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With one hand against the wall and the other on the bannister, Stiles slowly made his way down the stairs into the foyer, following the muffled sounds of the TV into the living room, and shuffling the twelve steps it would take him to get to the back garden. The glass door was cold to the touch, and the sliding sound was enough to break the steady cadence of his Dad’s snores for a moment. He hesitated, waiting for them to return to their normal rhythm and stepped outside, trying to close the door as quietly as he could.
The tree line was thirty paces north, not that he was stupid enough to try to go out there alone. Stopping halfway he crouched and placed a hand in the grass, easing himself down. He didn’t know what time it was, not like it really mattered to him anymore, but the crickets chirping and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind calmed him.
The knot of uncontrollable anxiety was loosening slowly, not as debilitating as it had been upstairs. Lying on his back, spread eagled as he was, he didn’t feel trapped. The grass was damp, and the air chilled as it is at the end of Fall. He swiped his right hand in a semicircle and clasped onto a leaf, crushing the stem between his fingers and twirling it lazily.
His eyes were closed, not that it mattered, and for a moment he could imagine. That he could count to three and force the muscles to lift, that everything would return to normal, and he’d be okay. That’s all he wanted, he just wanted to be okay again.
One…two…three…darkness.
And the tears. The ones that came every time he did this to himself, every time he tested himself. Every time he tricked himself into thinking that everything was fine.
Like he hadn’t lost the one sense that he relied upon most heavily. He angrily wiped a tear away and rolled onto his stomach, head pillowed on his crossed arms. It wasn’t fair; why him? Why?
He stayed like that, breaths slowly calming again as he listened to the Earth begin to wake up. he was shivering, definitely cold enough to go inside, but he didn’t care. His Dad would wake up soon, come out and bundle him up, lecture him as Stiles was placed in his bedroom and whomever was babysitting him for the day showed up to continue where his father left off. They were trying to convince him to learn to read- hah- braille, which Stiles was steadfastly refusing to do.
He still had hope that someone would find some way to bring back his vision. He’d even considered the bite, he could imagine the pitying look Deaton had given him when he’d made that suggestion.
Sudden warmth along his right side startled him, but he relaxed when a wet nose snuffled at the back of his ear. Stiles ran a hand through the wolf’s thick fur, burrowing in close to the unnaturally warm creature, gripping the hair tight when he was situated.
There was a grumbling sound and Stiles smirked, imagining Derek rolling his eyes dramatically as he was wont to do. But soon they both relaxed, and when his Dad did come out to fetch him he pretended to be asleep. Like normal, a blanket was draped around his shoulders, but this time he helped Derek escape from his grasp and change back into his human form. Strong arms slipped under his shoulders and knees, lifting him and carrying him back into the house.
The swaying motion made him sleepy for this first time in a week, and he nuzzled against the bare forearm beside his cheek. Derek hummed lowly and cradled him closer to his chest, following the Sheriff up the stairs slowly and into Stiles’ room.
It was a silent affair, like they had done this exact thing before and maybe they had in the earlier days Stiles had chosen to forget. When he was emotionally unstable and angry at the world, not that he wasn’t now, he internally scoffed. Now he was simply exhausted, coming to terms that maybe he was stuck this way but he’d fucking fight it.
Derek didn’t leave, sitting against the headboard beside Stiles’ head, a hand in his hair now gently rubbing comforting circles on his left temple.
“Is he in pain?” Stiles startled at his father’s voice, having grown used to the silence.
“Not any more than normal.”
“Thank you, for being there for him. This hasn’t been…easy…on anyone.”
“He shouldn’t have to go through this, but he’ll get there. He’s still grieving.”
“That’s what Morrell said. In addition with his normal stubbornness, it may be a while before he gets used to this new situation.”
Stiles’ mind began to grow fuzzy, and the next part of their conversation was jumbled as he began to lose consciousness. He grasped at his blanket like a lifeline, turning on his stomach and curling around himself. He felt the duvet being tucked around his shoulders, and then everything went silent.