5 MARCH, after this | Apartment 312 | LOW warnings panic and anxiety
Despite his initial anxiety at walking into the apartment with Alex, Stiles knew it was the right call to come here rather than stay alone in the one he shared with Kitty. There were too many dark corners and shadows to jump at when he was so on edge. Being with Luke, Alex, Reggie and Julie had turned out to be just what he’d needed to take his mind off of all of that. All of that being a whole lot of crap he was refusing to think about.
Eventually and at different intervals they’d all fallen asleep, Stiles sitting between Alex and Julie on the couch with Reggie and Luke at their feet, insisting they were comfortable. He was pretty sure even he’d dropped off for a while, despite his best intentions not to.
He didn’t know how much later it was when he was woken by sounds behind him, with no idea where he was. The tightness in his chest was familiar as he blinked, waiting for his memory to catch up with him. Alex and Luke’s apartment. Right, he’d fallen asleep. It sounded like maybe the others were getting food, and probably hadn’t wanted to wake him. Everything was fine. Releasing a deliberately slow breath, he told himself to relax even as he started tapping the tips of his fingers against his thumb, counting. It didn’t help. He got to ten, but things didn’t feel any more real.
Glancing around the room he spotted the balcony and before he’d given it much thought he’d made a beeline for the door, shaking fingers fumbling with the snib for what felt like an embarrassingly long time before he got it open, finally outside. Bracing his arms against the railing he tried again, this time the air feeling like it might actually be reaching his lungs.
Luke made a gesture; he had this one. He still had a braid or two in his hair since he'd been sat between Julie's legs, a shoulder pressed against Stiles' knee. But teenagers were going to be teenagers and food was always a whole thing. Matt and Phil had left the crew to their own devices and Luke knew Matt was a wrong-heartbeat away if someone needed something. Or if something went wrong. And Phil would be a half-step right behind him. Luke felt safe in the apartment. He always had.
He slipped out and shut the door quietly behind him. "Hey," Luke said quietly and braced for Stiles to startle. "Deep breaths, okay? Want to buddy breathe with me?" It was probably the wrong term but he'd done it often enough with someone else he was friends with that it felt like an accurate term.
The voice behind him did make him flinch, but only because he wasn’t expecting it. It didn’t take him long to rationalize that it was just Luke. Stiles nodded, leaning forward enough to press his forehead against the back of his hands, face hidden from view. “I’m good, I just -” He searched for something real to focus on, kicking his shoe against the low wall in front of him just to feel it. “I just need a second.” It was something he and Lydia had been working on since they’d found themselves in this place. Ways for him to ward off a potential panic attack before it really took hold. She’d been the logical one to tell him she couldn’t be there to kiss him every time. Because of course he’d made that joke. But the grounding techniques they’d read about together usually worked. When he remembered them. Now he was just counting on being able to do it alone.
"I'm gonna touch you, okay?" Luke said and came up beside Stiles with a light touch between the other's shoulders. His free hand came to lean against the same railing but Luke didn't say another word. Luke, who could never seem to keep talking, to keep moving, to keep making noise and taking up space... just stood there with the lightest pressure of his fingers.
And then his foot, the one nearest Stiles, began to tap a rhythm. It was steady, it was something more suited to a drummer and the kick pedal, but it was consistent. And then Luke was quietly counting, nearly under his breath. Counted up, counted down, and back again. He just waited.
The rational part of his brain recognized what Luke was doing with the counting in the same way that he knew to expect the hand on his back when he spoke. He didn’t really know how he’d have reacted without the warning. Then again, his dad, Malia, Scott and Lydia were the only other people in his life who’d really seen him have a panic attack and he’d grown accustomed to how they responded. Scott, bless him, wasn’t always the best at dealing with them. Malia’s more blunt approach of asking what was wrong with him had ironically worked well. It was like her abrasive words snapped him out of it. Once you got past the creepy part of them being able to smell your emotions, it was fine.
Beyond that, all he could do was focus on Luke’s quiet counting and the gentle weight of his hand against his back. It took time for his stomach to stop churning, and he knew it would take a while for the chills to stop. But eventually he was able to slow his breathing to something closer to normal. It never felt possible in the moment, but slowly, in increments, he felt like he could release the death grip his fingers had on the balcony railing, his thoughts expanding beyond just telling himself to breathe.
As Stiles began to relax into a better breathing pattern, Luke's hand settled more firmly against his back. An anchor. Luke went quiet when Stiles loosened his grip. "We've got you," he said softly. "No questions, no strings, nothing. We've got you."
Luke shifted his weight to bump his shoulder lightly against the taller boy's arm. "You're one of us now. I'd say I was sorry but, well," he said and didn't bother finishing the thought as he grinned, glancing at Stiles finally. The smile faded, though, and was replaced with a warm sort of concern. "This place..." Again, he didn't bother finishing the thought. Instead: "It helps to not go it alone."
“Yeah,” he finally responded around something that might have been a laugh if any of this was very funny. “I remember.” They’d all said it. More than once. It was maybe a hard thing to acknowledge right when he’d convinced himself on some level that not being close to anyone here was a better idea. Best friend notwithstanding, at least. Because Stiles was getting sick of losing the people he loved, and he didn’t know how to deal with it anymore.
Shifting to rest his crossed arms on the railing rather than keeping a death grip on it, he glanced over at Luke as he kept talking. He had a point, and Stiles could acknowledge that. Maybe not right this second, but he could see it. He was just having a hard time letting himself rely on anyone else right now.
“It’s not this place.” He finally acknowledged the words from Luke. “I mean, it is, but…” It was his turn not to finish his thought. Looking over his shoulder, he picked one of the few chairs occupying the space and sat heavily, pushing a hand back through his hair. He wasn’t trying to intentionally thwart Luke’s efforts though, and he made himself look up at him. “I thought I was past all that, you know?” Stupid. Really fucking stupid. Or maybe it wasn’t that he’d ever really thought that. Maybe it was just that he’d done a good enough job deluding himself. “And then he showed up at my door and that was it.”
Luke only turned so his hip was against the rail and he folded bare arms across his chest. One foot crossed over the other in the most casual pose and it wasn't even on or with purpose. The expression Luke wore morphed into one of confusion. "Thought you were past all what? Why?" Luke asked, frowning with genuine confusion. "Past what was probably one of the most, if not the most traumatic experience in your life that probably wasn't even all that long ago, your time here notwithstanding?" Kudos to him; he used the word correctly. "Or past having anxiety about the crap that you're put through? Because the way I see it, that's some top tier, Grade-A bullshit on all counts." Like it was just that simple to label. "Are you the only one with that pressure? Putting it on yourself, deciding that you should be over all of it?"
He wasn't done. Luke cocked an eyebrow. "Because that doesn't seem very fair, does it."
Okay, so this wasn’t like dealing with Scott. Even remotely. Stiles twisted his fingers together, looking away as he thought about how to even begin to respond to that. “Look,” he began, eyes back on Luke. Probably not the best start, though in his defence he wasn’t trying to be defensive. Which was a thought he noted was ridiculous as soon as he had it. “There’s some stuff you just have to figure out yourself, you know? Other people have their own shit to deal with.” He’d learned that lesson when his mom had died and his dad had barely been able to take care of himself. And when your life was overtaken by werewolves and the supernatural, the need for it was only compounded.
Shaking his head, he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “I’m just - I’m not used to this, okay?” He made a vague gesture, as if that explained the ‘this’, which in his mind encompassed the band and all of their aggressive being there for him. Alex’s impossibly earnest caring which had completely thrown him but made him feel better than he had in weeks. All of it.
Luke nodded patiently as Stiles worked through his thoughts. And at no point did he look anything other than patient and maybe vaguely amused. Luke then gave a small, conceding tilt of his head but he still didn't otherwise move.
"No one expects you to be immediately used to this," Luke said, because apparently he understood. "And, yeah, a lot of things we have to figure out for ourselves. But that doesn't mean we have to do it alone." His expression shifted, challenging Stiles to argue the semantics. "We aren't going to force you to talk it out, we won't make you try to write it down or turn your thoughts into lyrics. But we will be here for solidarity. Any time, day or night. We'll get you a key, like Reggie and Julie have. Or we're a phone call or a text away, any one of us." Alright, so maybe he was volunteering the others but he knew his friends well enough; they would have agreed if they'd been outside just then. And he'd warn Matt (and Phil) if they got a key for Stiles. Matt would hear it but it had the potential to become familiar, like the way Reggie opened the door's lock. Stiles didn't need to know that, however. Luke glanced toward the sliding door and his expression softened. "Matt made sure I wasn't left to figure it all out on my own, when I first got here. He couldn't fix things. But he could support where he could and it was nice knowing that he would drop anything if I needed him. Even when I knew he was really busy with a case. And then Alex and Reggie got here. Julie. And it's easier." Luke looked back at Stiles. "We'll be your Matt."
Stiles nodded slowly, showing he was listening even if he didn’t look at the other boy, too busy picking at the skin by his nail. A nervous habit he’d never been able to shake. He could feel the telltale burn of tears in his eyes, but he chose to ignore them. “I’ll be honest, Luke. I’m not used to winding up with keys because anyone volunteered them.” It was a trivial part of all of what had been said to focus on, but he had heard him.
“Sometimes I think it would have been better if I’d shown up here a couple of months earlier. Then I would have been stuck with someone.” Was he actually, ridiculously a bit jealous of what these guys had? Maybe. But he just put that down to how much he missed his dad. It was like that itch you could never quite find to scratch. And then everything with Lydia had happened, and he’d wound up with someone who’d taken care of him in her own way. Which had basically been through an insane amount of organization that only Lydia Martin seemed capable of. He finally looked up at him, seeing that same expression on Luke’s face. “It was just me and my dad for a long time. I got used to taking care of things when he couldn’t,” he admitted.
Guilt was sharp in his chest. Luke looked down and blew out a slow breath. "I can't relate to that. I left my parents. Ran away," Luke admitted quietly but looked up at Stiles again. "They weren't even bad people and they didn't deserve it. I was selfish and it hurt them because they lost me."
But though his half-smile didn't really reach his eyes, he gave a small shrug of one bare shoulder. He really did hate sleeves. "Maybe you would have ended up with someone who sucked as a guardian. Or they would have gotten sent home anyway and you had to start back at square one again. All the should-haves and what-ifs, man, they're exhausting. And," Luke went on, pausing as he pushed off the railing, "maybe it's okay if you stop trying to take care of everything alone. Not everything is your burden to wear."
“I can’t imagine that,” he admitted. “For all the times I threatened it when I was a kid.” There was no judgement in his words, though. He didn’t know Luke’s situation any more than Luke knew his. Hell, he could imagine running away from a giant douche like Scott’s dad, so it was possible.
Sighing, he leaned back into the chair, feeling wrung out. The hardest part of all this was knowing Luke was right, even if he was mixing his metaphors. “Probably sounds selfish, right? Thinking I’m the one who has to fix everything.” As if other people weren’t capable. Scott’s accusation about not trusting anyone rang clear in his mind. “I guess it feels more selfish to just…lay everything at someone else’s feet, you know?” He couldn’t stop the look through the glass doors that accompanied the words. Thanks to the Nogitsune, Alex had been burdened with more than Stiles would ever have intended. The guilt from that might have trumped the rest.
Luke's lips pursed just a little, pulling his mouth to the side as he shook his head. It was one of the many expressions that he didn't bother to hide. Luke would have worn his heart on his sleeve if he'd had any. "I don't think it's selfish. But I get that you think it is. And it's my job," Luke said and that smile bloomed again because that was his way, "to tell you that we don't see it as selfish. And I know this because, as you said, everyone has their own stuff going on. Theirs aren't my stories but we were always there to support each other and take some of that burden."
He offered his hand. "Want to come inside or stay out here a bit longer?" Luke asked. Stiles wasn't spiraling into panic or even anxiety so it was safer to give him the choice now. "And if you want to stay out here and want company, I swear I can be quiet. Contrary to popular belief." That was said with a grin.
“Yeah, well.” God, he sucked at words today. “Maybe I’ll catch on eventually. Slow learner, you know.” Which was so far from the truth it was probably laughable, though maybe not on this subject. The truth was, it had been a long time since he’d been able to apply the same consideration to himself that he gave others.
The offer made him laugh. “I’d buy that if I didn’t say the exact same thing all the time.” His idea of ‘being quiet’ usually lasted all of a minute. Maybe all this patience and understanding being thrown his way was wearing him down, or maybe he was just tired, but he found the last thing he wanted was to keep sitting out here away from the others. Because he’d fallen asleep in there next to Alex before, and right now being able to sleep felt like a miracle. Taking the offered hand he pulled himself to his feet. “Thanks for coming out here.” And for the rest of it, too.
Luke grinned and patted Stiles on the back as they turned back toward the sliding door. "I told you: we've got you."