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Summary
Every now and then, Lydia gets this sickening feeling that she’s the canary to the pack's coal mine. The person everyone keeps tabs on to see how things are going to turn out. Normally, she wouldn’t mind feeling watched over, but the thing about the canaries - they almost always die.
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“I know you don’t believe me,” he says, “But I’m so sorry.”“For what?” says Stiles, “My black eye or leaving Lydia unconscious and bleeding on her front porch?”
“Stiles,” says Lydia in a quiet voice. They shouldn’t provoke the werewolf.
Scott lifts his head to look at the human. “Both,” he says in a controlled voice despite his hands that are now clenched into fists. “I made a mistake,” he says, “I’m really sorry.”
Stiles’s eyes go wide, and he lurches forward as he gives a humorless laugh. “A mistake?” he says, “Scott, a mistake is forgetting to do your homework or leaving the car window down when it rains. No,” he shakes his head as he talks, “You didn’t make a mistake, buddy. You fucked up.”