It wasn't you (sciles)

The friends

Stiles POV

Oh. Crap. What am I supposed to do?!?! The rest of the pack just came to visit. All of them. Derek, Lydia, Malia and Kira. (A/N: I'm not missing anyone right?) What do I tell them? 'Oh I slit my wrist because Scott doesn't love me and I killed his first love'. I would say that, but there are multiple reasons I won't. One: Scott's back in the room. Two: they'd call me an idiot. And three: Scott would hate me. "Oh my god, Stiles! Are you okay? What happened?" Squeals Lydia, her tone for once not icy. The question I wish I wouldn't hear echoes inside my head. I would normally be happy she wasn't being bitchy, but right now I'm panicking. What do I say?!?! Well, I guess I tell the truth. I look over and see Scott sitting in the corner. The truth? No. Maybe part of it.

"Umm, hello? Earth to Stiles?" Malia remarks, but there's a hint of concern in her voice. I can't lie about this, but I can't tell the whole truth. "I couldn't handle it anymore, I killed Allison. She was one of our best friends, and I got her killed." Realising the cold truth of the sentence, I begin to tear up. It was me, it was all my fault.

I start full on crying, and the unexpected happens. I feel a pair of strong arms around me. A pair of tan arms with two black stripes on the left one. Then another, and another. The ice queen herself and Kira. Then a slightly more awkward pair, belonging to Malia. And then, if even possible, it becomes even stranger. Two very strong arms join the hug. Derek. The most uptight person in the pack was joining a group hug with the pack.

I melt into the hug, relishing in the safe felling I haven't felt for so long. But slowly it begins to fade, as everyone pulls away, but one pair of arms linger for a moment. The ones that had started the hug. Why did he hesitate?

One by one, the pack begins to leave, until it's just me and Scott. Dad just got called in. He didn't seem too hurried so I reckon it was just a robbery or something. I tell Scott he can leave but he refuses. He should go home, but he won't. Every time I suggest it, it's like he heard a gunshot. He sits up in high alert, and shakes his head vigorously, like the moment he leaves, I'll die. Wait. He thinks I'm gonna try again. "Scott, I'm not going to do anything. They say I can go home tomorrow and I don't want to spend another moment in this bed. You can go home." He says nothing, but a hurt expression flashes across his face, and he shakes his head. Why is he acting so weird? I think over different possibilities for a while, before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.