Changing Patterns

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"Talking" 'Thinking...
Important
_writing_
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Stiles is okay, at least that's what he tells himself. When the pack lets a seemingly gentle shove turn a little more aggressive. When the pack forgets he can't heal like they can, when they turn a blind eye to his clearly anxious or depressed scent. Stiles is okay, and he tells himself that because he can't let himself think otherwise. The pack cares, they have too, he's pack, but they all just have so much to deal with themselves. Stiles is human, and he's not the only human in the pack, just the only one that can't protect himself.

Allison had her crossbows and arrows and guns, Lydia her voice, Jackson his freaking tail; which again both insanely cool and disgusting, the others were wolves and badass katana wielding foxes, or some shit. Stiles's fragile body, which you'd think he'd gotten about pounding into the packs brain by know, was often forgotten. With that said the eighteen year old boy flips a sunny-side-up egg, followed by two more on a sizzling pan. Allison already stooped over the bar window counter that separated the kitchen from the dinning room.

She held her head in her hand, a mug of coffee in her right as she fought sleep. Nearly failing as her head drooped know and then. Stiles worried himself with the fact that if she did her head would slam hard into a marble counter. Quickly plucking the sunny-side-up eggs off the pan and tossing them aside on a plate full of almost 30 more. Stiles cleared his throat loudly as her head wobbled again. The brunette instantly snapping up and looking at the boy with a "huh" running from her lips.

"Allison, take a big sip of that coffee and get the others up." Stiles shakes his head. "Your all lucky it's Friday, you'd be late by know." He muttered under his breath as he looked up at the round clock. 8:15.

He'd cracked three more eggs into a small cup with some milk and begun stirring before the girl managed a nod and swallow two heavy sips of sweetened coffee before pushing herself out of her chair. Stumbling only one step before completely finding her feet and making her way to the stairs. A small trot like sound could be heard as she made her way up the dark wood. Stiles could hear, with the few creaking boards of the level above him, as the woman walked down the wide hall to the right side of their home. Loud banging on doors erupted soundless groans, that stiles new were there but couldn't hear.

Slowly overturning his egg and milk cup and letting the scrambled mix sizzle before setting the cup into the sink and beginning to mix up the eggs. He always makes scrambled, specifically for a certain curly haired dirty blond. The toaster popped and four nearly perfectly toasted slices bounced at the top. Stiles hummed as he spun on his heals dropping the spatula down next to the pan. Making his way to the shared counter and plopping each piece of hot toast out of the four sections and dropping them on different, half filled plates.

Each with fruit; some strawberry, and others blueberry or orange slices. Three sausages, two pieces of bacon, toast (not buttered so far), and soon eggs. Stiles turned around again and made his way to the still cooking scrambled eggs just as a fully ready for the day Lydia trotted down the stairs in three inch heals and Cora following close behind. The werewolf held a mischievous grin on her lips as she turned down the slim hallway that connects to the front door. Instantly a half dressed Boyd steps off the last steps grumbling about something as he pulls on his shirt. Isaac next with Scott attached at his left hand, the other running through his blonde curls.

The two were clearly into one another, attached at the hip basically, but something was holding them back from actually being together. Stiles couldn't even guess. Besides the point, Erica came charging down the stairs, only half way before yelling at the cherry headed girl know sitting on a bar stool. Aiden wobbling over to his girlfriend from passing Erica and kissing the back of her neck.