#isthatmybat

                    why he had initially thought that running ten miles                     through the heavily wooded forest in only his pa-                     jamas and no shoes was a good idea still hasn’t                     sunk in. all liam knows is the fluttering of his own                     heart against his skin, threatening to bust out with                     golden eyes and claws waiting to be stained with                     blood --whether it’s his blood or someone else’s                     doesn’t matter.

                    he panicked.

                    panicked when meditative breathes and calming                     music didn’t help. panicked when the old mantra                     didn’t work. panicked when the thought of his so-                     called anchor didn’t help. panicked and almost                     broke out of his bedroom through the window to                     tear through the forest searching for something.

                    and apparently that something is scott mccall                     because when his attention shifts from his harsh                     breathing and thuding heartbeat, it’s to the familiar                     doorstep of the mccalls.

{ sms ; madre }  i’ll do my best, mom.

Stiles was staying over at Scott’s house for the week while his dad was on some business thing, but in light of the horrors they’d been faced with the boy wasn’t allowed to stay at home alone. No way. 

Or, ‘No freaking way. Are you out of your mind?’ As his father had so gracefully put it.

It was late now, or early, depending on whichever way you looked at it, it was 3 am. Stiles had met this hour many nights, and this night seemed to be no different as he struggled to ward off a panic attack. Sometimes he could trick himself out of it, sometimes he could think of someone, namely Lydia, and ween himself away from the full melt down.

But no matter how hard he tried the symptoms only got worse. His head hurt, his throat was closing, and something was WRONG. Waking up Ms. McCall was the last thing he wanted to do as a guest in the house, though eating all their food an breaking things was the ‘norm’... but this was different. This scared him. And nothing really scared the boy all that much anymore.

Stiles stumbled, dizzy, towards the other bedroom, only knocking lightly before he opened the door. HIs breathing was forced, as he shook the sleeping body. “Something’s wrong.”

“Thanks...”

Fighting her way through the departing crowd Amanda came to a stop by the edge of the field. She had tried so hard to get there in time. As much as she knew her son understood that she couldn’t control when people died in Becaon Hills she always felt horrible when she missed a game. Especially when he told him she would be there.

Her eyebrows were drawn down as she glared at the now emptying grass. She couldn’t decide who she was more annoyed at; the intern who’d contaminated the samples or herself. Brushing her hair from her face distractedly she unclenched her jaw.

Stiles has to swallow his tears in order to just continue on, tugged into her side. He can’t help but think that maybe his resemblance to his mother was what made everyday hard on his dad.