ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ - ꜱᴛɪʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟɪɴꜱᴋɪ

𝟚𝟟

The ending of spring break came too quickly, in Sam's opinion. The last week had been blurry, distorted, just wrong. Stiles stopped by for a few hours each day, falling into a rhythm of short periods of quiet talking and even longer ones of saddened silence. Despite the lack of conversation, the boy felt like a bright light in his darkest moments.

There had been one night in particular that stood out when Sam looked back. The two had been watching Star Wars together, and at around eight o'clock at night - they hadn't planned to stay up that late - they'd dozed off, leaning together under the weighted blanket. Hours after, Sam had woken up to panicked breathing and strangled words, and when he'd opened his eyes, he could make out Stiles, a fear-stricken look on his face as he twisted in his nightmare.

Gently as he could, he shook the boy awake, and they'd lay there awake for endless time, breathing in and out in synchrony. Soon enough, they fell back asleep, and the following morning none of the two brought it up, so they continued like it was nothing.

Sam didn't want it to be nothing. There was too much emptiness in his life to let everything pass without seizing a moment. But before he could do anything, Stiles had left for the day, back to his own house.

These were times when he really wondered whether his friends would stick around. It wasn't just anxiety talking; many of the rebellious cliques from his old school had brought him in during a long manic phase, then promptly dumped him after it had ended, and he was either in the hospital or sleeping the day away in his bed. The groups had realized it was merely temporary.

But the rest of spring break until, finally, he woke up one day and had the energy to do something - his friends never left. Garrett had come by for dinner a few nights, Scott had messaged him with daily checkups, and Lydia stopped by once or twice to be sure he was taking care of himself.

His mothers had also noticed the faded look in his eyes, realizing immediately that he was in one of his depression times. They'd done their best to help, working around the demanding schedules at the hospital they both had.

The first day after spring break, when Sam walked into school, he spotted Scott and Stiles quickly, breathing in and out before walking over to them. The last week had been quiet, but the trio knew something wasn't right.

Everything continued as usual while the day wore on, and eventually, he walked home - exhausted after school. He found himself letting out a small smile at the near-perfect weather.

Derek had contacted him about another lesson a few days ago, and he made a mental note to respond to the text and the other notifications that had built up in the week.

The rest of the day was good. His mothers had left some food for dinner in the fridge. Plus, a note saying they would be back around midnight. He'd done a little homework after a burst of energy, but his concentration wasn't great, so he would uncurl his palm once in a while and will a tiny flame to life.

It was nearly five when he got a call from Scott, explaining that tonight was their lacrosse game - and Isaac had said that Jackson was playing in it. He hung up immediately, freezing in place for a moment as he tried to calm his rapid breathing. His friends needed him. Stiles needed him; Stiles was going to be at the game, and so was Jackson/Kanima/mass murderer - now controlled by Allison's supernatural hunter grandfather.

Everything was going to be excellent.

Rushing downstairs, he paused in the kitchen, slowly looking at the stand containing all of the cooking knives. The sharp, deadly, and dangerous knives. Barely taking another second to consider, he grasped the entire wooden block and shoved it into a backpack he had brought down from his room - silently praying the knives wouldn't come loose and stab him.