For anyone who has read/is reading my fic "Blurring the Line" I want you to know that I am DEFINITELY still working on it. There were some computer problems and I lost 5 new chapters I'd written so I got a little discouraged and took a break from writing. I wrote this brief little oneshot and will be back to writing BTL immediately. It sucks I lost all that stuff but at least I know for sure where the next five chapters of the story are going. I hope to have some new stuff out for that story shortly and want to thank anybody and everybody who has stuck with it. Thanks again for everything, love this fandom!

As per usual, all mistakes are my own for this one.

"The Little Things"

For Stiles it came with the horrible event that was his mother's death.

Despite what people say, knowing it's coming doesn't make the death of a loved one any easier to deal with. The six months of mental preparation went flying out the window when the steady blip of his mother's heart monitor flat-lined. His father's grip on his shoulder tightened as his own hold on his mother's hand loosened. The stinging sensation in his eyes was something he had grown familiar with since his mother's diagnosis. He'd yet to succumb to crying though, it wasn't the time for Stiles to be the weak twelve year-old that Jackson Whittemore always accused him of being. He'd shrugged his father off of him and pointedly ignored the broken call of, "Stiles," when he pushed through the door of the hospital room.

The hallway was cold and white, far too white in Stiles's opinion, and would forever represent death to him. It was pouring outside and Stiles appreciated that mother-nature had been able to do something that he himself couldn't. He'd stood at the entrance, debating whether or not he could leave his father after his mother had left him, when he saw the lone figure sitting outside on the hospital steps. He knew immediately who it was and let out a strangled gasp when he stepped outside in the frigid rain. No words were needed, apparently his facial expression said it all, because Scott, scrawny, asthmatic, loyal Scott, wrapped his arms around him before he could do or say anything.

All he could really process was how absolutely freezing Scott was. The smaller boy was drenched and Stiles could only imagine how long he'd been sitting alone outside the building. He wrapped his arms around his friend, partially because he wanted to, but mostly because he absolutely needed to. In that one hug, every moment of their friendship flashed before Stile's eyes and he finally saw every single one of Scott's actions for what they truly were. Every movie night, video game marathon, and pizza dinner shared between them in the months of his mother's sickness had been Scott's surprisingly subtle way of comforting Stiles in the only manner that a twelve year-old kid knew how.

They'd sat down on the steps, already too wet for the rain to be a problem, and Stiles let Scott wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. It was then that Stiles asked the question that he'd been afraid to ask anyone. "What if I can't cry at the funeral?" His body had grown numb at that point and he could only focus on the drips of water that trickled down his shoelaces. Scott was quiet, he was always the quieter of the two, and Stiles did his best to patiently await an answer. He'd glanced up Scott and was surprised by the utter seriousness on his friends face. "If you can't cry at the funeral, then I'll cry for the both of us." Stiles couldn't tell if the water on his friend's face was caused by the rain, or if the red eyes were caused by the cool November air, but he does remember that in that moment Scott became his brother.

He hadn't been able to cry while his mother's casket was lowered into the ground, but Scott made good on his word. His friend's sniffles were oddly comforting during his moment of stoic strength.

And when Stiles cried everyday for a week, and once a month for a year, and twice a year since that heart monitor went quiet, Scott was right there with him.

Pizza, movie nights, videogames, and awesome bro-sessions. Nothing special with most people but with a friend like Scott, who knows exactly what said events really do for Stiles, it's everything.

It's the little things.

For Allison it comes with a conversation with the douche that is Jackson Whittemore.

They're sitting at lunch, her trying to ignore the gaze of her very recent ex and him shooting his own ex smug grins every three minutes. She feels bad about the look of hurt she sees flit across her friend's face but it's gone in an instant and Lydia makes a show of feeling the biceps of some kid on the baseball team. Allison watches in wonder. She doesn't understand how two people who used to spend every moment together can be so malicious.

She's pondering the demise of the Whittemore/Martin reign when she hears the ridiculous argument that the lacrosse team is now having. Apparently the boys are deciding who managed to take the best and worst driver's photo. She glances at the lunch table and notices that roughly twelve licenses have been grouped into two piles. She can't stop the laugh that escapes her lips when she picks up Greenburg's ID. It's absolutely horrible. "This one's got my vote." She haphazardly throws it back into the pile and only feels slightly guilty when she sees Greenburg cheeks turn red.

The "best looking" pile has been narrowed down to two and Allison is unsurprised to see Jackson's ID is still in the running, he is judging after all. She leans across his arm and has to prevent herself from coughing at the overwhelming combination of aftershave and cologne that is wafting off of Jackson. He moves his arm and wraps it around her shoulder giving her a better view of the licenses. She can feel hi head turn, no doubt in Lydia's direction, and does her best to seem as casual and disinterested as possible. She focuses on the final two and compares Jackson's smug grin to Danny's warm smile.

She picks up Jackson's ID and, just as he's about to start some sort of victory rant, she tosses it in his lap. She points to Danny, "The clear winner." The small smile that blossoms on his face is so sweet, she doesn't have the heart to admit that her actual favorite license shows a crooked smile and squinty brown eyes that are mid blink. Jackson looks at her with disgust and shakes his head, shoving his license at her and pointing out how symmetrical his face is. She pretends to listen and when he's finally done she merely shrugs her shoulders and says, "What can I say Whittemore? I've seen better."

He scoffs as if it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard and stretches his hand towards her. She quirks her eyebrow, her confusion obvious, and Jackson asks for her license, no doubt to point out all of her photo's flaws. She rolls her eyes, reaches inside her purse, and tosses her license at him. She watches his face as he takes her license in and realizes her mistake in the exact moment his face changes. "Holy shit! You're seventeen?!" She snatches the license from his hands and hastily shoves it into her wallet and out of sight. Too late.

The table is staring at her and she feels her cheeks flush. "What, were you held back or something?" She's heard it countless times before but it still stings. "No? Did… did you have a baby?" Her embarrassment vanishes and is replaced by heated anger. She grabs an apple off the table, slings her bag over her shoulder, and walks away just as Danny kicks Jackson under the table. She's making quite the exit when her eyes briefly flit over to him.

He's sitting across from Stiles, who is talking wildly and flailing his arms all over the place, and pushing his food around his plate. His hair is messy and it looks like he hasn't had a decent night's sleep in ages. He looks miserable, and sweet. Completely unassuming. She misses him, and as she shoots Jackson one last glare while leaving the cafeteria, she can't help but remember Scott's reaction to her age. Complete surprise when she told him about previous guesses, as if he hadn't pondered the negative ideas for even a second. He sees the best in everyone, and while everybody else sees a secret hidden behind the black 17 on her license, he sees only the truth.

It's the little things.

For Jackson it comes when no one else believes in him.

He's sitting alone in a police van and all he can think about is the various ways in which he can kill Stiles Stilinski. He's rich and his dad's a lawyer. He could probably get away with it. He's debating the pros and cons of each idea he comes up with when he hears the two idiots, and the one idiot girlfriend, talking outside the truck. He takes a moment to process the fact that he can hear them at all. He really shouldn't be able to. Unless… unless Stiles is slightly less idiotic than he seems. He laughs and scoffs at the idea.

They're planning something, something involving him, and he can't help but take note of the worry and concern in their voices. But they're not concerned for him, they're concerned about him. They honestly think he's a murderous lizard. There's no doubt in their voices, and no change in their heartbeats. To them, they are saying nothing but the truth. He doesn't let himself believe them because he doesn't want to believe them. As heartless as he is, Jackson's the first to admit that much of his macho act is a charade. Yes, he's good looking, yes, he's wealthy, and yes, he's done some pretty terrible things, but the thought of being a serial killer is too much for even him to handle.

They're still talking about him but the discussion has moved on to what they should do with him. They don't want to help him. Not even a little bit. Stiles brings up the fact that his problems were his own fault and as much as he wants to, he can't disagree. He asked Derek for the bite and now his life has gone to shit. Everything he did was done for the sole purpose of getting something in return. He helped save Derek, helped kill the creep Peter, but he didn't to it to help. He did it to get. He's Jackson Whittemore after all, if someone has something he wants, he does everything he can to take it.

Stiles is pushing for his death now and he notices that Allison isn't exactly spouting any protests. They think they'll be better off without him. They think that everyone will be better off without him. Kill Jackson. Problem solved. Stiles hates him, Allison has a strong dislike for him, and Scott… Scott is an enigma that has put up with his shit for years and never done anything in return. He's not surprised that none of them want to help him.

"It doesn't mean he's not still worth saving."

He's shocked and for a minute he thinks he's imagined the words. There's no way in hell McCall would ever choose him over Stilinski. "If we can save him, we should try." He hears it again and can't help the rush of emotion that overcomes him.

He has two parents that love him, more money than he knows what to with, and an entire school that worships the ground he walks on. But none of that matters when you're trapped in a police van listening to all of the horrible things you know you've done, and even worse things you may have done. But Scott McCall, dumbass Scott McCall who knows all of the terrible things Jackson's done, is sticking up for him when no one else ever has. His self-sworn enemy sees something in him that's worth saving.

It's the little things.

For Lydia it came with a conversation that should have been far more awkward.

She'd stayed late after school to discuss switching into the senior AP math class and sees him awkwardly standing with his bike next to the car she had… borrowed… from her unobservant mother. She's not surprised to see him, she'd expected to be cornered by him at some point. It's a week after their locker room kiss and he had pointedly avoided her everyday since then. She feels bad for him. Worse for Allison, who had done nothing wrong yet was none the wiser about Lydia's actions.

The guilt was a new feeling for her. She's always been popular but having a genuine friend was something she was still getting used to. Stealing boyfriends used to be a game for her but with Allison it felt like nothing more than betrayal. She hates the feeling and hates the fact that it was something she made Scott feel too. Scott McCall who is the epitome of a sweetheart, a talking puppy with opposable thumbs who had done nothing wrong to Allison, let alone Lydia. And, while Lydia's chat with Scott in Finstock's office was merely a ploy to get back at Jackson, she knows that everything she said to him was the truth. Lydia Martin is a genius, and Scott McCall is a hero who risked his life to save his friends.

When she finally reaches him, she's regained her composure and knows that she is showing no weakness. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms, hoping to convey her false irritation. Scott takes the bait and begins to babble, apologizing to her and telling her that he'll only be a minute. She nods her head and inspects her nail polish as she gestures for him to continue.

"I umm. I just wanted to apologize for the other week." This piques her interest and is the first thing she can remember being truly confused about. "I, well, I really love Allison. Like, I love her a lot and… I feel like I kind of took advantage of you and I'm just really sorry." Lydia's mouth drops open and is shocked at the fact that it's Scott McCall, the boy who's failing remedial English, who says something that she can't understand. "I just, I was really upset about the break-up and it was kind of a weird day for me, and I love her and I feel bad and wish I hadn't kissed you." Her mouth drops even lower. "Not that I didn't enjoy kissing you! You're a great kisser! I just, I don't uh… I don't really have feelings for you like that and… I just feel bad. About everything. Lydia I am so, so sorry. Oh please don't cry, I'm sorry!" Cry? She feels a tear slide down her cheek and ferociously wipes it away.

She is the worst human alive. She cornered this boy, used him in every sense of the word, and manipulated him into doing what she wanted him to do. And now he's standing here and apologizing to her. To her. If she didn't feel guilty before, and she DID, she sure as hell feels guilty now. Scott McCall is the best kind of guy and she'd tried to ruin him. She's grateful she wore her waterproof mascara because the tears are flowing freely now. "Scott, you don't need to apologize." She can see that he's about to argue so she grabs his shirt and brings his head down so his eyes meet her own. "Listen to me Scott McCall. You. Have nothing to apologize for. I was mad at Jackson and did the one thing I knew would upset him more than anything. It was a mistake and I wish it hadn't happened. Allison is my best friend and I love her to. I'm the one who should be sorry." He gets his stupefied look so she pats him on the cheek, brushes past him, and climbs into the silver Lexus. She doesn't apologize much but when she does she means it.

She's adjusting the mirrors and can't suppress the half chuckle half groan that escapes her lips when Scott taps on the window. She has a feeling she know what he's about to ask her and is pleased that he at least has he decency to look bashful. "You're dirty and there's no way your bike will fit." He looks at her like she's a lunatic. "Oh um, I don't need a ride. I was actually hoping that maybe you could tutor me sometime. I don't really have any money but I thought I could do some work for you or something." Ho. Lee. Shit. Scott McCall has confused her AGAIN! What is the world coming to. "What in the holy hell are you talking about? Why would you want me to tutor you?!" He shrugs and looks at her with such eagerness and honesty that she is momentarily stunned. "Lydia, you're the smartest person in the school. You're a freaking genius! Who else would I want to tutor me?" He laughs and shakes his head as he hops on his bike and pedals away shouting a, "Just think about it and let me know," over his shoulder.

She sits in the school parking lot for another ten minutes before she can gain control and wipe the stupid smile off her face. Lydia Martin is a genius, and it's about damn time someone other than her noticed.

It's the little things.

Scott McCall doesn't get good grades. He has more bad ideas than good, makes terrible decisions more often than decent, and was bitten by a crazy lunatic who turned him into a werewolf. There are too many crazy huge things in his life to keep track of. It seems as if all of the big things have culminated into even bigger, more terrible, things. He sometimes hates his life.

It's when Stiles invites him over for pizza, or Allison laughs at his driver's license, or Jackson manages to actually pass him the ball, or Lydia checks over his homework before he turns it in, that Scott realizes he couldn't hate his life no matter how many big things get in his way. Because it's the fleeting moments and the little things that really matter.