did lose him, all the time. Every time he was leashing out or woke up being confused, not knowing what reality was. She lost him every time he was losing himself, but she managed to pull him back to her. She could live like that, knowing that she needed to anchor him from time to time.

What she couldn't live with was the worry. Him leaving her to tame his anxiety. Their last fight was so close to a hurtful break up. All he'd had to say would've been a simple "Fine" to her telling him to break it off himself, if he couldn't stand it anymore. Instead he'd said nothing.

Just like he was silent now as well.

His mouth was slightly open, making him look like he wanted to answer, but he didn't know how.

Lydia helped him. "You need to promise me to never leave me because you're too afraid of losing me through something else." Her expression was stern and serious. She wasn't making any jokes, she needed him to understand that. "I can't make sure you'll never lose me. I don't know what's gonna happen in the future, but right now, I know I love you to no end and I want to spent and enjoy every moment with you, but I can't do that, if you won't assure me you stay with me even if your fears trying to tell you otherwise."

Stiles hadn't been aware, that Lydia needed him to promise things like that so badly. He'd always thought she was confident enough to not worry about it. That's what made him anxious. He'd thought he needed her more, loved her more. Now that he knew she had the same fears as he did, he felt bad for never really assuring her he'd stay with her through everything.

He was the worst son, the worst boyfriend and probably the worst brother as well, when he thought about how he didn't even hug Scott back this morning.

Yet, all those people he loved or cared about were willing to give him endless chances of trying to make it better. And it was the first time he realized, that they probably loved him just as much.

Stiles crawled towards his girlfriend until his knees met hers. He closed both his hands around her rosy cheeks and looked deep into her emerald eyes. "I will never leave you, because of my fucking damaged mind, you hear me? I'm so sorry I made you feel like that." His voice was sincere and a little broken. All he ever wanted was to make his girl feel good and loved. He hadn't even noticed how he broke her all along with him. He could understand why Natalie disliked him.

Lydia nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Not because of sadness, but out of relief.

She'd had to hear that.

His forehead rested gently against hers. Both of them taking each other in. Lydia could feel Stiles' breath on her lips, his trembling hands, which were still holding her cheeks. She got him back, she realized. That was her Stiles. A little broken, but gentle and caring. His fingertips stroked softly against her face, seeing her without having his eyes open. He memorized every detail of her face since they were kids, he would always know exactly what she looked like.

"I'm sorry, too." A whisper ghosted over Stiles' lips, he could taste her vulnerable words right on his tongue. "Our fight, the things I've said to you.. it's not fair and I shouldn't have done that. I provoked you, and I think I did it on purpose."

Slowly, she raised her head again, so she could look into his eyes. He'd said his own apology, while showing his all emotions on his face. She owed him to do the same, instead of hiding into his body.

For the second time this afternoon, gold and green mixed together.

Not for the first time this afternoon, Stiles thought how beautiful Lydia looked like that.

At the edge of crying, but hopeful.

"Everything you said is true though." Stiles answered.

Lydia shook her head. "No, not for me."

She took his hands into her own, moving them away from her face and down into her lap. She kept her hold on him, playing with his fingers until she found the right words and he let her. "I'm not seeing you like this, Stiles. You're not a paranoid, angsty person with trust issues."

"Well for not seeing me like this, you're pretty good at describing me." He joked and Lydia shot him a quick stern look to shut him up. It worked.

"For me, you're the one who's got the biggest heart, protecting everyone you love. You bring joy into my life, you make me want to be the best version of myself. You are nothing but good for me. All the negative things you experienced let you turn out to be this person. The person I love wholeheartedly."

Stiles looked at her, his eyes shining vulnerably, but with so much love as well. It remembered Lydia of the time she had kissed him, back then when they hadn't been together yet, and he'd had a panic attack. No one ever had looked at her like that.

He leaned forward, his head pressing into her chest as he closed his eyes and breathed her in. Lydia let go of his hands to close her arms around his body instead. She leaned back against the headboard to support the extra weight on her.

"I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"My dad gave me a diary, it belonged to my mom and she.. she wrote everything in there since she got the diagnose." Stiles swallowed and he was glad he had his eyes closed and his face pressed against Lydia's body, so he didn't have to look at her.

"Did you read it already?"

"Bits and pieces. And you know what she said?"

"What?"

"I had a huge crush on Sally."

Lydia sucked in her breath dramatically. "I knew it! I've always known."

"Redheads make me weak." Stiles said dreamily, making Lydia laugh a beautiful sound.

They decided to stay in bed for the next few hours. Lydia on her back and Stiles on top of her, his head resting on her stomach, her hands stroking through his mess of hair. In moments like this, Lydia always felt older than she actually was. And not in a bad way. More like in a mature way. She didn't feel like a love struck teenage girl. She felt like a grown up getting a little peace for once in her usual stressful life. Alongside her boyfriend, who felt heavy, but grounding on her stomach.

Stiles told her more about his mom's book, how he'd read it on his bed until he started crying pathetically. Lydia of course, assured him there was nothing pathetic about it. She was sure, she would have locked herself in her room for the rest of the day. Grieve was something, she couldn't handle well either.

Talking about the diary, Stiles started remembering things of his childhood, he thought he had long forgotten. Lydia wasn't sure if she ever heard Stiles talk that much in the last past month, but she wouldn't complain. She was happy hearing him talk about stuff like that, especially because he usually had trouble thinking of his mom in that way.

They had shared their childhood together. Lydia remembered Claudia as a lovely and kind person. She had always been the one who had taken Stiles to play dates, she had complemented Lydia on her dresses and her hair, she had baked pies for all of them and had kissed away any pain when one of them hurt themselves. Lydia remembered all these little details about Stiles' mom and it broke her own heart thinking about it.

After two hours of talking and cuddling and just laying together, Natalie called them for dinner. Even though Lydia's mom didn't get along that well with Stiles, he was glad to sit in a smaller round at the dining table for once. Since Melissa and Scott had moved in, there was so much talking during dinner, which Stiles didn't bug that much, but it was nice to sit with the Martins alone nonetheless. Natalie was nice company, as long as she didn't try shooting lasers through her eyes at her daughter's boyfriend.

They ate together, not in complete silence, therefore Stiles was glad Natalie didn't mention anything therapy related in front of Lydia, because he still hadn't talked to her about that. He wanted to save that for another time and cherish the happy and quiet moment for now.

The Martins had always been family to him, just as the Argents and maybe that was the reason he felt so anxious towards them. They had been there, all the time, just as his mom until she slipped away from his fingers. They all gave him peace, grounded him and made him feel save, but at the same time he feared he would lose one of them the same as his mother.

Stiles felt Lydia's hand on his thigh beneath the table, while she was talking to her mom about some kind of museum she wanted to visit next with her. It amazed him how she constantly noticed his mood swings without him having to say anything. He squeezed her hand shortly, before picking up his fork again to finish his dinner.

A little later, Stiles left with Lydia to meet Kira and Isaac. They were hiding in their band room for the rest of the day. Even though the last practice was a while ago, neither of them could bring themselves to get up and actually do something other than laying around. And there was also Kira, who worried over Stiles and his short hospital visit, telling him, he shouldn't worry about anything band related at the moment.

Stiles had almost forgotten how nice it felt to just hang out with his friends without overthinking anything. Sure, he noticed both Allison's and Scott's absence, but for the first time he couldn't care less. He was sitting on the familiar, worn sofa with his girlfriend in his arms and two of his three best friends around him. He felt light, despite everything that had happened the day before and this morning.

In the evening he was back at home again, alone with Melissa and Scott, since his dad got a night shift and Lydia's mom wanted her daughter to stay at home for the night. Elias hid himself in his room, so there was one person less to get annoyed with.

For Stiles, nights like this were always the strangest constellation. When his dad wasn't home and he was left with two people he didn't ever think of living together with. He still couldn't label them as a family, but it didn't feel as weird anymore as in the beginning.

They were watching TV together until bedtime. Melissa checked in on Elias every once in a while, making sure he was still alive and behaving himself. Stiles couldn't care less about his grandfather, if he was being honest.

Melissa seemed to be happy about Stiles sitting with them in the living room. Especially, in the beginning he often locked himself in his room (just as Elias now, but he ignored that similarity) and tried to forget about the newest changes in the household. This evening though, he felt comfortable enough to just sit with Melissa and Scott, even though his dad wasn't anywhere near.

Stiles even joined the conversation the McCalls were having together. And for the first time, he didn't feel forced to do anything he didn't really want to. He quipped in every now and then, when he's got something to say, but didn't get pressured to talk, whenever he focused more on the movie playing on TV.

He couldn't remember when the last night was, that he crawled into bed and felt actually happy and warm and relaxed. Even without his dad home or Lydia beside him. Just Scott snoring on the mattress beside him, which usually annoyed him endlessly, but not this time.

Almost, almost he felt normal. If it wasn't for his constant fear, always lurking in the shadows, even when he felt like nothing bad could happen for once.

Stiles didn't even remember falling asleep as he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the woods. Sharp sticks and roots were sticking into his naked feet. Dirt already covering his pale skin. The air was cold around him, but that's not what made him shiver.

There was a presence, he could feel it. Something that crept up on him. His breath was ragged, little white clouds whirled out between his lips. Stiles rubbed his goosebumps covered arms. He wanted to call out for someone, but his instincts told him otherwise.

Slowly, he started walking. His feet sunk into the mud with every step, but he didn't even care. He was too caught up making his way to the place his mind wanted him to be. His fingers twitched by his sides, awaiting something to happen any moment.

For a long time nothing happened at all. Stiles wandered through the darkness, the only sign of life around him was his own heartbeat. But then, after what felt like hours, he made it to a glade. The trees were clearing around him until he stood in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nothing.

Stiles could see the outline of a person crouching down in front of him. He couldn't see much, the only giving light was the full moon shining high in the sky.

"Who are you?" Stiles asked in a shaky voice. He didn't think he would get an answer, so right after his question, he set himself in motion and walked towards the person.

He walked and walked and walked, but didn't get closer. With furrowed brows he looked down at himself. His feet were moving, he could hear the ground crunching, see it moving as he walked. But he couldn't leave the spot he was standing since he entered the clearing.

Stiles panicked slightly. When he couldn't get closer to that person, that meant, he couldn't get away from them either, if they decided to turn on him. He froze in his spot, hoping, if he wouldn't make a sound, maybe the unknown wouldn't notice him.

He heard faint humming coming from the shadowy thing, followed by a whispering singing. Stiles blinked, trying to concentrate to hear better. The voice got a little louder, as if sensing he couldn't hear it well. The lyrics of a lullaby creeping into Stiles mind.

Sleep sleep sleep
Don't lie too close to the edge of the bed
Or little gray wolf will come
And grab you by the flank,
Drag you into the woods
Underneath the willow root.

Stiles swallowed as the lullaby came to an end and the person in front of him stood up. He reached his hand out and a small light suddenly flowed from the ground up in the air until it landed right in the palm of the stranger. He closed his fist around it, then it was gone.

The shadow moved away from where it was standing, revealing the sight in front of him and Stiles nearly choked on his own scream.

He hadn't seen it before, but now it was right in front of his eyes. Scott's motionless body was lying in the dirt, his eyes wide open, but lifeless. Blood was pouring from the side of his stomach, the skin torn apart. Hovering above Scott's dead body was a huge dark creature with red glowing eyes. It growled at him and again Stiles tried to move away, his legs running, but he couldn't get away.

A loud howl left the creature's mouth, then it was sprinting towards him.

Stiles screamed and covered his face with his arms in a lousy attempt to protect himself. He fell backwards to the ground and when he let his limbs sink again, the wolf like creature was gone. Stiles heard something chattering, it took him a while to notice it were his own teeth. He tried to stop his shaking, as a voice suddenly startled him from behind.

"You can't cheat death."

Stiles' head was whipping around, seeing the shadow now standing a little closer to him. Still, he didn't recognize the man or his voice.

"Is he dead?" He asked in return, sniffing his nose.

"Who?"

"Scott." Stiles said, his voice breaking. He hadn't noticed he started crying until the tears were dripping down his jaw.

The man didn't answer, so Stiles risked another look to where Scott had been lying. Of course he was gone. Angrily, he washed the wet spots on his face away with his palm, before carefully standing up.

He was tired of feeling this weak.

Sick of crying, god, he was always cyring.

He grunted annoyed, looking around, but just as in the beginning he didn't see anything other than the creepy shadow standing calmly a few feet away from him. Stiles didn't see a reason to play this game. He raised his head confidently and started walking towards the trees again, hoping to find a way out of the forest.

"You can't run away from what you did." The voice of the shadow spoke up again, causing Stiles to stop and whirl around angrily.

"I didn't do anything!" He yelled back.

"No?" The shadow asked in a manner, that let Stiles doubt himself. It got colder around him again, making him shiver and shake. The air brushed his body, hugging him in a freezing blanket. The humming sound of the lullaby returned, filling the silence on the glade. Stiles lifted his hands to his arms again, trying to rub the warmth into his body, but as soon as he touched his skin, he felt something sticky on his arms. Confusion rolled over him as he looked down on himself. His hands were bloody, just as his arms were he had stroked over.

A shaky breath left Stiles' lips, while he observed his hands. He hadn't been anywhere near Scott, this couldn't be. It was just as in the dream he'd had at the motel, Allison's blood pooling between his fingers. Was that the answer? Was he dreaming right now? Why did it feel so goddamn real then though?

"I didn't do anything." Stiles said again, whispering the words to himself.

Hastily, he tried to wipe the blood off on his sleeping pants and shirt, but it was no use. The red liquid increased until it was dripping freely from his fingertips. Stiles could feel tears welling up in his eyes again. He didn't know what was happening and it scared him to no end.

"What begins and has no end, and ends all that begins?" The voice asked him, sounding almost hoarse, making himself even creepier than before.

Stiles swallowed thickly, forcing himself to turn around and look back to the shadow. It repeated the riddle, its eyes piercing into Stiles' all the while. He still couldn't make out the face in the dark, making him feel like watching into an immense darkness, trying to swallow him up.

He could hear his own increasing heartbeat in his ears, as he shook his head. "I don't know." He sounded as pathetic as he felt. Vulnerable in the open, without any control over the situation.

The shadow moved, but stayed hidden in the darkness where the moonlight didn't reach. It moved slowly, making no noise while doing so. Stiles kept his eyes on it, even though he could taste his own fear on his tongue.

"I am always around, but never seen." It started saying, whilst walking in circles around Stiles. "I am often avoided, but you can't out run me." The shadow disappeared, causing Stiles to whirl around himself until he spotted it on the opposite of its previous position. "For I will come, when you're old and grey, or maybe even the very next day." Its voice turned darker, but more seductive. "I will come with cold embrace and give you rest with a chilled kiss on your face." Stiles felt a dust of wind blowing over his cheek. He reached up to stroke his face, but the blood on his hands kept dripping, making his stomach turn and his hand sink again. "I come in many forms of emotional state, weather it's irony, love, laughter or hate." The shadow stopped moving and looked directly at Stiles. Even though he couldn't see it, he felt how intensely it held his gaze. With a soft voice it spoke its last phrase. "I am everyone's final fate."

Stiles curled his hands to fists, he felt the blood running underneath his fingernails. Tightly, he hugged his arms over his own body, feeling the need to protect himself, as the shadow asked him it's final question. "What am I, Stiles?"

There was no need to think about the answer.

There was no need to hesitate.

"Death."

In the blink of an eye the shadow moved, not slowly and surely like before, but fast like a flash. It stopped right in front of Stiles. "That's right." It whispered, before reaching up and taking the hood off of its head, revealing its face.

Stiles startled, his own face looking back at him with a sickly twisted grin on his face. He shook his head as if the image in front of him would change like that. But of course, it didn't. Death wore his face, looking calm and more in control, than Stiles had ever felt.

He tried to get away from his dark self, walking backwards, while he kept starring at it. Again, he couldn't move away, his legs were moving, but his position didn't change. Stiles let out a panicky sob, making his legs move faster until he suddenly slipped on something wet on the ground.

With a cry he fell backwards, expecting a harsh impact, but instead he landed rather softly on a pile of something. It felt warm and cold at the same time underneath him and Stiles slowly turned around, his whole body shaking with dread. Lifeless eyes were starring back at him after he'd fully turned around. Another loud sob left his lips as he recognized the loveliest green eyes he'd ever looked into. This time though, there wasn't anything lovely about it. Lydia's dead eyes were glaring right into his soul, her face covered in blood.

He screamed in agony.

Stiles vision blurred with tears, but he could still make out the outlines of the other bodies. His dad, Scott, Melissa, Allison, Isaac, Kira, his mom. There were all there. "No.", he whimpered to himself. His hands slipping on the bloody bodies and he almost fell back onto his dead friends and family, but he caught himself right in time. The pile of bodies seemed to get bigger with every movement Stiles did. He watched as more familiar faces appeared in front of him. More dead eyes judging him, blaming him. With every move he made.

"You did this!" Death said and Stiles tried to find him, but he was nowhere in sight.

"No." Stiles answered desperately, trying to convince himself.

"It was you."

"No!"

"You, Stiles!"

Stiles let his head drop forward in defeat and another scream left his throat as he saw the same black clothes Death had worn on himself. The pitch black hoodie covered his head and he reached up to pull it down.

Arms wrapped tightly around him and he started trashing violently. "No!", he screamed again, louder in hope anyone would hear him, even though he knew it was useless. "Get away from me!" Stiles struggled hard against Death's arms. He screamed and trashed, trying anything to free himself.

"Stiles, please!" He heard someone else plead.

"Everything's okay, it was just a nightmare, Stiles."

"Come on, open your eyes, you're alright, you're safe."

Melissa's voice echoed near his right ear. The arms around him still holding him in a strong grip, but they felt thinner now, and softer. Strands of hair were tickling the side of his face. And suddenly it wasn't so cold around him anymore.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. His room came to sight, the light of the bedside lamp bathing him in warm, yellowish warmth. Scott's face hovered above him, looking healthy, vital and alive. Stiles stopped screaming, his throat hurt badly from it. The tears were falling freely down his cheeks though.

Stiles sniffed his running nose, his whole body was shaking, he couldn't calm down entirely.

"You're with me?" Melissa asked softly, so she wouldn't startle Stiles. The teenager nodded as an answer, not trusting his own voice to speak up. He shouldn't let that happen, shouldn't allow himself to get hold by her, but he couldn't move. He didn't want to. He needed every kind of comfort he could get right now. And fighting wasn't an option at the moment.

Stiles hiccuped, before he buried his face deeper into Melissa's shoulder. She didn't say anything, just held him tighter. He could hear Scott exhale, a relieved sigh ghosting through the now silent room. Scott's ears were still ringing from Stiles' earlier screams. It had been heart wrecking.

Melissa stroked gently over Stiles' back as she held him tightly to her chest. She had never experienced something like that, not even in the hospital. It frightened her, even now her heart was still beating rapidly. But Stiles laid limp in her arms, breathing evenly into her shoulder. She rested her head on his, feeling any kind of motherly feelings. Cautiously, she ran her hand over his sweaty face, she tried her best to wipe away all traces of his nightmare.

"You're safe." She kindly said, assuring him, but herself as well.

Stiles didn't say anything. He just kept lying against Melissa's upper body. His pride long gone, so he just let it happen. He closed his eyes, as he felt her fingers in his face. He wished it wouldn't feel as heart wrenching as it did. Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed his eyes tighter close.

He wasn't safe. Neither was she. No one was, especially around him.

You can't cheat death.

The words were echoing in Stiles' head, while he listened to Melissa's steady heartbeat.

AN: Fun Facts:

Claudia attacking Stiles actually happened in the show (5x6), I just changed it up a little bit.

The last page in Claudia's book was written on September 24th, that's the same day the finale of Teen Wolf aired in the US. (anyone's crying?)

Disclaim:

Both death riddles are not written by myself. Neither is the lullaby death is singing (I think it's Russian origin).