They say, if you lie and lie constantly, you can get away with any lie.
It's quite simple: talk always, talk everywhere, talk as if Satan himself made a bet on your silver tongue. Let him blow his Hell kingdom, Stiles will not shut up.
Adderal is an amazing shit, especially combined with Ritalin. The drug melts in the blood, it's scattered with dry powder, and no sooner you bring a match (the task from Harris, Roscoe's flat tire, creatures from the tales about shapeshifters), as the whole warehouse with the epicenter in the solar plexus explodes instantly.
Stilinski is a Niagara of chatter, faithful servant of rhetoric, the main succubus of verbiage. Add three meters of lies above the level of truth and get a perfectly accurate picture of the end.
Scott involuntarily shakes his head, because Stiles' heartbeat is deafening - overdose of a knock on the tympanic membrane of the teen wolf. He says, like, is everything fine, why do you smell like that, hey, you sure you don't need to see a doctor? Stilinski is lying, that he doesn't. And the era of 'deceive-living-detector' begins.
Stiles lies that everything is fine with his father, he's just tired, worked himself to death, and actually, being a sheriff is not so easy, you know. He lies that he's fine, that if he smells of too much medicines, it's nothing. The recipes for the pills are signed not so smoothly - nonsense. That alcohol rapidly disappears is complete bullshit.
Stiles lies that he gets aroused by Erica, her deep neckline, short skirt and high heels, and for a second, he's a teenager with a virgin-pure reputation and dirty thoughts. It's quite logical that he's raging with hormones only when Reyes is in the loft, because the school, dorky McCall, isn't conductive to masturbation.
Stiles lies to Scott about the extra lessons, that he didn't sleep cuz he played all night, that circles under his eyes and trembling icy fingers are from the Devil, cuz Stilinski is his pet now, not only McCall can run around like a living myth.
Lies to Isaac that the scarves he wraps in three layers is an obvious mockery of the 'subtle' taste of the teen wolf, or it's Peter's influence. Suck away, Lahey.
Lies to Melissa that he went to the hospital in search of her son. By the way, where is the restroom here, oh, right, I'll be quick, where is the blood sampling room, thank you.
Stiles lies to everyone, tearing his throat with a carefree laugh, and hiding bloody smile in the pillow, soundlessly howling.
He would be happy to tell.
About the sheriff, who again secretly drinks, and in the mornings they both play the game 'do not notice the empty bottles on the back porch'.
About nightmares that rape him in his dream, constantly replaying the video with Allison's death, a sword in the Scott's stomach, the torture of Malia.
About the ghost of his mother who looks from the tomography scan of the brain with bright strokes in some places.
About Lydia, who is harassed by the voices and sobs in his shoulder, he strokes her hair and confidently whispers that everything will be fine.
About Derek, to whose side you can't even move from a simple desire to say: I know how it feels.
Stilinski writes on the sheets (father wonders where the paper is rapidly disappearing), generously sprinkling whiteness with curved lines, and then burns every single scrap, flushing the ashes in the sink. Stilinski washes his hands, disguises the smell of burning with a freshener and goes downstairs to reproach his father for eating dry food for breakfast and jump into Roscoe, calling Scott, cuz he will sleep through the alarm clock.
Stiles charges his batteries and talks, talks, damn, talks so much that werewolves synchronously roll their eyes and Lydia snorts, forgetting about the whisper of death.
Stiles goes to the restroom at school and rubs his face with icy water for a long time before raising his head, examining cracked skin and squeezed mouth.
Deaton says he's strong. Everyone believes. Stiles repeatedly rips open his lips and ligaments to prove that not in vain. That words whipping from all pores are an anchor.
While the dog barks, everything's fine.
They say, that if you keep silent and keep silent constantly, no truth will kill you.
