I'm Okay part 2/8
anonymous
June 10 2012, 05:38:44 UTC
The pizza box sat between them, freshly delivered with its grease dripping all over the sheets. With a controller in one hand, and a slice in his mouth, Stiles’ navigated the race course with a determination to win. But suddenly, Stiles’ car steered off course, the slice of pizza fell out of his mouth and onto his jean covered thigh. His head turned to the side and with a heaving cough spewed yellow chunky vomit on Scott’s white sheets. His torso hung off the edge of the bed, and after another minute of coughing and thirty seconds of silence he rose back up straight. “Ah, shit, sorry, really sorry, I can uh get a towel? Sorry, really didn’t feel it coming on. I mean most people have that reflex thing, but I just can’t tell, sorry.” He whipped his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaced when a string of vomit slid across his knuckles. Scott thought he was going to puke again, just from the sight. Stile became instantly squeamish at the sight of anything remotely gross. “Oh uh it’s okay, are you though, okay?” He grabbed a Kleenex from the counter and with an extended arm placed them over the spot. He would have a great time explaining this to his mom tomorrow. “Yeah, fine, fine. I’m okay.” Then Stiles with causally that should not be used for the situation explained. He briefly mentioned his ADHD in the past, but made it sound as a passing joke on his attention span. However, it was anything but, and as Scott then learned a bitch to treat. The dosage was still in debate, and by the start of Stiles’ high school career, they were hoping to ‘get it right’, as he eloquently put. Scott, after a very out of character momentary freak-out on why the fuck Stiles had never told him, patted his friend on the back, and offered him a piece of gum. _ After that, Scott would constantly be asking him questions, checking up on him, until Stiles told him that he was driving him insane. Then as abruptly as the topic arrived it exited his mind. Scott was only reminded every once when he would spot an orange pill container on Stiles’ bathroom counter. Whenever that happened there would be a silence, before Stiles changed the topic quickly. Until later on, maybe over text message, or when they were about to fall asleep, Scott would be overwhelmed with guilt for not asking sooner. He would forget that Stiles’ had asked him to stop in the first place, and be filled with a swirling guilt that screamed to him that he was shitty best friend. So he would whisper, kept his voice low, and calm as if he was asking about the weather, “Hey, you okay, bro?” It would be a minute, and Scott would be able to tell exactly how things were going on the way Stiles responded. If he punched him in the arm or sent a long text message that was filled with different topics and analogies that made little sense and summed up to that Scott shouldn’t worry. But sometimes it was just a quiet, quick, “Yeah, still s’okay” _ In the end of freshmen year those ‘still s’okay’s turned to be more frequent. It was always his way to end the subject, to signal to Scott that it was a touchy topic at the time. However, one time Stiles did not respond in either of the two methods. It was the night Stiles’ mom died. They were over at Scott’s house. Stiles had now figured out to sneak through the window, so even if Scott’s mother had objected to the idea, he would be able to get in anyways. They were tinkering with the radio again, a favorite pastime, and when they eventually landed on the channel; they left it on as background noise. When Stiles phone rang they thought it was because his father had somehow figured they tapped into the Police Band Radio. He scrambled to turn it off and flipped his phone open with a gasped “H-hey dad. We weren’t doing anything, just hanging out, why’d you call? I thought you were on duty tonight, not that we’d know that other than you told me this morning-“ Then Stiles stopped talking. Scott mouthed at him silently if they were screwed and that he told him all along this was a bad idea, but Stiles brushed him off, and turned his back. “T-that really isn’t funny, dad. Police officers shouldn’t joke about those things with an elected position you know.”
But whatever his father responded made Stiles’ shoulders tighten. Scott could see the bones move together when his back straightened under the thin orange tee-shirt, and the back muscles of Stiles’ neck (visible by his recent buzz cut) twitch ever so slightly. He snapped the phone shut, and let it fall beneath him. His eyes were wider than ever, and eyebrows rose knitted together that caused wrinkles to spread up his forehead. His mouth was open slightly, and words seemed to be caught in his throat. The news clawed them down, and without any explanation he stumbled up, his limbs failing as he tried to get a steady balance to run out the door. “Stiles!” Scott who was only the slight faster of the two, sped after him and caught him at the front door when Stiles slipped on the floor, and sent himself slamming into the wood. “What the hell, man?” “My mom. Scott, my mom something happened, I got to go, I got to go,” Stiles hand moved to clutch at his chest. His breathing became rapid, the in and out lost rhythm and he sucked in quick breaths without releasing any. He was shivering too, teeth chattering, and sweat coating his cheek. Mostly he looked confused, but then his face blanched. His hands trembled on their position on the doorknob, before it slid off to join the other one over his heart. “Stiles? What’s happening?!” His words were unintelligible, but Scott could hear the words trying to break through the gasps. “Mom! Mom!” Scott yelled while he tried to reach out to Stiles. She was already on her way after she heard the thud from him falling and appeared in mid call. She took one look at Stiles and rushed over. She crouched down next to him and shifted into her nurse mode. She hurriedly instructed Scott to bring her a brown lunch bag from the kitchen. “Can you feel your fingers?” Scott couldn’t tell if Stiles nodded yes or no, but he ran into the kitchen as fast as he could. When he returned, she was talking soothingly to him and pressed the bag to Stiles mouth. She carefully guided his hands to the sides of the paper for even a fraction of control. It lasted for another four minutes before Stiles returned to normal. Scott’s mom didn’t even scold him for sneaking in; a call from Stiles’ dad already informed her enough and she loaded both of them into her car. _ For the next year, Stiles frequently experienced the attacks. Scott, with instruction from his mom, learned how to treat them. Each one was scary, because Stiles wasn’t the usual Stiles. He would be filled with such a fear, such a depression, that Scott was always afraid he would no longer be able to regain his best friend. Only one occurred in school. No one quite understood what was happening, or how to handle it. The teacher believed that Stiles was just causing a scene to be a fool, but Scott was there. He helped Stiles into the hallway a place where the other students’ eyes weren’t glued onto the pair of them. He rubbed his shoulder, helped him breath, and when Stiles recovered, acted as if it had never happened. But, every time, he was able to bring him back. Whether it was helping him calm his breathing or sometimes just whispering, he could bring him back. The medication interfered with his Adderall, so they had to limit it to low dosages, and while they did not stop the panic attacks, they did make them less frequent. Eventually, they slowed down, and by junior year they were a thing of the past. Their lives began to change, Scott became a werewolf for one thing, and Allison quickly became his main concern. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about Stiles, it was just that the extra eye he kept to make sure Stiles was alright shifted to someone else.
(That moment when I de-anoned on accident...Also I will post the rest tomorrow)
“Shouldn’t we at least try?” Scott was ever persistent on the topic, even while he was really seeking for Allison in the crowd opposed to his full attention on the current subject. “When you first turned you tried to kill me and you’re my best friend. I’m pretty sure Jackson already wants to kill me, and now he can just blame it on being wolf-ed out.” Stiles responded and shifted his backpack, the lacrosse stick jostled in the pocket. Scott cringed as always at the word, and his head darted around the crowd to see if anyone had overheard. His voice dropped to a lower decibel, “Yeah, but who knows if Derek is helping him now that he’s alpha. Maybe we should talk to him.” “Derek wants to kill me too, I’m pretty sure.” Scott ignored him, “But aren’t werewolves supposed to, like, stay together? A pack or whatever. But Allison doesn’t know either if Derek’s pack is such a good ide-“ “Dude, have you not heard me? I end up dead either way.” The conversation continued into the parking lot. They only stopped to note that Jackson’s parking space was empty for the second day in the row, and Scott untangled the lock from his bike on the rack right next to it. Ever since Scott had brought up the suggestion of speaking to Jackson or Derek, Stiles had been incredibly reproachful to the idea. He had brought up the notion that being a single werewolf as Scott was now, to being in a pack was a completely different mentality. Scott had convinced him that he was in no hurry to join anything, even if Derek was offering. Stiles told him that Alpha’s were difficult to refuse, and even more so if they were initiating a pack. “Plus, I told you already, packs are dangerous. Alphas can make do Betas things that they don’t want-how come I know more about this than you anyways? Aren’t you the werewolf? I’m just telling you man, being in a pack could really screw things up.” “Yeah, Allison said that too. But she also thinks that being an Omega is dangerous too.” He piped up again, while tugging his helmet over his head, and sliding onto his bike. “Yeah, but she’s also a hunter, I don’t know if your girlfriend is the best source of werewolf safety.” Anger flickered across his features, “She is not a hunter.” Stiles knew he hit a nerve, and with a sigh finished their conversation, “Fine. God, you’re going to be the death of me. Let’s go talk to Derek. But if it gets all wolfy in there, I’m hauling ass out.” Scott’s eyes lit up, and a grin spread across his face. “I got to go talk to Allison about this, maybe she’ll come too? Give us some advice on staying out of the hunters’ way?” Before Stiles could tell him what an epically bad idea that was, Scott was far off into the distance. Stiles was becoming more and more aware that his best friend was an absolute love-sick idiot and one day, he would really be killed, and Scott would most likely be making out with Allison during it. “But what’re ya going to do?” He muttered to himself and slid into the jeep. It was also a good opportunity to slip out of his house. Stiles didn’t even begin to want to reflect on how strained the relationship between him and his father had become after the formal. Every time he met his dad’s eyes there would be a sense of guilt that curled in his stomach, especially for the fact that Lydia was still not…Lydia. _ Derek and Jackson were equally pissed off, Stiles was anxious, and despite for their exploding disgusting amount of cliché love for each other both Allison and Scott were nervous. So overall the mood in the room was not awesome. Derek had somewhat of a right, because they all had pretty much barged into his decrypted house (his fault for lack of walls) and his usual sour exterior tripled with the amount of people crammed in his space. Jackson, on the other hand, was going through the earlier woes of werewolf hood(or what he believed to be) and with all the angst that Scott had experienced(minus the Allison saga) he was in a hate-the-world mood.
But suddenly, Stiles’ car steered off course, the slice of pizza fell out of his mouth and onto his jean covered thigh. His head turned to the side and with a heaving cough spewed yellow chunky vomit on Scott’s white sheets. His torso hung off the edge of the bed, and after another minute of coughing and thirty seconds of silence he rose back up straight.
“Ah, shit, sorry, really sorry, I can uh get a towel? Sorry, really didn’t feel it coming on. I mean most people have that reflex thing, but I just can’t tell, sorry.” He whipped his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaced when a string of vomit slid across his knuckles. Scott thought he was going to puke again, just from the sight. Stile became instantly squeamish at the sight of anything remotely gross.
“Oh uh it’s okay, are you though, okay?” He grabbed a Kleenex from the counter and with an extended arm placed them over the spot. He would have a great time explaining this to his mom tomorrow.
“Yeah, fine, fine. I’m okay.”
Then Stiles with causally that should not be used for the situation explained. He briefly mentioned his ADHD in the past, but made it sound as a passing joke on his attention span. However, it was anything but, and as Scott then learned a bitch to treat.
The dosage was still in debate, and by the start of Stiles’ high school career, they were hoping to ‘get it right’, as he eloquently put.
Scott, after a very out of character momentary freak-out on why the fuck Stiles had never told him, patted his friend on the back, and offered him a piece of gum.
_
After that, Scott would constantly be asking him questions, checking up on him, until Stiles told him that he was driving him insane. Then as abruptly as the topic arrived it exited his mind. Scott was only reminded every once when he would spot an orange pill container on Stiles’ bathroom counter.
Whenever that happened there would be a silence, before Stiles changed the topic quickly. Until later on, maybe over text message, or when they were about to fall asleep, Scott would be overwhelmed with guilt for not asking sooner. He would forget that Stiles’ had asked him to stop in the first place, and be filled with a swirling guilt that screamed to him that he was shitty best friend.
So he would whisper, kept his voice low, and calm as if he was asking about the weather, “Hey, you okay, bro?”
It would be a minute, and Scott would be able to tell exactly how things were going on the way Stiles responded. If he punched him in the arm or sent a long text message that was filled with different topics and analogies that made little sense and summed up to that Scott shouldn’t worry.
But sometimes it was just a quiet, quick, “Yeah, still s’okay”
_
In the end of freshmen year those ‘still s’okay’s turned to be more frequent. It was always his way to end the subject, to signal to Scott that it was a touchy topic at the time. However, one time Stiles did not respond in either of the two methods.
It was the night Stiles’ mom died.
They were over at Scott’s house. Stiles had now figured out to sneak through the window, so even if Scott’s mother had objected to the idea, he would be able to get in anyways. They were tinkering with the radio again, a favorite pastime, and when they eventually landed on the channel; they left it on as background noise.
When Stiles phone rang they thought it was because his father had somehow figured they tapped into the Police Band Radio. He scrambled to turn it off and flipped his phone open with a gasped “H-hey dad. We weren’t doing anything, just hanging out, why’d you call? I thought you were on duty tonight, not that we’d know that other than you told me this morning-“
Then Stiles stopped talking. Scott mouthed at him silently if they were screwed and that he told him all along this was a bad idea, but Stiles brushed him off, and turned his back.
“T-that really isn’t funny, dad. Police officers shouldn’t joke about those things with an elected position you know.”
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He snapped the phone shut, and let it fall beneath him. His eyes were wider than ever, and eyebrows rose knitted together that caused wrinkles to spread up his forehead. His mouth was open slightly, and words seemed to be caught in his throat. The news clawed them down, and without any explanation he stumbled up, his limbs failing as he tried to get a steady balance to run out the door.
“Stiles!” Scott who was only the slight faster of the two, sped after him and caught him at the front door when Stiles slipped on the floor, and sent himself slamming into the wood.
“What the hell, man?”
“My mom. Scott, my mom something happened, I got to go, I got to go,” Stiles hand moved to clutch at his chest. His breathing became rapid, the in and out lost rhythm and he sucked in quick breaths without releasing any. He was shivering too, teeth chattering, and sweat coating his cheek. Mostly he looked confused, but then his face blanched. His hands trembled on their position on the doorknob, before it slid off to join the other one over his heart.
“Stiles? What’s happening?!”
His words were unintelligible, but Scott could hear the words trying to break through the gasps.
“Mom! Mom!” Scott yelled while he tried to reach out to Stiles. She was already on her way after she heard the thud from him falling and appeared in mid call. She took one look at Stiles and rushed over. She crouched down next to him and shifted into her nurse mode. She hurriedly instructed Scott to bring her a brown lunch bag from the kitchen.
“Can you feel your fingers?”
Scott couldn’t tell if Stiles nodded yes or no, but he ran into the kitchen as fast as he could.
When he returned, she was talking soothingly to him and pressed the bag to Stiles mouth. She carefully guided his hands to the sides of the paper for even a fraction of control.
It lasted for another four minutes before Stiles returned to normal. Scott’s mom didn’t even scold him for sneaking in; a call from Stiles’ dad already informed her enough and she loaded both of them into her car.
_
For the next year, Stiles frequently experienced the attacks. Scott, with instruction from his mom, learned how to treat them. Each one was scary, because Stiles wasn’t the usual Stiles. He would be filled with such a fear, such a depression, that Scott was always afraid he would no longer be able to regain his best friend.
Only one occurred in school. No one quite understood what was happening, or how to handle it. The teacher believed that Stiles was just causing a scene to be a fool, but Scott was there. He helped Stiles into the hallway a place where the other students’ eyes weren’t glued onto the pair of them. He rubbed his shoulder, helped him breath, and when Stiles recovered, acted as if it had never happened.
But, every time, he was able to bring him back. Whether it was helping him calm his breathing or sometimes just whispering, he could bring him back.
The medication interfered with his Adderall, so they had to limit it to low dosages, and while they did not stop the panic attacks, they did make them less frequent. Eventually, they slowed down, and by junior year they were a thing of the past.
Their lives began to change, Scott became a werewolf for one thing, and Allison quickly became his main concern. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about Stiles, it was just that the extra eye he kept to make sure Stiles was alright shifted to someone else.
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“Shouldn’t we at least try?” Scott was ever persistent on the topic, even while he was really seeking for Allison in the crowd opposed to his full attention on the current subject.
“When you first turned you tried to kill me and you’re my best friend. I’m pretty sure Jackson already wants to kill me, and now he can just blame it on being wolf-ed out.” Stiles responded and shifted his backpack, the lacrosse stick jostled in the pocket.
Scott cringed as always at the word, and his head darted around the crowd to see if anyone had overheard. His voice dropped to a lower decibel, “Yeah, but who knows if Derek is helping him now that he’s alpha. Maybe we should talk to him.”
“Derek wants to kill me too, I’m pretty sure.”
Scott ignored him, “But aren’t werewolves supposed to, like, stay together? A pack or whatever. But Allison doesn’t know either if Derek’s pack is such a good ide-“
“Dude, have you not heard me? I end up dead either way.”
The conversation continued into the parking lot. They only stopped to note that Jackson’s parking space was empty for the second day in the row, and Scott untangled the lock from his bike on the rack right next to it. Ever since Scott had brought up the suggestion of speaking to Jackson or Derek, Stiles had been incredibly reproachful to the idea. He had brought up the notion that being a single werewolf as Scott was now, to being in a pack was a completely different mentality. Scott had convinced him that he was in no hurry to join anything, even if Derek was offering.
Stiles told him that Alpha’s were difficult to refuse, and even more so if they were initiating a pack.
“Plus, I told you already, packs are dangerous. Alphas can make do Betas things that they don’t want-how come I know more about this than you anyways? Aren’t you the werewolf? I’m just telling you man, being in a pack could really screw things up.”
“Yeah, Allison said that too. But she also thinks that being an Omega is dangerous too.” He piped up again, while tugging his helmet over his head, and sliding onto his bike.
“Yeah, but she’s also a hunter, I don’t know if your girlfriend is the best source of werewolf safety.”
Anger flickered across his features, “She is not a hunter.”
Stiles knew he hit a nerve, and with a sigh finished their conversation, “Fine. God, you’re going to be the death of me. Let’s go talk to Derek. But if it gets all wolfy in there, I’m hauling ass out.”
Scott’s eyes lit up, and a grin spread across his face. “I got to go talk to Allison about this, maybe she’ll come too? Give us some advice on staying out of the hunters’ way?”
Before Stiles could tell him what an epically bad idea that was, Scott was far off into the distance. Stiles was becoming more and more aware that his best friend was an absolute love-sick idiot and one day, he would really be killed, and Scott would most likely be making out with Allison during it.
“But what’re ya going to do?” He muttered to himself and slid into the jeep. It was also a good opportunity to slip out of his house. Stiles didn’t even begin to want to reflect on how strained the relationship between him and his father had become after the formal.
Every time he met his dad’s eyes there would be a sense of guilt that curled in his stomach, especially for the fact that Lydia was still not…Lydia.
_
Derek and Jackson were equally pissed off, Stiles was anxious, and despite for their exploding disgusting amount of cliché love for each other both Allison and Scott were nervous.
So overall the mood in the room was not awesome.
Derek had somewhat of a right, because they all had pretty much barged into his decrypted house (his fault for lack of walls) and his usual sour exterior tripled with the amount of people crammed in his space. Jackson, on the other hand, was going through the earlier woes of werewolf hood(or what he believed to be) and with all the angst that Scott had experienced(minus the Allison saga) he was in a hate-the-world mood.
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