Haunted
He thought he saw a hint of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye and immediately turned the other way, trying to get lost in the crowd. The break was almost over so the hallway was a busy traffic line, pushing you here and there without you having to contribute much to it. He did his best not to turn his head. Her voice was so close as she shouted his name.
Once he had reached the classroom and he no longer could hear her calls, his shoulders fell. It was only the third period but he was already tired.
So many things he told himself not to think about.
Don't think about Lindsay and that she wants to talk about Ray dying.
Don't think about the pack and the trouble that they're in now because of his mistake.
Don't think about Derek and how he was taking advantage of the situation.
He sighed and roughly wiped a hand along his cheek.
"You're shit at hide and seek."
He almost jumped at the ceiling. A hand over his wildly beating heart, he turned towards the interrupter, an accusing frown on his face.
"Cora! You scared me half to death!"
She didn't even have it in her to look apologetic. "With the way you look, I'd say you're more than halfway there."
Stiles chose to ignore that comment. "I'm not hiding, no matter what you're thinking."
She stared at him as if she could see right through him, through the lies he told himself were truths. "Oh yeah? Then why are you avoiding Lindsay? Or me? Or the whole pack, for that matter?"
For a moment, he considered telling her that he clearly wasn't avoiding the pack since he spent so much time with its leader. But that would lead down a path he'd rather not tread right now.
Derek acted like Stiles' mistake didn't matter but he knew it did. He tried to explain to him why it was so detrimental, why it was so unforgivable. It was not only about the deed itself, it was also about the intent. He had acted so selfishly, so without consideration for others. How Derek could stand to look at him without an ounce of accusation in his expression was beyond him.
When he had lost sleep over it, Derek had sighed but, still, he had sat down next to him on the floor right in front of the window front and together they had looked out into the night.
"You took a chance and you failed. Tough luck."
The words had been unusually harsh and completely contradictory to the soft voice expressing them.
For a moment Stiles had thought: This is it. This was the moment Derek had finally realized what avalanche Stiles had caused.
He could still feel the shock even now, could still feel his heart stop in his chest and his diaphragm pull in on itself as if a black hole had opened up somewhere inside him. It had been more painful than a punch to the chest could have ever been.
Now, it was only a bruise, a pale phantom of the pain it once had been. A little tender, but fine if not probed.
But Cora, like her brother, couldn't leave it alone. They just had to probe and poke and pull as if a better understanding of the bruise could be gained that way. As if it was more than just a bruise that would fade on its own. They treated it like an open wound that could contract an infection.
Cora looked at him like she wanted to open him up like a surgeon so that she could finally understand him, understand what has been eating at him. Find the disease and cure it. Remove it like a tumour.
"The time is running out, Cora."
She shook her head. "Don't talk like that. Not when you act like you're in your own bubble where time doesn't exist. I'm not the one who needs to face reality."
Face reality? He wanted to laugh in her face. If he faced everything that now constituted as his reality, he'd surely be buried under its weight and of what use would he then be?
He needed to function, to move ahead. Right now, he needed to find solutions. He could deal with the consequences later when there was time for it.
Cora took in his blank expression and sighed. She shook her head again, her eyes downcast.
"You know what, it's fine if you have your own coping mechanisms for now. Whatever works for you, I guess. But don't hurt others in the process. You're not the only one having trouble dealing with some stuff."
Stiles winced, immediately thinking of Lindsay. He knew she was hurting. He knew that. And he was completely powerless to stop it from happening.
Powerless. Useless.
He gritted his teeth, taking various steps back until his back hit the wall. He felt a cool surface touch his back and as he turned his head, he saw himself reflected back.
The ballet room again. He wondered why this place always managed to pull him in, no matter where he was headed.
He leaned his head back against the mirror, a soft noise calming down his nerves. It was so familiar, so soothing.... but so quiet that he could barely make it out.
He remembered his mother praising him when he did something she approved of.
Well done, słoneczko.
He felt warm and safe, something he hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.
I'm so proud of you. My bright boy. My little iskra.
It felt like she was standing right behind him, holding on to his shoulder, smiling at him. Even without seeing her, he knew. She radiated fondness, reassurance and protection. It was everything he ever wanted.
Cora hadn't noticed that another conversation was taking place simultaneously. She marched forward towards him, chewing on the words before she could finally spit them out.
"You're acting like a coward! Don't you see that your behaviour is only making it worse? You push everyone away, it's like you've already given up!"
She doesn't understand. She never could. She's not like you, like us.
Stiles had to agree with that assessment.
"What would you know?" he asked her, his voice no louder than a whisper. His eyes roamed her form apprehensively. "You got hurt once and since then, you've been hurting everyone else as if you were suddenly bestowed with the right to deal out punishment as you see fit. In truth, you're just acting out because the world was unfair to you and you couldn't cope with the fact. Tell me, Cora, do you continue to hurt what is left of your family with your behaviour?"
She reeled back as if he had slapped her. Her eyes were big and wet as she looked at him. Her hands were shaking.
She took several steps back, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. "You don't mean that."
To Cora, it felt like Stiles had left and someone else looking like him had taken his place. He was standing so still, his face so cold and unmoved. So unlike him. His hands were pressed to the mirror, knuckles white as if he was gripping something.
She had never been frightened of him even though she knew what he was capable of. At this moment, however, she was afraid. Afraid of this stranger that was looking at her with the eyes of her best friend.
Seemingly without his notice, a few sparks had gotten lose, diving into the walls and rattling against them as if enraged people were on the other side of it, knocking to get their attention.
"Stiles, you have to calm down!" Cora looked nervously at the door.
His head was slightly inclined to the mirror behind him, his head nodding along to advise no one but him could hear. More sparks were released, causing the ground to shake. The piano stool got thrown against the wall. Cora had to duck during the onslaught, the piece of furniture narrowly missing her head.
"Stop it!"
He wasn't listening to her. His pupils had widened so much that his eyes were almost black. But he wasn't looking at her. His gaze appeared so absent and lifeless.
Cora threw herself on the ground, shielding her head. The wood was creaking under the strain of his sparks, everything that was not fixed to the floor or wall was rattling as if they had a life of their own. She crawled forward, an idea manifesting in her mind. She tried to remember. It was her best chance, she knew that. If only she could remember.
She reached the piano and took one more look at him. He was unresponsive to calls and shouts. It was like he wasn't even in the room with her anymore. She was on her own.
Frantically, her fingers brushed over the keys, trying desperately to find the right one. She was no piano player but she could read sheet music and understood basic music theory. If she could recreate the key melody, she was sure he would recognize it. She had heard him play it whenever he needed to ground himself, saw him press imaginary keys with his fingers when he was stressed but nowhere near a piano.
She knew him.
She found the right interval eventually. The core melody was at first not louder than a timid whisper, then as she grew more confident, it filled the room. It was just the sequence of a few notes, a clumsy recreation of what he had been working on for weeks.
The ground stopped shaking. The pounding behind the walls ceased.
Cora exhaled loudly, her fingers still shaking above the keys.
Stiles looked at her in shock, recognition flashing across his features. He threw himself away from the mirror as if it had burned him.
They were both breathing heavily, the thumping of their frantic heartbeats almost deafening to Cora.
"What the hell just happened?" she asked him, confused and unsure but without accusation.
Stiles crawled backwards away from the mirror, his eyes fixed on it as if he feared a monster could jump out of it any minute now. He was sure of what he had seen. He could no longer lie to himself. He could still hear her breath as she whispered in his ear.
"I don't know," he said, aware that he was lying. And so was Cora.
***
His shoulders were sagging, his eyes downcast. Cora tried to share the blame for the destruction but he couldn't let her. She didn't deserve any of this.
He had never gotten angry at Cora before. Annoyed, yes. Her behaviour sometimes infuriated him. Sometimes he found her stubbornness exasperating. But she had accepted him from the moment they had met and had stood by him ever since.
And he .... he just ...
Stiles hid his face in his hands and groaned.
"Aw, lighten up, my little troublemaker!"
A hand landed heavily on the top of his head, ruffling through strands of hair.
Stiles didn't even look up, so Peter just went on, "I'm here to smooth things over with the principal like the good parent I am. Papa Stilinski is already in, I assume?"
No response. Peter frowned. "Don't worry, I'm a smooth talker. You'll probably get away with a slap on the wrist, though we might decide on house arrest for you later. I'll talk it over with your father."
He obviously expected some rebuttal to his teasing and grew worried when the teenager stayed quiet. The hand stayed but it had stilled.
Peter tilted his head slightly. "Your father is done in there. He'll take you home. Guess that means that you get the rest of the day off, lucky you." Still no reaction. Peter now smoothed over the ruffled stands, trying to dispel the chaos he had created. "Don't be too hard on yourself, kid. You put way too much pressure on yourself. No one expects you to be perfect all the time. Least of all me."
The door to the principal's office opened and the Sheriff stepped out, a grimace on his face. He smiled briefly when he noticed Peter, clapping the other man on the back.
"Thanks for doing this," the elder Stilinski said, wiping a hand across his face. "This woman is not easy to deal with. I'm not good at this schmoozing stuff."
Peter smirked and winked. "Next time, wait for me and you can see me in action. Now, if you excuse me." He gave a nod and vanished behind the door to the office.
Sheriff Stilinski looked down at his son who hadn't moved at all in the last few minutes. "Let's go home, son."
They didn't speak during the car ride home, though Sheriff Stilinski looked like was trying to find the words, opening his mouth every now and then, for a lack of the right words, closing it again.
Stiles looked out of the window, the words he wanted to say lying so heavily in his chest that he couldn't get them out. He couldn't hurt his dad any further.
She had been haunting them for so long, ever since she had left them. But they had always accepted it, accepted that her ghost would always be in their midst and that they would always do things because of her. They would always be reminded of her.
She was in everything she had touched.
They got out of the car and walked into their house, the silence oppressing. They stood in their living room, looking at the furniture for something to do or to talk about. The Sheriff took a long look at his son, noticed his haggard appearance and decided that they should have a snack. He went into the kitchen, turning every so often to make sure that his son was trailing behind him. Once he was sure that Stiles had sat down at the table, he rummaged around in the cabinets, then in the fridge. He returned with some grapes and crackers, looking contrite at the measly meal.
"It's nice to have you home again. It almost feels like you've moved out sometimes."
Stiles forced himself to take a grape even though his stomach rebelled against the mere thought of food. He wished you could wash off memories. He wanted to be free of her influence.
"Dad?"
The Sheriff perked up at the question, the first sign of life from Stiles. "Yes?"
Stiles picked apart a cracker, spreading crumbs all over the kitchen table. "Do you remember the song - the one me and... and mom created? We played it every day. She used it as my lullaby when I was little. I... I can't remember all of it anymore."
Sheriff Stilinski's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Uh, yeah, I remember. Of course I do. But I'm not a musician so I can't exactly pass it on, I'm afraid. And the lyrics had been changed every so often if I remember correctly."
"No need!" Stiles hurried to say, surprising his father once again. "I remember the core melody. That's enough."
The Sheriff frowned. "Why'd you ask then?"
She had been haunting them for so long as a ghost. A presence that was only felt, not seen or heard. But that had changed.
"I need you to learn it."
So you can be safe
The song seemed to be the only thing that had stopped her from reaching him. Her voice had fallen silent the moment Cora played the first few notes.
She had almost managed to poison his mind. Who knew what else she was capable of.