Joey McCoy is a total daddy's girl. (imanursenota__) wrote in vascaptiolog, @ 2014-02-01 14:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | joey mccoy, stiles stilinski |
WHO: Joey McCoy and Stiles Stilinski
WHAT: Bringing Rachel a care package and running into Stiles instead
WHEN: Day Eighty-Three, afternoon
WHERE: In the theater
WARNINGS: Feeeeeels.
STATUS: Closed, Complete
It wasn’t exactly the same, no matter what Rachel said about where Peeta had come from, but it was close enough that Joey thought Rachel knew her pain. She knew what it was like to become that close with a person only to have them ripped away from her, leaving her suffering in the wake of their absence. If Rachel believed Peeta was as good as dead and Tate really was dead, then Joey could empathize with that. They shared that sort of loss and few, if any, people here understood it the way they did. People were more willing to give Rachel their condolences than they had been for Joey, something for which she was silently and secretly bitter and resentful, but all the same...she and Rachel shared the sort of pain that Joey knew all too well could be disastrous if left unattended. Joey remembered that she hadn’t wanted to see or speak to anyone. She hadn’t been willing to eat until her body couldn’t stand the lack of nutrition any longer. Joey remembered crying until there were no tears left, falling asleep and waking up again to start the process all over. Even if she and Rachel weren’t friends and might never be, Joey knew how weak and small she’d felt when she finally had no choice but to ask Carl for help. She wasn’t going to make Rachel feel that same thing. When she woke up that morning, sick to her stomach with the idea that one of Tate’s probable killers was under the very same roof, Joey extracted herself from her room and moved swiftly out of the building without so much as a word to anyone. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone, because she spent so much time behind that particular closed door. Joey made her way to the pharmacy first, getting one of the plastic baskets off the counter and heading back to grab a few boxes of tissues, dropping them unceremoniously in. Next, she moved to the sleep aids, grabbing something that looked like a Tylenol PM but boasted lack of acetaminophen, focusing on the sleeplessness issue. Numbly, Joey wondered as she wandered back out, heading toward the gas station for water bottles and snack foods to hold Rachel over, whether this was healing. Whether she was healing because suddenly she wasn’t so alone in her pain and darkness. Joey didn’t spend long in the gas station, gathering the things she was looking for and making her way to the theater. If she had realized that the werewolves were still there or if she remembered what they looked like to be able to identify them upon walking through the doors, she’d have turned right back around. There were pairs with babies, mostly dozing in theater chairs or moving around in small radial areas, but she didn’t see Rachel amongst them. ...she also didn’t see Stiles as her eyes shifted around the room in search of the girl whose pain she shared. Just find her, give her this, tell her if she needs to talk that you’re around, and then leave her alone and get the hell out of here, Joey told herself. There were too many infants, the symbol of new life, taunting her as she struggled to push back her upset of Tate’s death to look for Rachel and leave her some sign that she wasn’t alone and, eventually, it would feel a little less bad. It had been a long night. He’d spent it at Cora’s side, unwilling to leave her with how traumatized and in shock she’d been. He had been surprised that she’d allowed him to stay with her, and she was probably surprised that he’d managed to be relatively quiet for the majority of the night. Eventually, of course, they’d both fallen asleep. Her whimpering had woken him and he found her head resting on his shoulder as she had a nightmare, no doubt about fire. He’d gently shook her to wake her up. He’d also made her drink a couple bottles of water because he was worried about dehydration being an issue. Granted, she was a werewolf and they had super healing powers, but he didn’t want to take any chances, either. Derek had looked somewhere between surprised and confused when he’d made his way to the balcony after visiting with his uncle. Stiles had just shrugged silently, telling Cora to drink another bottle of water, and giving her arm a light squeeze before getting up and surrendering his spot to her brother. He made his way down the stairs slowly, tired and achy from the awkward sitting position he’d fallen asleep in. Yawning, he rubbed a hand over his face, looking around for Lydia and Elle and Allison, wondering what they’d gotten up to after the lacrosse game the day before. He wasn’t watching where he was going and he tripped over something in the aisle, stumbling and wincing as he literally fell right into someone. It just wasn’t someone he’d expected to see there at theater, probably ever. Stiles held his breath as he lifted his gaze to meet Joey’s, his expression startled and uncertain. “Uh, hey.” Joey’s eyes were still scanning the theater for some indication of where exactly Rachel was hiding herself when she felt the other person collide with her. She recoiled and almost apologized out of reflex even though she’d only just been standing there, but when she looked over, she nearly dropped the basket she was carrying with things in it for Rachel. For a moment, Joey just looked back at him, her eyes a little wider than normal but not exceptionally so, and she swallowed thickly, clenching her teeth together to keep from her jaw going slack. If Stiles was here, his friends probably were, too, and she needed to get out. The sooner, the better. “Hi,” she replied, taking a step back and white knuckling the handle of the basket. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out unintentionally. She’d really just meant to think it, but the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. He could only imagine what she was thinking. The fact that she took a step back from him, that she was clutching the basket in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white didn’t go unnoticed. She hadn’t expected to see him there. “I’ve uh -- been staying here since the flood,” he admitted, voice uncertain. Which had ended a few days ago, only to be replaced by a lot of tiny infants that tended to cry a lot. Overall he’d managed to avoid said infants, except for once in awhile when Derek or Elle needed a break and he’d held them for a short time before passing them off to Allison or Lydia or their pseudo-parents. He was fairly sure the children would vanish sometime tomorrow night, and he wondered how hard it was going to be for people to deal with that after getting attached. “Um, what about you? What brings you to the theater?” Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Joey’s eyes flickered past Stiles in another attempt to find Rachel so she could politely excuse herself, drop off the basket, remind herself that this was a stupid idea, and go back to the museum. “Oh,” she replied, her voice a little hollow, as she looked back at him. This was uncomfortable for her. Before Tate had died, Joey remembered she and Stiles trying to fix their broken friendship. She remembered leaving the thrift shop that day feeling a lot better about where the two of them were and how much better, still, things could be if they kept working on it. And then everything had changed. You could fix a broken friendship, but could you mend one that was shattered by the events surrounding something awful that had happened to one of the parties resulting in something equally, in its own way, as awful to the other? Joey didn’t think there was really any hope left in repairing what she and Stiles had lost. Part of her didn’t care if they never saw each other or spoke again while the other part of her wished she could go back in time and never have had too much peach Schnapps to drink that night, because that had been the moment when everything started to change for the worse. And now here he was, equally as uncomfortable as she was, looking back at her and expecting an answer, she was sure, to the question he’d asked. Joey looked down for a moment and lifted the basket a little. “I thought Rachel could use a few things without having to ask for them. I know how she feels. I thought I could help,” she said, her voice low and guarded far more than she’d ever heard it in her own ears while speaking to Stiles. “Do you know where she is…?” she tacked on, because maybe he did and maybe she wouldn’t have to stay here that much longer. If Stiles was here...the werewolves were, too, and one under the same roof was bad enough. He could tell that she was uncomfortable, and he couldn’t really blame her for that. She’d undoubtedly figured out that if he was staying there at the theater, that his friends likely were, too. Except for Scott, of course, who was at the museum for the week. He wanted to ask his best friend how that was going, if he’d heard Joey talking or seen her around, but it felt too much like spying for him to be comfortable. Seeing her though, was unexpected. She was paler than usual, and she looked very tired. She was also very tense and on guard, which wasn’t surprising. He doubted that their friendship could ever be repaired. It had been blown apart first by his own stupidity, and then by Tate’s actions, and then by Derek’s actions, though he honestly held no blame for the latter. Stiles knew if he ever told Joey that, she’d never forgive him. He wasn’t surprised that she was there to see Rachel. He was at a loss as to what to say to the dark haired girl himself, because the only person he knew who’d been sent home from this place was Isaac. And it wasn’t like they were good friends to begin with. Isaac had a tendency to get on his nerves in a way that no one else really had since Jackson Whittmore, and that bothered him because he knew that Isaac was a decent guy. Stiles wanted to say something to Joey. To apologize to her for all the terrible things that had happened in the last few weeks. For the fact that she was in pain. For the fact that she was alone. But somehow he knew that there was really nothing he could say that wouldn’t just make things worse. Except for the one thing that she wanted to hear. “Yeah, she’s uh….” He turned slightly, grimacing as his back protested the sudden movement, and pointed up toward one of the balconies. “That one. If you take those stairs,” he pointed to another set of stairs, “--they’ll take you right up there.” The grimace didn’t go unnoticed. Joey struggled with her reflexive urge to ask if he was all right and her conscious unwillingness to do the very same. It was terrible what happened to Stiles, it really was. ...but Tate hadn’t done that to him and she knew everyone else believed that he had. She wasn’t going to give Stiles or the werewolves or anyone the satisfaction of thinking she’d started to see things their way by acknowledging that Stiles was still suffering. Instead, she followed his point with her eyes and nodded. “Thanks,” she replied. She paused wanting very much to get away from him while at the same time torn between that feeling and the one pushed way deep down where she didn’t want to feel it at all; the one where Stiles was still her friend and her friend was hurt. Joey’s eyes prickled and she looked away, taking a deep breath and willing herself not to feel any of the upset that was poking at her just then. “It’s good to see you up and around,” she said and even though it felt like a lie, it wasn’t at all. “Thanks again,” she said, clearing her throat against any sign of emotion that she was feeling and choosing to shove deep down until she could get back to the privacy of her bedroom. Scott would hear her cry, but good. She hoped he did and she hoped he felt really bad about it. But Stiles didn’t need to see it. If there was anyone she relieved of the blame of what had happened to Tate, it was Stiles...but that didn’t mean being around him hurt any less for it. “Is she up there right now?” His chest tightened painfully when she looked away from him, because he knew she was hurting and there wasn’t a thing he could do to make it better. He hated to see the people he cared about hurting, whether it was physically or emotionally. It was the reason he’d spent the night at Cora’s side. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone. But he knew he couldn’t do the same for Joey. He knew she wouldn’t allow it even if he offered. He had a feeling it would make things worse. “Yeah. I think so,” he whispered. “She hasn’t really left her bed much.” He felt bad that he hadn’t spent much time with Rachel either, and made a note to go and see her later, after Joey left. He hadn’t even realized the two were friends. He swallowed hard, wondering if this was how it was always going to be for the people around him. If it was always going to be agony or hell. He might not have been directly responsible for Derek killing Tate, but if he hadn’t assumed he was fine on his own and gone out into the woods that day, Tate wouldn’t have had the chance to attack him. If he’d come after Stiles at some other point, chances were one of his friends would have stopped him, considering who his friends were. Then again maybe one of them would have just ended up hurt, too. There was no good that could have come from any of it. Not ever. Not really. It was a tragedy any way he looked at it. “Seeing you will probably help,” he told her quietly. Joey’s face twisted a little in an attempt to remain neutral when Stiles said Rachel hadn’t left her bed much. Her eyes prickled again and she ignored it. If he was going to see it, he was going to see it and fighting it was only going to make it even more obvious, so she just let it be. “She won’t for a while,” she replied in a voice that wasn’t much louder than the ones Stiles was using. Joey shrugged and sniffed, attempting nonchalance. “People will have to make sure she’s eating. Make sure she’s actually sleeping and not just laying there staring at the wall,” she said. Or with her face in Peeta’s pillow until the smell of him is gone… “I don’t think seeing me is going to help. But I brought her some stuff that’ll make it easier for her to avoid people while also not starving to death,” she replied in a dull voice, her jaw ever so slightly slack as she looked back toward the balcony in which Stiles had said Rachel was staying. “...stuff to help her sleep,” she added belatedly and distractedly. Joey looked back at Stiles. There were a million things she wanted to say to him and not a single one was appropriate, either because of where they now so staunchly stood or because she didn’t think he would appreciate hearing what she believed to be true. Stiles had been attacked and it made perfect sense to her for him to want someone to blame. Unfortunately for her — even moreso for Tate — the person who took the blame took it because he hadn’t made friends...or he hadn’t made the right ones. Not because he deserved it. Of that much, she was confident. If anyone knew Tate the way that she did, they would believe her in a heartbeat, but because no one did and no one cared...Tate was dead and everyone felt safer than they should. “But she’ll survive,” she finally added and her voice changed into something even she’d never really heard before. Her ears had been dulled to everything she’d said in that box with Allison, numb and just wanting to die so that she could get out of this dome and never have to think about anything that had happened in it again, so she’d missed it. But if Allison had been standing there to overhear it, Joey’s voice would’ve sounded the same. Cold, distant, and determined. She wasn’t surviving for her anymore, she was surviving for them, and she’d find a way to, eventually, help Rachel feel that empowerment and harness it in her own way. For now, she’d just offer what little help she could. Emotional support by way of keeping her distance, but offering the basket of goods that would give Rachel the supplies that she needed while allowing her the space she craved. “We both will.” Stiles shut his eyes as she spoke again, telling him about how someone would need to make sure she was eating and sleeping. No doubt someone had to do that for her. Piper or Carl, most likely. He’d been there once upon a time, after his mom had died. His dad had taken to drinking heavily and passing out wherever he happened to be in the house, and Stiles had spent more time at the McCall’s place than he ever had before. It had been Mrs. McCall and Scott who’d made sure that he was eating. She’d made all of his favorite foods even though she was working part time and dealing with an asshole husband whom he’d overheard telling her one night that Stiles just needed to suck it up and deal with it because his mom was never coming back. Like he hadn’t known that. He’d hated Scott’s dad since that day, and that hatred had only grown over the years as he observed the way the man treated his family. Knowing that the man was back now in Beacon Hills made him angry but there was literally nothing he could do about it so mostly he just shoved the knowledge to the back of his brain along with all of the other things that he was completely helpless to change. “It’s all you can do,” he murmured. Survive. It was all that any of them could do at this point. Survive and try to move on. He wasn’t sure how well that was going to work out for any of them, though. He exhaled slowly. “I’m -- Joey, I’m really sorry. For everything that’s happened. I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I wish there was something I could do, but I don’t think there probably is.” He looked down at the floor. “I’ve wanted to reach out to you, but I didn’t think...I figured after everything you probably just wanted your space.” Joey hadn’t expected anyone from the Beacon Hills and co. camp to have the balls to apologize to her for anything, up to and including the fact that she was in pain, just because of the implication that could be perceived from such an apology. Joey wasn’t stupid. She knew that Stiles probably believed that Tate had been his attacker, just like everyone else. So, to say that she’d been taken aback by the sentiment would have been an understatement. She wanted to tell him that he was right and she wanted her space; that she didn’t think there was anything that Stiles could do. Tate was dead, his remaining belongings washed away in the flood and Joey had nothing left but her memories and a Ferris wheel she thought Carl might kill her for climbing again to be close to him. She’d do it anyway, once her body was willing to regain its old strength now that she was willingly eating on a regular schedule again. She’d do it because the water hadn’t gotten anywhere near high enough to wash away the clothes Tate had laid out in that top car. It couldn’t take that away from her, at least. Joey wanted to tell Stiles that she didn’t need or want his help and that things were never going to be the same — or even close — to the way that they used to be. But the fact that he was trying was something. She could give Stiles credit for that, at least. “Thanks,” she said, her voice hollow with the effort to keep from letting Stiles see how truly pained she was by the way everything had unfolded. “I’m… I don’t need anybody. I’m fine. I just need to get out of here and then everything will be normal again and I’ll forget this shithole and life will go on. ...I’m sorry you got hurt.” She opened her mouth to continue and closed it again with a click of her teeth to keep from inserting her opinion on Tate’s role or lack thereof in it. “I hope you feel better soon,” she added and it sounded flatter to her than she meant for it to come out. “I should get this to Rachel, though, so…” Joey’s voice trailed off a little and she nodded in the direction Stiles had said she would need to go to find the other girl. “Thanks for letting me know where to find her.” He could see all the emotions flickering across her face, no doubt suppressing a lot of things she truly wanted to say. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d laid into him, blamed him for everything, spat vicious hateful things at him. She didn’t, of course. Because that wasn’t Joey. She was too good a person for that. Instead, she thanked him for his apology and apologized that he’d gotten hurt. That was what they were now. Strangers with good manners. He smiled sadly, nodding. “Yeah, sure,” he said softly, watching as she took a step toward the stairs that would lead her up to Rachel. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured. Joey gave a weak nod and an attempt at mirroring his smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, just like it had fallen short of his. This wasn’t friendship anymore. They would never be the same, she thought, and she missed him even if she resented him. She realized as he dismissed her after her subtle request for it, that they might never speak again; she really might never see him again unless the Management decided they had no choice. Joey wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or a burden. “You too, Stiles,” she said quietly back before she turned and left him there in her wake to do what she’d come to do and then get out of this building, hopefully never to return. |