Stiles wasn't really himself today. It was sinking in now alone he was, how cut off from his family and most of his friends. It was sinking in that it was possible he was in a very bad place. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to attend to it. He wanted to get back to where he belonged. He hadn't wanted to hear Lydia's words, the the witch's or the Slayers. He was scared and he saw no reason to push that down and push on. He just wanted to go home.
Lydia was with him and, for her sake and his, he did his best to keep his head. He was creeped out beyond belief by the place. It didn't feel like the LA he'd visited on school trips. He couldn't even say why but something was off.
He was so lost in thoughts of his destination he had no idea he was being followed and less idea of the thing that was about to happen. Lydia was down before he was even aware she'd moved and he was down beside her with a startled why. A blonde girl (the Slayer?) was barking an order and, in horror, he obeyed. With no time to do anything else he covered the wound with his hands and pressed in muttering "Oh God," over and over, his heart in his throat. He didn't move at Buffy's invitation, frozen in his task.