#humannotdefenseless

[bretttal]

humannotdefenseless:

“You know- I can’t see how that would be hell. You can kidnap me whenever you want. Especially if it gets me out of school.” Stiles winked jokingly.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the kidnapper," Brett laughed, "You're not supposed to be willing, you know?" He reached out and took Stiles' hand, pulling him closer until their lips could meet.

[adellaholmes]

"I swear no harm will come to you as long as I shall live"

      “Can you get rid of my overwhelming sense of nausea?”

[bretttal]

B L A H

Out for dinner, see you guys! :D

[bretttal]

humannotdefenseless:

bretttal:

"Stiles, Stiles, I'm here. Stiles, it's okay. I'm here." The crying and screaming woke Brett from his sleep. Despite his insistence, Stiles didn't take his offer and decided to sleep on the couch. Then this happened. "Stiles, it's alright, nothing's going to hurt you." Brett rushed out to the living room and wrapped his arms around Stiles, regardless of the flailing, and pulled him close. "Shh, I'm here, Stiles. I'm here." He held him even after he stopped crying.

Stiles went limp and clung to Brett as he wept, his fists grabbing his shirt and holding on as if letting go would mean slipping back into that horrible, terrible nightmare.

It had been dark and wherever he was had been extremely cramped. He could barely move without hitting the sides. The worst part was that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. That was when he realized what was happening. This wasn’t a regular nightmare. It was a memory. Then the panic set in and he couldn’t fight the screams that escaped his throat.

Thankfully that was when Brett had woken him up and now here he was, a complete mess holding onto Brett as if he was his lifeline. “S-Sorry…"

"It's okay, just breathe. Just breathe." Brett felt the sweat and tears on his shirt and also on his neck, the warmth that was flowing through their skin contact into him with a strong lingering concoction of frustration and fear. The screams were so intense that they could have carved ears drums open.

"What's wrong?" He asked, even though he knew it must be a night terror. Or something like that. The blanket was half on the floor and Brett picked it up, wrapping Stiles underneath it. He wiped off the sweat on Stiles' forehead, just to realise his actions were far too intimate as a friend, his gaze too adoring. He pulled back a bit. "Want some tea?"

[bretttal]

don't you remember?

with bretttal, humannotdefenseless

[bretttal]

B L A H

One word: FUCK

[bretttal]

(˘_˘٥) // okay I swear I'm going to sleep now I just couldn't resist

Brett sees Stiles next to him, smiling that goofy smile like always. He smiles back. Then he realises - Stiles has been dead for five years now.

Human minds are very, very unreliable. At times you will think that you have everything under control, and that your day will be awesome, but when you take your first sip of coffee, you figure you forgot the sugar and it tastes so bitter you can hardly imagine your day to be any sweeter. The memory fails you more than you can remember.

I know that and I am very, very aware of that. I know that every single day I will forget something, might be something minor, might be something important. But routines are different. Routines are the things that has become a part of your body, that your body remembers without asking for permission of your forgetful mind. And life is constructed with 80% routine.

I get up and I make coffee, then I make toast. Plain toast with a spread of butter and jam, some days I will prefer peanut butter, but today I want jam. It isn’t important, whether I pick jam or peanut butter, or maple syrup or a scrambled egg. It matters that I pick something to go with my toast, or that I choose not to make toast.

Going to work is also a part of the routine. I head to the North Street as usual, just to recall the memo I got from the company mail, that we should avoid that particular street today because of the protest going on. Protest against the corrupted police force in town, yes, I remember now. But I go there every day, and I am supposed to go get coffee at that coffee shop around the corner. Yes, there is one closer to me but that coffee shop is my coffee shop.

I go there anyways, even though it cost me ten more minutes on my way to work. Insistence on routine. It is something that kept me going. I can’t go to work without that sip of second coffee - yes, my caffeine addiction is that bad - and so I order and wait for my cup.

Then I glance around like usual. Scanning the coffee shop without paying attention, but faking the idea of doing so. Then I see him, messy hair, big eyes, smiling and his freckles on both cheeks. I stare at him, then I recall - Stiles Stilinski, the boy I once held close, also known as the boy who slipped away five years ago.

My mind fails me again, in the routines I perform every day. I manage to forget him. I manage to forget that once we argued if this coffee shop was inherently better than the other, that it worth the walking distance. Stiles insisted for me to try that coffee, and I decided I liked the walk with him. I liked his insistence. I even used past tense for ‘like’. What is wrong with me?

Suddenly the world is dark. It’s still eight in the morning and my body is all ready for the day, but I call in sick. I won’t have a doctor’s letter to prove my illness, but a doctor’s letter is the last thing I care about now. I keep thinking about seeing Stiles over there at the corner, smiling at me, waving at me. I was supposed to walk over to him with both our drinks collected. But I only ordered one, because I am alone this morning.

I can feel the pressure closing in on me. It isn’t something new, I’ve been through this numerous times. At first it was unbearable. I couldn’t take in the fact that he died. I couldn’t bear leaving his side, but neither could I let him disintegrate in front of me under the mercy of mother nature. I couldn’t bear walking him to the morgue, but neither could I bear not sharing the last journey with him. I couldn’t bear seeing him disappear from my sight, but neither could I bear to close my eyes and not stare at the covered bed where he lied.

I walk to the cemetery, and I brought him flowers. I picked them from the sidewalk on the way. I didn’t want to waste the time to a florist when I could be here with him. I know that he isn’t anywhere now. Not under the dirt. Not inside the coffin. Not up in the sky. Nowhere, but everywhere.

I remember seeing his face one last time, his skin struggling to cling onto his cheekbones, his lips trying so hard to look lively and red. I remember crying like a baby, and I remember not being able to say goodbye. It went on for months. Then slowly, I manage to get to sleep without crying my eyes out. Then eventually, I manage to wake up without his smile being my first thought.

I don’t even talk to anyone else about him anymore. He stopped being one of our topics, like everything needed to be said was said. Like there is nothing more about Stiles Stilinski for us to discover.

It hurts me that I managed these five years. It hurts me that I’m alive but he’s not, and that I’m okay with that fact. It’s hard to explain, how I want to let go but at the same time I don’t want to.

For this day, I sit with him at the graveyard. For today, I’m all his again. He’s not mine now, for he is nowhere and he is everywhere. But I’m here, and I’m here for him. I close my eyes and I see his smile again.

[bretttal]

humannotdefenseless:

bretttal: "Just breathe."

Stiles shook his head, trying to gain control of his breathing. “II… can’t.” It had been awhile since his last panic attack and he was quite embarrassed that it had happened in front of Brett out of all people. In his defense Scott had gone missing again which had brought on the attack. The alpha could be perfectly fine, or could be in a more terrible situation then before. The fact was that every time something happened things were worse. Last time Scott and Kira had almost died.

Stiles knew he needed to calm down, that having a panic attack was helping no one, but the thought of losing his best friend was too much for the human. Between supernatural issues and normal teenage problems, he was surprised he hadn’t had a heart attack instead.

God, Brett rubbed his face, not quite experienced with panic attacks. Back then when he was first turned, he had some potential panic attacks, but then it turned out to be nowhere near the actual case he was seeing now. Stiles seemed to have lost his breath and Brett didn't know if he should call 911 or call the Sheriff.

Scott was missing, and that was terrifying. He shouldn't have asked Stiles about the alpha, he wouldn't have if he had known he would trigger a panic attack. "Stiles, look at me," he crouched down in front of Stiles, his hands hovering over Stiles a bit before resting upon his neck. "Listen to my voice. Listen to my breathing. Listen carefully."

He tried to breathe slow and deep, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythm that was supposed to work. He hoped that it would.