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Silence encompassed the graveyard. Vecna had nothing to say. No order to give. No whisper in Will's mind, ricocheting against the caged walls. It was just this - a gun and a crowd and Mike and Will.
"Will," Mike changed his tune again, his voice softening out until it rang like chimes in the wind, dancing its way through the silence, "come back to me."
Will's breath stuttered, and he blinked over at Mike, something deep and intrinsic and familiar pulling his gaze in that direction. Mike seemed relieved all at once, dry eyes welling up once more. He stepped forward, closer to Will, a dim candle springing to life.
"Will," Vecna imposed, snuffing the light out, "pull the trigger."
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"I'm sorry."
His voice came out croaky and wobbly. He couldn't stand the sound of his own voice. He couldn't stand to hear the desperation and shame and guilt seeping from his words.
This time, it was Mike whose features tugged into a frown, his other hand situating itself on Will's free cheek as he shook his head. "Don't. Don't be. Will, hey, look at me, baby. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing at all."
Will stared into Mike's imploring eyes and chose, for once, not to believe him.
- Or, 5 times Will sought comfort from his friends, and one time he didn't need to go looking.
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"Stiles." His voice came out gruff, lower than usual, "If everything is too loud and you can't find a place to be safe, come and find me. I will be your quiet."
For once, Stiles had nothing to say. He felt his heart speed up, felt his mouth gaping like a fish. Derek's hand was still gripping his wrist - it felt like a lifeline. An anchor, keeping him grounded.
"I will." He replied eventually. He wasn't sure if he was intending to stick to that or not, but he vowed to at least try. "Thank you, Derek." They could both hear the words that were going unspoken, the 'and not just for the ride'. He didn't need to say it.
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Or, the one where Derek Hale was suddenly everywhere, and Stiles was suddenly uncertain.
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"It's why I'm so," He waved his hands around as if to explain his tendencies, "I guess her methods have just stuck with me all this time. Sometimes it feels like if I can't be beautiful, I won't be worth anything to anyone. Mother says it's all I'm good for." He whispered the last parts, ashamed of breathing the words aloud.
"Fucking hell." Remus spat out, and it sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. Sirius tensed once more, before attempting to remedy the situation.
"I know it's stupid," He rushed out. His throat felt like it was tightening around his words. "And I've tried to stop it-,"
"Sirius. Breathe. No one's mad at you." James said softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it when he felt it shaking.
Or how Sirius copes with escaping the clutches of his mother's drive for beauty. The moments of pain are required to overcome the darkness.
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"Sirius, what's going on? Where are you? Are you hurt? Are you safe?"
The questions hurt his brain - he couldn't decide what to focus on. Which question would James think was more useful? Which one did he want Sirius to answer? Probably all of them, if he had asked them all. But he couldn't give all the answers right now, so which question did James want answering the most?
"I'm-," Sirius decided to pick the easiest question, the one with the simplest answer, "I'm in the bathroom."
"The bathroom?" Came James' quick reply. He was moving. Pacing, most likely. James did that when he was nervous or restless. Sirius ached to think of how many times he had caused that. "Why are you in the bathroom?"
"I did something bad, Jamie."
Or, where Sirius messes up, but he reaches out in time.