today i saw the whole world, teen wolf

𝟎𝟑𝟖 somewhere between life and death.

somewhere between life and death.
___

"I KILLED HIM. I KILLED DEREK HALE."

Stiles offered a comforting touch to Scott's shoulder, his expression solemn as his lips tighten into a thin line. Squeezed into the seat beside him as the bus jolts along the bumpy road, amplifying the tension in the air.

"Oh," frowned Stiles. "Come on, man. Cheer up," he tried to encourage, though his attempt at lifting Scott's spirits falls flat. The words lacked the comfort he intended. With a sigh, he withdrew his hand from Scott's shoulder, understanding that it's not as comforting as he hoped. "Now," he says with a second pass of hopefulness, "we have the PSATs to study for."

"How can I study for a test when I killed Derek?" Scott groaned, his despair evident as he threw his head back against the unforgiving leather seat. He presses his forehead to the cool glass of the window, watching the tall pine trees roll by, lost in the thoughts of his guilt-ridden conscience.

"Dude, keep it down," Stiles scolded, shushing Scott while he glanced around the neighboring seats, wary of unwanted attention. "You can't just announce to everyone that you killed someone!"

"I didn't kill someone," he turned a cold glare to Stiles. "I killed Derek."

Fortunately, most of the bus is filled with students absorbed in their headphones, seeking refuge from the relentless roar of the engine. Some had surrendered to sleep with the hope of speeding up the long drive.

"Okay," Stiles sighed. "Cora and Peter went looking for his body and didn't find anything, right? Which probably means Derek's fine. He's just found some hole to crawl into."

"Yeah, a hole to crawl into.. and die!"

Stiles scoffed, frustration evident as he rolled his eyes. "No," he argued. "A hole to crawl into.. and hide! You know, a very nice hole. Preferably with some grass to keep him warm," his sarsasm receives an even more angered glare from Scott. Stiles ignores it, staring down to the textbook in his lap. "Now, 'circumlocution'?" he rattled off the next vocabulary word from the list of his PSAT guide.

"Uh," Scott sighed, unwittingly trapped in Stiles' web of ceaseless conversation designed to keep him alert. "Evasive speech. Talking around the subject. Indirect," he mused, attempting to shift the focus away from the weight of his conscience.

Stiles glanced up from the textbook, his eyes scanning the bus, darting between the sea of bobbing heads. The bus driver, indifferent to the numerous potholes, navigates the uneven road that creates a wave to rift throughout the seats.

Amid the undulating wave of heads, Stiles sought her presence. The allure of the lavender scent that follows her and her captivating smile lingered in his mind. He hadn't heard much from Paxton in a few days, and according to Scott, her absence had been eventful.

A few seats ahead, nestled in the narrow confines of the bus beside Isaac, is where she's sat. Boyd occupies the seat across the compacted aisle.

Sitting so far away hadn't been a deliberate attempt to avoid him, despite what it may seem. The morning had simply proven unbearable for Paxton.

The cross-country team had an early start to the day. They gathered at the school two hours before anyone else, and left shortly after. Their first meet of the season is today in a town called Fairvale, north of San Francisco, and nearly eight hours away from home.