[ he shouldn't be upset, he should be helping mary margaret. mary margaret doesn't live this kind of life, doesn't see dead bodies on a daily. (doesn't actively seek them out, which was what got stiles started in this whole damn mess.) she died too, and that was the kind of personal, horrific blow that stiles was sure he was going to have nightmares about for a long, long time. it had felt too much like losing his mom again, minus the hospital beds and plus the blood, and he can still recall the image if he shuts his eyes for too long--although which image might just be the question.
he takes in a tiny, shuddering breathe when her lips connect with his forehead, feeling for all the world like a little kid again. his mom forgot him: stiles never got the chance to say goodbye, because she was already lost. the last forehead kiss he had came from melissa mccall, and she was a great surrogate mother, had done so, so much for stiles--hell, for the stilinskis--but this was different, this was the fact that they'd only been here in the same area for maybe a couple of months, and mary maragaret started to feel like home. it makes something inflate in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, and he doesn't speak when she brushes his cheeks, takes his hands. stiles just nods, sniffling and following her directions, letting her move him around in the way that he doesn't feel like he can.
he should have been there, he should have helped her. should have helped derek, allison, lydia. instead, he went with his stupid brain and followed his stupid intentions to his own death, too. that feeling of being futile resonates so bone deep in his ribcage that he can feel it when he breathes, the heavy weight of a panic attack just ready to knock him swinging.
he gives her a face that could only really be described as lost when she sets the cocoa in his hands again, searching her face for a "why are you doing this" or a "why did you let me die" or all the things his mom (and erica and boyd and deputy tara and his dad disappearing with the darach) says when he dreams at night. but nothing comes and he leans forward into her chest like he pulls. eventually, strong arms come up to wrap around her stomach, too, so he can hold on tight and try to stem the panic in the smell of familiar perfume and the warm arms of a woman who'd come to mean entirely too much to him since her arrival here in wonderland. he gets it now, why emma speaks about mary margaret with such fondness, because she really is one of the best people he's ever known.
finally, he speaks up again, voice soft and watery but there. ] It's okay--it's, it's okay for you, too.
[ that's all he can really offer, some feeble message of care and reassurance. she told him not to apologize, but that's all he wants to do. ]
action!!
he takes in a tiny, shuddering breathe when her lips connect with his forehead, feeling for all the world like a little kid again. his mom forgot him: stiles never got the chance to say goodbye, because she was already lost. the last forehead kiss he had came from melissa mccall, and she was a great surrogate mother, had done so, so much for stiles--hell, for the stilinskis--but this was different, this was the fact that they'd only been here in the same area for maybe a couple of months, and mary maragaret started to feel like home. it makes something inflate in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, and he doesn't speak when she brushes his cheeks, takes his hands. stiles just nods, sniffling and following her directions, letting her move him around in the way that he doesn't feel like he can.
he should have been there, he should have helped her. should have helped derek, allison, lydia. instead, he went with his stupid brain and followed his stupid intentions to his own death, too. that feeling of being futile resonates so bone deep in his ribcage that he can feel it when he breathes, the heavy weight of a panic attack just ready to knock him swinging.
he gives her a face that could only really be described as lost when she sets the cocoa in his hands again, searching her face for a "why are you doing this" or a "why did you let me die" or all the things his mom (and erica and boyd and deputy tara and his dad disappearing with the darach) says when he dreams at night. but nothing comes and he leans forward into her chest like he pulls. eventually, strong arms come up to wrap around her stomach, too, so he can hold on tight and try to stem the panic in the smell of familiar perfume and the warm arms of a woman who'd come to mean entirely too much to him since her arrival here in wonderland. he gets it now, why emma speaks about mary margaret with such fondness, because she really is one of the best people he's ever known.
finally, he speaks up again, voice soft and watery but there. ] It's okay--it's, it's okay for you, too.
[ that's all he can really offer, some feeble message of care and reassurance. she told him not to apologize, but that's all he wants to do. ]