middaeg | (closed) behind every door is a fall

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(closed) behind every door is a fall

Who: Stiles Stilinski, Jonas Ward, and Sasuke Uchiha
When: Morning of Iuneril 15
Where: Stiles and Jonas’ cottage
What: Surprisingly: not polygamous dating! Stiles finally tells Jonas about Donovan
Warnings: Discussion of an accidental killing made in self-defense, PTSD, related topics

[ After surviving the longest, most agonizing shift at Worse Dragon yet – in an admittedly short period of employment there – he power walks around the city as if his anxiety were nipping at his heels. Though he intended to use this time to construct an ironclad defense should he need one, his mind only whirls in frenetic circles as he repeatedly plays the last memory he has of Scott. Inevitably, like a dog chasing its tail, his frustration and dormant rage build. Stiles burns through it by running, a form of exercise his body protests wearily against, which is how dawn finds him: exhausted mentally and physically, soaked with sweat, and red-rimmed eyes shadowed by deep bruises. He slips into the cottage quietly, hoping that Jonas is asleep, and showers.

Then he sits in the living room, hands wringing thin ropes of silk from his recently developed wrist spinnerets as he waits for Sasuke to arrive and Jonas to come downstairs. At least his thoughts have quieted; his end of the Bond is unnaturally placid. There’s no doubt he’ll become increasingly agitated while talking about Donovan, but for now he can enjoy the eye of the storm. ]

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[ Stiles had specified "morning" without any further time given, and when left to his own devices Sasuke interprets that to mean "earlier rather than later". He's not beaten by the Arachne by too much, choosing nowadays to avoid as much direct sunlight as possible even if it's not a topic he's felt the need to address outright.

The hood of his cloak is up and his umbrella is in hand when he knocks, however, waiting for his invitation to enter.

Too bad letting himself in is now also a thing of the past. ]

(jonas waits in his room until he hears the knock, wondering if he can pretend he didn't. with all that happened yesterday, dealing with today had been the last thing on his mind before he tossed and turned all night, and now, exhausted, he's as ready as he'll ever be to face them.)

Yeah, it's open! C'mon in! (a shout from the landing in case stiles is preoccupied somewhere and can't voice the invite, but jonas finds him in the living room when he reaches the landing and immediately quirks a brow at the pet project he has going on. spider silk, coming from his wrists. the nickname from their first shared dream comes back to him. spider-man.

clears the last step and shoves his hands into sweatpants pockets, wine-coloured sweater downgraded to loungewear and deemed perfect for an uncomfortable situation.)

Um, hi. You cool if I grab some water first? You want anything?

[ The knock has him flinching, illusion of peace shattered as reality comes crashing back in. As he moves to stand, blinking blankly at the spools of silk that he’s wound around his wrists, Jonas appears at the landing above the fireplace and calls out to their visitor. With mechanical stiffness, Stiles sits back down in his usual chair. Sasuke can let himself in. ]

No. [ It comes out as a croak, his throat so tight he has to clear it several times in succession before he can try again. ] Uh, sorry. No. I’m good. Thanks.

[ And he goes back to unconsciously pulling the silk from his wrists, a bizarre form of a tic that he hasn’t fully recognized yet. ]

[ The voice he expects is Stiles's; the voice he gets is Jonas's. No matter, he would've had to face him this morning regardless. Still, there's a brief half-second where he reaches for the doorknob and hesitates, mind a blank when he forces himself into having some followthrough. Is he nervous? No. Embarrassed? No. Sad?

He steps inside, doing a cursory check of his surroundings – unnecessary security precautions but ingrained since birth – before he's moving into the living room, not altogether surprised to see Stiles in the state he's in. Then his eyes go to Jonas, purposefully not allowing himself to immediately look away as he inclines his head. ]

Stiles asked that I be here. I assumed it would be fine.

(seeing him now is harder than it was before, of course that's what jonas was expecting when they finally parted ways after their dinner at jiren's, and he new it'd make things different. that'll fade, won't it?

all they can do for now is focus on stiles, who's clearly struggling with something.) That's alright, but now I'm like... "Ahhh, what'd I do?" You know? (waving his hands a little to dramatize it in a way that's supposed to lighten things up, but all it manages to do is force him into the kitchen faster for that glass of water he chugs at the sink before returning with a full second.)

Is this me under fire, or– like, I don't want to assume or anything. I'd rather just know straight up, though.

[ Sasuke enters the cottage. A bead of sweat slides slowly down the curvature of his spine. This is really happening. His final encounter with Scott only took a few minutes, beginning to end. How will his future with Jonas look, just ten minutes from now? He wants desperately to have the same kind of faith that his best friend does, to take the plunge without stressing so much about the details. But the what ifs are choking the very air from his lungs. ]

You’re not under fire. I just need… [ Grimacing, he looks away. ] Can you sit first?

[ The overwhelming urge to pace is strong enough as it is. ]

[ Never has his poker face been more useful than now, his pause at the door serving as his only allowable reaction. This moment, as it is, is for something else. It's for Stiles, and the revelation of something deeply personal and important to him.

He approaches, intentionally choosing a seat near to Stiles even in a subtle display of support. ]

There's something he wants to share with you, [ he begins helpfully, supplementing where needed to hopefully avoid further worrying Jonas. ] Because what he wants to discuss is something I've already seen, thanks to the night when we were able to enter one another's mirrors, I can speak objectively to it.

(stiles bids him to sit and sasuke's already taken a place near him, leaving him to seek the end of the couch closest to the fireplace. it's easy to feel a strong mix of emotion, that much is clear through his end of the bond. there's anxiety, awkwardness, the ritual fondness that comes from being together with his favourite people, and a private appreciation at seeing them support one another.

is it always that way? what do they talk about together when he's not around?

jonas' lips tug into a little smile despite the prevailing gloom.) I'm as ready as I'm gonna' get, but take your time with just everything... there's never any need to rush, 'cause I don't have anywhere to be. (his own attempt at being accommodating, rubbing above his knees to get himself settled.

a glance to sasuke.)

We can even sit here for a bit and chat if he doesn't wanna' blurt it out straight away, right?

[ A tempestuous exhale bursts free from him when Sasuke sits down nearby, taking with it some of the gut-wrenching tension that was shredding his insides. The look he shoots the other young man, pupils dilated wide from adrenaline, is nothing short of appreciative. He nods in agreement with what Sasuke explains to Jonas, absently digging out the pocketknife he’s taken to carrying on him since the last full moon. ]

Don’t have claws yet, [ he begins awkwardly, an embarrassed murmur, to reassure them before bringing the knife anywhere near his wrists so he can cut the strands of silk free. ] Uh, anyway… I’d rather not drag this out.

[ The pocketknife clicks closed. Stiles dumps the loosed spider silk into his lap, then peers at it with a thousand-mile stare. ]

It has to do with why I didn’t want to Bond. [ Unsurprisingly, restless fingers pick at the silk to keep busy. ] Something happened, right before I was brought here. I lost my best friend and girlfriend over it.

[ And while he’s done his best to avoid thinking about Scott and Malia, a note of abject misery colors his voice at mention of them. Seeing Lydia last month has only made the heartache worse. ]

[ That smile of Jonas's, paired with the feelings of attachment he can sense through their Bond, renders him almost unable to not stare. It's only with significant focus that he manages to avert his gaze, seemingly emotionless in return but there's a quiet surprise hidden beneath the surface, mired in equal levels of concern as his eyes cut to Stiles. Were this any other situation he'd be questioning him about the silk, interested in it, but for this one he stays silent.

Indeed, though he keeps eyes focused on him he doesn't interrupt, only nodding once to encourage him to keep going. ]

(stiles' pocketknife predictably draws the eye, but if jonas feels anything about it it doesn't seem to flag their bond. in fact, the most prominent thing that seems to be there now is a patient, overarching will to listen. more so now than before.

sasuke nods and jonas only briefly looks between them before leaning forward to plant his elbows on his knees.)

Jesus, I'm sorry. That's– (devastating? heart-breaking? well, a few things are already starting to make sense, but it's only the tip of the iceberg.) I don't know what it is. Brutal, Stiles, honestly... I'm listening, though, what's going on, man?

[ They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. Well, he has died – was dead for a full sixteen hours, chasing after the evasive, bloodied roots of the Nemeton through limbo – and he can’t claim to have ever experienced that phenomenon. Not until now. Suddenly silent, he looks at Jonas, really looks at him, as if trying to commit those features to memory. Because he feels himself at the precipice of a revelation that could break them, and Stiles is terrified. Like the film reel of a movie, he pores over the past half-year together with Jonas and hopes to god he’s not about to set fire to the theater. ]

I’ve told you my dad is a cop. The sheriff. Well, there was this guy. Donovan Donati. [ The name is spit venomously, his eyes flashing with a barely restrained hatred even now. ] He was a regular at the station. In and out of the cells like a revolving door. So, me and… [ He falters, then continues on. ] Me and Scott are at the station, talking to my dad. Donovan was there, arrested for breaking and entering and breaking parole by carrying a loaded gun. He sees my dad and loses it. Starts saying how…how he’s gonna kill my dad. “I’m gonna find you,” [ he mimics, expression contorted furiously, ] “gonna get a knife, and I’m gonna stab you until you’re dead.” Shit like that. All right in front of my dad’s officers, as if –

[ Stiles cuts off sharply, wincing. A hand flies up to his right shoulder, pressing against the flesh there as something ripples beneath the surface in warning. One of the Arachne limbs. Mouth flat, he glances at Sasuke – it’s just like what happened during his panic attack, when he got too emotional. The transformation started to trigger. ]

Sorry. Gimme a minute.

[ Already Jonas reacts well, taking into account what Stiles has been through without jumping to conclusions or making negative assumptions. To say that Sasuke feels some sense of responsibility after promising Stiles that this would go smoothly isn't inaccurate, after all, and once again he finds his trust in Jonas to be well-placed.

Attention is diverted between the two of them as Stiles speaks, only returning fully to the Arachne once he begins to flag. His gaze remains steady for a second or two before it abruptly turns on Jonas, suddenly speaking up. ]

For you and for me, some of this is new information. The memory that I saw took place later. [ It's such plain and unnecessary information, spoken with placid calm, but it serves a few purposes. It fills the silence that might make Stiles more anxious, it directs attention towards himself so he can seize Jonas's eye contact, and it distracts from the movement of his hand – his palm discreetly lifts to face Stiles, slowly raising one finger at a time in a silent count to guide his breaths in and out. ]

Still, it helps to answer a few questions that I had also.

(the pointed look is one jonas meets, brow creasing at the intensity. it's alarming, giving him a thrill up his spine that persists as stiles begins to speak of his dad—the cop—scott, and some guy with a long track record. there's nothing for him to anchor himself to in the explanation, lost as to why this particular topic would be relevant.

then the misdeed's aired, and jonas breathes in sharply through his nose.) What the fuck? Uh, where does he get off saying something like that?

(his first reaction to stiles cutting himself off is a fisting of fingers that'd been loosely gathered between his knees, sitting up with a grimace at how indignant he feels on his friend's behalf. it seems as though the story's causing him physical pain and jonas, who's never been particularly astute, blames it on that scar he refuses to let him heal. there are thoughts on where it'll lead once stiles calms down, still confused, but the "what if it was dad?" that surfaces scatters them.

sasuke makes a comment, predictably drawing his attention.)

Some? All, (it's all new, every aspect of it, and jonas never imagined this would be what stiles wanted to discuss—not in a million years,) this is unreal. Did they lock that guy up? You saw it, right?

(patience wins out over a hair-trigger temper that's only worsened in the months he's been here, and if he sees sasuke's hand or the fingers being held up to stiles there's no indication of it. he's far too busy shuffling himself down the couch to sit at the opposite arm that brings him that much closer to his best friend.)

Jesus, in a police station, too. The balls on him. Your dad okay? He wasn't too freaked out, was he?

Edited 2020-06-17 00:36 (UTC)

[ So smoothly that he would have suspected it was naturally done if he didn’t know any better, Sasuke steps in to distract Jonas and provide Stiles a moment of relief from the spotlight. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, too emotionally frayed from their text conversation last night to handle this silent show of solidarity. A sense of helpless hysteria bubbles up within him. What did he do to earn Sasuke’s friendship? How can he possibly ever repay him? Jaw working, Stiles forces himself to count each finger as they rise, timing his breathing to the flex of knuckles. The discomfort in his shoulder abates. ]

Dad’s not like me, [ he jokes weakly, massaging that shoulder as he speaks. ] He’s made of sterner stuff. Had them throw Donovan in a holding cell. If things happened the way they were supposed to, Donovan would’ve been lucky to get out of prison in five years. But nothing happens the way it should in Beacon Hills.

[ Second by second, he begins to dissociate. It becomes easier to recount the events. His gaze fixes on a point beyond Jonas’ head and remains there. As much as he wants to be reassured by how his best friend is reacting so far, Stiles has already convinced himself of a single inevitable outcome to this conversation. Yet a hungry, desperate part of him notes that Jonas has moved closer, that Jonas is listening earnestly, that Jonas still has him. For now. ]

It’s part of a longer story. Supernatural baddies got a hold of Donovan and turned him into a wendigo-chimera hybrid through experimentation. First thing he did – [ and last ] – was come after me.

[ Jonas corrects him and continues on, leaving the possibility for Sasuke to again respond should he need to cover for Stiles a second time but the other teen is ready now. He speaks up again, voice even in spite of what Sasuke is fully aware he's just repressed and recovered from, and he feels a sense of misplaced pride in both of them. It'll fade quickly, unable to survive in the choppy seas of Jonas's anger that he's now also feeling, but it'll be remembered for later.

His hand drops as he turns his head to watch Stiles, waiting until he's finished to nod his affirmation. ]

That's the beginning of what I saw. The rest I can speak to as needed.

(notes the way stiles sights past him. jonas plans to move his head, intentionally putting himself in line with the blanker stare, but decides against it when things start to get climactic.

he's not up-to-date on his supernatural beings, or monsters, or mythical creatures, but he knows what a chimera is and it sounds terrifying in its own right. some of the twisted versions of their friends, here in aefenglom, have intimidated him; stiles himself is going through changes that've given him pause. to be forcibly turned into something sounds beyond the scope of his imagining.

but this donovan is bad. to jonas, he's marked as the villain instantly, a threat against stiles and his family. sasuke speaks up and this time he has nothing to rear back and angrily declare.

expression shifting, darkening, his cold silence drapes like a thick blanket, fists on his knees practically creaking with how tight and white-knuckled his grip on nothing is. it's how he acted after alex left him to hang—suspended by the soul by the sunken—in front of chalk drawings and schematics, mirroring the only object he could focus on: a swinging, flickering, dying light on a string.

you... are an evil person.)

Go on. (quietly at first, then stronger:) It's alright, go ahead.

[ External stimuli wrests his attention decisively from that disconnected, vacant space where he had sequestered himself. The trichobothria, already in-tune with Jonas from living in close quarters with the other man for so long, pick up on the Witch’s reaction. His own expression frozen, Stiles glances over at his best friend hesitantly. Even now, he struggles to place the tense and unhappy look darkening the teen’s brow. Anger is rare for Jonas, at least in his experience. But it doesn’t seem to be aimed at him this time. With Jonas’ verbal encouragement, he continues. ]

I was alone at school late, researching. My jeep broke down in the parking lot. He attacked me while I was trying to fix it. [ A gesture to his shoulder. ] That’s when he bit me.

[ Both Sasuke and Jonas have had extensive opportunities in the past to study the ugly, puckered furrow of scar tissue hidden now beneath his shirt. There is little to suggest it was caused by a bite, judging by the formation. Stiles doesn’t waste time unnecessarily detailing the monstrous physical changes Donovan underwent as an artificial wendigo. The bite, however it was caused, obviously did not come from a normal mouth of human teeth. ]

I knocked him away. Jeep still wasn’t fixed, so I headed back inside the school. He chased me. [ The story is building closer and closer to the climax; Stiles sinks further into his seat. ] After hours, the library is locked. Only people with student IDs can get in. Donovan’s not a student. I figured I’d be safe in there. But that bastard – he had an ID.

[ Two questions plague him to this day: How did Donovan get a student ID and how did Scott get the bloodied wrench? Stiles is confident he knows the answer to both. Theo. Upper lip curling in a grimace of pure hatred, he yanks a fresh thread of silk from his wrist. ]

I hid in the stacks. He starts looking for me, talking shit. How his dad and my dad were partners on the force a while back. How it’s my dad’s fault his dad was paralyzed by a shot to his T9 vertebra, because my dad followed protocol by calling for back up while his dad rushed in alone.

[ Stiles meets his best friend’s eyes. Through the haze of lingering fury and antipathy for Donovan, there’s a raw desperation to be understood. ]

He was gonna kill me, Jonas, [ he says, voice small. ] Me and my dad.

[ Sasuke chooses not to watch Stiles as he speaks, nor does he watch Jonas. Instead his eyes remain half-lidded and pointed downward at some invisible spot on the floor, calm and attentive. His job is to listen and provide clarity if required, not to tell the story in his own words.

As Stiles continues he's able to envision each moment in the way that it happened, not yet feeling a need to interject. The emotion is heard in his voice, yes, but that again is for Jonas. There's a very real part of him that wants to reassure Stiles but those words would mean little coming from someone that's already forgiven the past accident, wouldn't they? From someone who's done worse? ]

(that's who the wound is from? that's how long it's been around? still bleeding, wet with puss and infection?

jonas grits his teeth behind firmly closed lips, refusing to react to it beyond frowning. he didn't anticipate this, and now he knows it'll be his job to convince stiles to heal that bite mark later. no matter how defensive, possessive, or angry he gets over it.)

Bullcrap it's your dad's fault; accidents go down all the time. Especially with them being cops. That kinda' in the job description, and that's what they sign up for. (it's easy to imagine it as his dad, even if the man's a middle manager at a camena bank, transferred from westedge. there was always the chance someone'd hold the place up for a quick buck, but nothing ever happened and no one ever tried. it's hard to imagine his father in any actual danger, purposely putting himself in harm's way every day.

even if he's never got on well with the authorities, this is stiles' family.

he wanted to hurt noah, he wanted to hurt stiles, and jonas can easily build his bridge to his first logical conclusion: donovan's badly hurt, or dead. there's no other way it could play out, because that's precisely what the three men sitting in this room would do.

there's a firm nod, acting as a visual nudge.)

[ The defense of Sheriff Stilinski earns Jonas a bright, feverish look of intense appreciation from Stiles, who will never be an unbiased party where his dad is concerned. In fact, he’s cursed himself with this overprotective, too sensitive, neurotic love for his only remaining parent. Donovan’s words that night are the real infection in desperate need of being drained and dried. Even now, the memory of them – the accusation his dad was responsible for what happened to Deputy Donati, the insinuation his dad is a coward – is like a white-knuckled fist crushing his guts into pulp, setting his teeth on edge. Unable to remain seated any longer, Stiles launches to his feet with wild energy. Like clockwork, he falls into the same tightly wound elliptical route in their living room; the woodwork is beginning to show wear from repeated nights of pacing. ]

Okay. [ A harsh exhale, eyes skittering in the direction of his best friend before abruptly changing course to look at Sasuke instead. ] Okay.

[ “No person in their right mind would see this and believe you did it intentionally, but others haven't seen it.”

One chance, Stilinski. Get it right.

As quickly as he began pacing, Stiles stops. ]

There was construction going on in the library. Scaffolding everywhere. He found where I was hiding and attacked me again. Threw me into the scaffolding. So, I climbed up. Then he…grabbed my legs. Told me he was going to eat them.

[ The pocketknife comes out a final time, neatly severing the thread he’d been pulling from his wrist. Stiles watches the silk thread flutter weightlessly to his feet. ]

I wasn’t trying to kill him, [ he insists in a soft, hushed tone, as if he were in a confessional booth at church. ] I was just trying to get away. I pulled out the support from the scaffolding above me and it all rained down on him. This huge beam…impaled him, right here. [ A surprisingly steady hand rests against his body in demonstration, picking out the spot all too easily; Stiles hallucinates the scene with his own corpse enough to know intimately where the brace would have skewered him. ] I was going to try and help, but he died before I could do anything.

When Scott found out…he wouldn’t believe me when I told him it was self-defense. [ A brief, humorless laugh. ] I guess we broke up over it. Him and Malia.

[ And now, maybe Jonas too. Gaze both evasive and keen, Stiles awaits whatever judgment Jonas will call down on his head. ]

What the hell? (breathed out of him, mind immediately jumping at the chance to speak between the burst-fire explanation.) Jesus, Stiles.

(what else is there to say? it's frightening, like something out of a horror movie, and not one single person was around to help him? no one knew he was in danger, or even really cared that he was the one who got hurt? that his father might've been killed if he didn't do something this drastic? it's obvious to anyone with ears—anyone with a clue—that this was an accident, a fucked up, traumatizing accident that makes jonas so angry it forces him out of his seat.)

Are you okay? (demanded with a look down over him as though seeing him for the first time, as though stiles has only just emerged from the wreckage in the library, like the wound's still fresh and bleeding.) Wh-Why would– who would– I-I can't believe that. You did what you had to do, obviously! And they wouldn't do the same thing in that position?

Who wouldn't? Would you? (a question for sasuke, one that easily illustrates his point; he has and would again, because he knows the value of that.) Of course you would. I would and I–

(this living room sits, now, three people who cherish their last living relatives. sasuke, with his brother; jonas, with his father; stiles, with the sheriff. no brainer. the gall of scott, of malia. the fucking gall.) Jesus. I'm sorry. (thinking it over is overwhelming, so jonas decides to forgo that and cut to the part where crosses what space is left between them. it's a deep lean, avoiding the pocketknife in his efforts to reach him, the inevitable hug bringing stiles' head to his shoulder.

a press of his nose into brown hair above his ear, eyes narrow and fixed on some insignificant fleck of damaged wallpaper.)

I'm sorry. That must've been– I-I don't know how it must've been. Awful. Fuck.

Edited (I FORGOT HE GOT UP, KILL MEEEEEEEE) 2020-07-03 03:10 (UTC)

[ Sasuke cuts through the scene in his mind several times before Stiles is finished retelling it all, a lifetime of violence and unjustified murder making it far too easy for him to judge it objectively. If asked to apply a criminal label to the scene he'd choose "assault"; what Stiles had done wasn't a crime. He was a victim, it's simple enough.

But it's his feelings for the other teen that slot over his eyes like a lens and repaint the entire scenario, listening to the emotion in his voice that adds a new color to it all, the avoidance in his gaze that hints at nuance. This is more than something so cut and dry, at least in the effect it'll have on everyone here, and it's that that he needs to keep in mind.

Jonas is quick to find the fault in Scott's reasoning, however, and there's a moment of genuine relief that shows only in the tilt of his head, unflinching when he's pointed out and used as an example of the witch's point. He knows the answer; they both do. He's confessed enough to both of them now to make his stance clear, as if it weren't already. If Stiles is guilty then Sasuke is irredeemable and unfit to stay here with them. ]

Stiles– [ Whatever it is he's planning to say seems woefully inadequate in the face of that embrace, one that actually encourages him to tense for a moment as if to stand. Only taking a moment to remember himself keeps him seated – what was he planning to do, join in? That's not his place. ]

... I don't believe you need me to confirm that every word is the truth, but it is. Donovan instigated and Stiles acted as he did out of necessity. It was an accident.

[ The overwhelming fear of abandonment that has plagued him for nearly half a year, festering without closure, finally comes to a head. Jonas unhesitatingly sweeps him up in an embrace and that nearly undoes Stiles, his breath whooshing out of him in a loud sob of wretched relief. Boneless fingers fumble the pocketknife, which clatters to the floor at their feet. He doesn’t notice; bringing his own arms up around Jonas, Stiles takes what his best friend offers with great, gulping hiccups as tears stream down his face. This is the catharsis he’s been denied for so long, the moment Sasuke began to gently wheedle out of him in the dream before Stiles was torn away. And while normally he prefers to give, prefers to constantly demonstrate his worth so as to not lose the interest or affection of loved ones, he devours the comfort found in this simple hug, desperate for it. Hands clutch wildly at Jonas’ back, creasing his sweater, like he’s afraid his best friend might pull away too soon. Because he’s not ready to let go – feels like he’s only just opened the dam of emotion plugging up his throat, really.

In the background, he hears Sasuke affirm his statements – “It was an accident.” – and blinded through his ugly tears, Stiles reaches over Jonas’ shoulder toward their friend, asking silently for a continuation of what they were denied in the mirror. ]

I told him, [ he babbles, words nearly indecipherable through the huskiness of his voice. ] I kept telling him, but he wouldn’t believe me. I thought we w-were brothers, and he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t… He left me like th-that and I just –

[ Maybe it becomes clear then, what the true trauma of the event has been for Stiles: Scott’s reaction and rejection. ]

It was an accident. But I d-don’t regret it. I can’t lose my dad. And n-now I can’t lose you either, Jonas. [ Stiles shakes. ] You or S-Sasuke. I’m s-sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just thought –

[ In the end, he doesn’t need to explicitly say it. It’s obvious what he thought, after Scott. ]

(stiles' anguish, felt through the bond, is almost enough to bowl jonas over. his next exhale is audibly distraught, arms tightening when sasuke's reached for. tearily glancing up, finding him still seated and yet relieved his perception of the events that transpired are similar: it was an accident; it was self-defence; it was necessary.

he left wondering if the heartache will ever go away, or if it will be shared between them now. jonas doesn't hesitate to press the lower half of his face down against stiles' shoulder before his head raises altogether to fuss at his clothes as though smoothing them out will keep them steady. it's better to focus on than the tremble in his friend's voice, jerking his head into a shake that'll no doubt mirror sasuke's.)

No, this is not your fault. You don't have to apologize at all, ever, to anyone about it. (a tighter grip is taken of his arm, just around the bicep where jonas is sure he can hold him upright if his strength gives out.) You're not gonna' lose your dad, you're not gonna' lose Sasuke, and I'm not going anywhere either, alright? Scott and Malia? They– they clearly had unresolved issues to work through on their own.

–heads up their asses. (muttered with a tight tension that shows along his jaw.) Let's sit, though, okay? It's better that way, c'mon–

(that's what he says, but stiles is guided in sasuke's direction a few more steps. if he wants him, he'll gladly make sure he makes it over there.)

Man, thank you. (an aside to his first bonded, red-rimmed eyes only lowering to search for what he'd like to say. it comes out disjointed, but honest. always honest, and—with sasuke—always ) You– when I... I couldn't be there, you were. Backing him up... that's– it just means a lot to me.

[ Sasuke's brow furrows when sobs shudder out of Stiles in a great release of emotion, feeling it as it washes over him and finding himself paralyzed between the desire to guard himself against it and let it in. It's a fitting reflection of what he'd experienced with him in the mirror, only now they're uninterrupted and he has someone more capable of providing him with the gentle patience that he needs.

"You're not gonna' lose Sasuke."

That promise combined with Stiles's hand reaching for him is daunting, far more so than threats of violence, death, or harm. This targets his greatest weakness rather than his greatest strength and the thought of making a promise he's well-aware he can't keep is repulsive when his friend needs support now more than ever.

But maybe what matters is now and convincing himself that he can. If Stiles can be brave enough to say what he needs to... can't he do the same?

Sasuke finally stands, an abrupt movement once Jonas has directed him closer, and steps forward to plant a firm hand on the arachne's upper arm. Not a full embrace, no, but a reassurance with a brief squeeze. ]

... he's my friend. [ Eyes skirt from Jonas to Stiles, brow still knit but expression otherwise unreadable. ] Both of you are. So it's what I'll continue to do.

[ Eyes still burning hot with tears, he begins to make the slow, painstaking ascent to pseudo-normalcy. Despite his more sensitive nature, Stiles is wholly unaccustomed to friends who actually acknowledge and respond to his emotional outbursts. Even Scott – True Alpha, can-do-no-wrong Scott McCall – normally just shoots him a pained and awkward look as if to say, “Pull yourself together, dude.” His ex-best friend used his werewolf abilities to absorb pain more on strangers than he ever did on Stiles – something that the Arachne is beginning to scrutinize more closely with the distance between them now. So, for Jonas to take the time to console him like this… Well, he’s sorely tempted to allow himself to break down fully. Just for a little. Just for a while. But though he understands logically it wouldn’t be selfish to, he still balks at the idea of leaning that heavily on Jonas. The Bond must be suffocating enough as it is. He’s dealt with this silently for the past six months; Stiles can learn how to unload bit by bit so as to not overwhelm either of them.

Jonas guides them toward where Sasuke sits and, at the touch of a hand on his arm, Stiles manages a watery grin in the direction of the Vampire. As ridiculous as he feels right now, with his face blotchy red from crying and his nose stuffed up, he can’t muster up the usual energy to be self-conscious. Not in front of these two, not right now. He’s so damn lucky to have met them – to have befriended them – sentiments of which he wants to voice, corny or not. ]

…Thanks, [ he says instead, addressing them. The hands that had been fiercely clutching at Jonas release the young man to wipe at his face. ] F-for listening to me. Both of you.

[ Inhaling deeply, he gives himself a moment to dry his eyes on the shoulder of his shirt before turning again to Jonas, expression grim. ]

I think…you already get it, but I need to be explicit about it so there’s no misunderstandings. I was glad when I realized that Donovan was dead. That I wouldn’t have to try helping the guy who wanted me and my dad dead. I know that probably makes me a little fucked up as a person, but it’s the truth.

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