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.*･｡. AN ODE TO CLARK KENT .*･｡.
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026.
LANE AND STILINSKI.
TILL THE END, MY FRIEND.
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——

"Can I come in?"

   Lois said nothing, but nodded once. She felt too numb to say anything; too empty, lost within herself.

   What was there to say? After the day she had endured, Lois had nothing to say. She wasn't sure that she would even be able to say something, ever again. There was nothing left to say — another innocent kid had just lost their life, and it had been Vernon Boyd.

   Boyd was dead.

   Pursing his lips, Stiles climbed through the window much more fluidly than he had done, years ago. He had been working out, his muscles growing alongside his old buzzcut over summer, and Stiles was a lot less jelly-like in muscles. The boy no longer fell through her window; rather, Stiles climbed the tree with ease and pushed himself over the windowsill without so much as tripping over his own two feet. Stiles was even less clumsy, these days.

   She couldn't remember the last time Stiles climbed through her window — Lois couldn't remember the last time he stayed over, if she were honest.

   It must have been over summer, the last time he had spent the night, but even then, Stiles rarely climbed through her window at night and stay in her room, anymore. Not as much as he used to when they were younger.

After all, they were much busier, these days. With school, family problems, supernatural infringements. Relationships. That being one of which Stiles was most definitely busier with than the rest of the group. He had a girlfriend who he spent most nights with, now. And that was fine, it really was. But, Lois missed him.

Lois really missed Stiles. Unequivocally.

   With her whole heart, and her whole chest, Lois missed Stiles.

   In fact, Lois found that she missed Stiles more than she had ever missed anyone — or anything — in her entire life. Right now, she might have even missed him more than she missed her mother. It was a very different kind of missing, almost incompatible really, but it was very close. Scarily close, actually. Lois had never felt such a longing for someone who hadn't gone anywhere; Stiles hadn't left, or spontaneously disappeared. The boy was simply next door, like he always was, and yet it felt as though he were so far away. It didn't feel like Stiles was only next door, most days. Somedays, it felt like he had gone — just as her mother had.

   Her mother had passed when Lois was still young, and she had gone through all of her teenage years without her. Days had gone by, long years had passed, and Lois' mother wasn't there. She had never been there, and she never would be there, either. That was it; that was how it was.

   Lois missed her mother endlessly. But, she had always missed her; Lois had grown used to the pain of missing her mother, these days. It was unfortunate, though it was awfully true — Lois had lived in a constant state of missing her, the woman who had brought little Lois Lane into the world, and that was the norm. Eventually, that feeling had become so normal that it was survivable. It was harder than anything, and more painful too, but the world didn't stop for you. You got through it. You got used to it, and it was survivable.

It really was. Eventually.

   But while she had grown up without her mother's presence, Lois hadn't grown up without Stiles Stilinski. He had always been there.

Stiles had been right by her side, her righthand man, and she'd never needed look far to find him; he would be very close by. Now, however, he wasn't. At least, not always.

   Lois Lane didn't think that missing Stiles Stilinski was quite so survivable. It didn't seem that way. She even feared it perhaps was no survivable, at all. Over the passing months, Lois found herself missing him more, and more, and more, until she reached a point of blocking it out. Or, at least she was trying to.

   It was selfish. Stiles was in a relationship, with a girl that he was undeniably and unbelievably happy to be with, and Lois couldn't bring herself to ruin it. She didn't want to ruin it. Her best friend was the happiest he had ever been, finally having got the girl of his dreams, and she couldn't bare the idea of ruining it. Lois couldn't complain. After all, she'd had Stiles for years. The two of them had been best friends since the womb — hell, they were basically twins!

   Two peas, in a pod.

   They had grown up together, even if ten years of it had been in two completely different towns. Not the same day, but the pair had been born in the exactly same hospital, in the same room even, and Lois had met Stiles before any blood relative.

   They had been through quite a lot, together.

Since the day that she had been born, Lois and Stiles had done almost everything as a duo. As much as you could, when you lived a two hour drive away with only monthly family visits, to and throw.

Every month for nine whole years, their families had visited each other. Whether it was the Lane family going to see the Stilinski's, or the Stilinski's going to see the Lane's — either way, that was one weekend, every month, for ten years; that was almost one hundred and twenty weekends, excluding the occasional Christmas trip or Halloween party exception, and that was a lot of time.

The two of them had said their first words together, been potty-trained together, learned to ride their bikes together. When Stiles had gotten his stabilisers taken off, Lois had wanted hers taken off too. When Lois had ditched her bike for a scooter, Stiles had done the same. With them, that was how it worked. Everything would be done together, or not at all. Lois had pretended not to know if she could spell her full name until Stiles could do it, and she had acted as if she liked lacrosse for a few years so that he didn't have to play alone. Stiles went to all of her baseball meets, and skating competitions, and he had been the only person she had wanted at her birthday parties. Until she was older, they were parties for two and two only. No one was invited, apart from Stiles.

Stiles had been her first kiss. He had been the first guy that she had ever cared about, other than her father.

He had been the only person that she would speak to when her mother passed; to everyone else, Lois had turned mute for three months. She didn't speak, didn't eat. Only Stiles was able to get through to her. Stiles was the only thing that had kept her sane at the time, and it had been the same when his mother had passed.

In times of need, Lois and Stiles only wanted each other.

They didn't need anyone else.

Well, that was until Lois and her father had moved to Beacon Hills and she had met Scott McCall. Birthday parties for two had quickly become for three, and there was one more person to go and watch lacrosse games for.

Still, Lois and Stiles remained thick as thieves. Now that they were next door neighbours, with facing windows, they really did do everything together. Absolutely everything.

Going to school by day, hanging out with Scott at the weekends, sneaking out at random times of night, listening to voicemails on Noah's answering machine, solving crime. They got into trouble together, arrested together, restraining orders together. Lois and Stiles would prank their other neighbours, and they watched films for hours on end together, and completed their homework together — they would even do it for each other, if one of them struggled to complete it, or if they had simply forgotten. They did it all.

It was together, or not at all. Always. Lois and Stiles were in it for the long haul.

But, now? Now... Lois wasn't so sure.

A lot had changed, the last year.

More than Lois had been able to keep up with — Scott getting bitten and dating a girl from a family of hunters, the group taking down the alpha who had bitten Scott and Lydia, the latter of who had accidentally resurrected him. There was Matt controlling the kanima who had ended up being Jackson, and Isaac, Erica and Boyd forming Derek Hale's newfound pack.

Stiles and Scott had found themselves in relationships with the two new girls, Lydia had lost her first proper love to London, and Beacon Hills' very own Romeo and Juliet had since fallen apart. Lois had almost died at the hands of her obsessive stalker and an array of werewolves — several times in a row — while Derek Hale had seemingly come back from the dead, when they least expected him to. Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd had disappeared over summer, and Erica had died. She had died, and no one knew the truth other than them. Ritual sacrifices were being made, innocent people were dying, and that included Derek Hale's pack. Erica had died, and she had been shortly followed by Boyd.

Boyd had died, only hours ago, and Lois didn't know how to deal with it. Things were changing, people were dying. Who was next?

Things were changing, including Lois and Stiles. They weren't the same kids that they had used to be; Stiles wasn't as available, and Lois was struggling to keep up.

She didn't stick by his side, anymore. Rather, Luna did.

It wasn't Lois that followed Stiles around, carted back and forth in his jeep, Roscoe. It wasn't the same duo that would stick together and keep one another alive, finding clues and figuring everything out while Scott fought with his claws. It wasn't Lois who held Stiles tight during panic attacks, and held his hand when he was scared.

These days, it was Luna Thomas. She did that. And, while she'd become one of Lois' friends and an important member of their pack, it had felt like she had taken Lois' place. At times, Lois felt invisible in comparison to Luna. Lois felt lost.

Without Stiles Stilinski — what was she?

Lois didn't know who she was, not without Stiles. With no Stiles, what was Lois worth? There was no Lane, without a Stilinski. No Lois, without a Stiles. They were a perfect team; a power dynamic that followed through the ages. Lois and Stiles completed each other. She needed him.

But, now that the world was changing around them around and Lois knew that they were losing — the fight, the people they loved, the people that deserved to live — she felt very lost, within herself.

She had lost her mother, years ago. They had lost Erica Reyes as the year had begun. And now that they had just lost Vernon Boyd, Lois Lane couldn't help but feel as though she was starting to lose her grip on Stiles Stilinski, too.

Lois didn't know what she would do, if she did.

    "How are you..." Stiles hesitated, unsure. "H—How are you holding up?"

   She shrugged.

   Honestly, Lois didn't know.

   Nodding slowly, Stiles made his way over to the bed and perched himself next to Lois. They both sat at the end of it, his legs over the edge and Lois' pulled to her chest. Her hair was wet and hung over her shoulders after recently showering, and her cheeks were red and blotchy. He simply sat, close to her side. Stiles didn't say anything, opting to be quiet as to not overwhelm. Lois was in one of the most vulnerable states he had ever seen her, and he wasn't surprised — Vernon Boyd had died, right in front of her very eyes.

   There was some history there, that he didn't know about. Lois and Boyd had always had a strange relationship, if it could have even been called such a thing. She had always held a resentment for Boyd, one that Stiles had never totally worked out.

   After a long silence, Lois cleared her throat; "He liked me."

    "Who?"

    "Boyd," she hummed, half-zoned out. A humourless laugh fell from her lips, "I always thought we hated each other. I guess, not."

   Stiles stayed quiet, letting her talk. It was better that Lois was talking. Following her mother's death, she had hardly spoken to anyone, at all.

    "I mean— maybe not, when it happened..." Lois puckered her lips, "But he did. At some point. For a while, I think, but I guess I never noticed. He was always trying to bug me, and I thought he just wanted to upset me. That was why I—" she sucked in a deep breath, "—why I stopped."

   A tear stroked her cheek and she let out a ragged sob. Lois held her knees tightly and hugged them, cradling herself in hopes of finding some small, hopeless, fragment of comfort. She looked up at her ceiling to try and rid the remaining tears, tracing several of the scratches and marks that had been there for years. Although, it didn't seem to prevent that avalanche that slipped. Not slightly.

   She sniffled, "All the times he was so annoying, and teased me, I made my myself stop."

    "I didn't know. I had no idea—" Lois choked, "—he was just a kid, Stiles. We are all just kids!" Shaking her head, she pushed her hand through her hair in frustration. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair that these innocent kids kept on dying, all around them. Boyd didn't deserve to die, it was painfully unfair. "I didn't know that he liked me, I really didn't— I told him; I told that I didn't know, but I— I didn't tell him why I hated him..."

   Stiles reached for her, "Lois—"

    "I didn't tell him!" She cried, "I didn't tell him, that I stopped— I thought he hated me, so I stopped. Boyd didn't know that when we were kids, I hated him because I didn't think he liked me—!"

   Lois fell into Stiles' embrace, against her will.

    "Cause when we were kids, I liked him!"

   He held her close, wrapping his arms around her, afraid that if he didn't hold her tightly enough that she would break. Stiles let Lois cry into his chest, just as he had several times before. Stray tears hit his cheeks but he feverishly wiped them all of them away.

   Stiles held her close and leaned them back, brushing a soft hand through her hair and laying them against her pillows. He held her trembling figure close, unable to let go.

   And there, they laid. Lois in his arms, huddled against his chest, while he stroked her hair. And it was exactly what she had needed.

   Because, at the end of the day, Stiles was what she needed.

   He was the person who could make her feel better with as little as a look, the person who's presence she could sit and never grow bored. Stiles was the person she went to in times of need, and who always had time for her even with a girlfriend, and who wouldn't ever dream of turning her away. He was her next door neighbour, her confidante, her best friend — he was her twin, despite being at a lack of blood relation; they shared the same brain, the same air, the same heart. No one understood her like Stiles, no one would know her like he did. He was the person that kept Lois going, the only person who truly knew what she had gone through. He knew her like no one else.

   After every loss, Stiles had been there. After every tear, every nightmare. Every moment she felt alone, he would show up and remind her that she wasn't, and that she never would be. Through thick and thin, he had always been there. Because he was Stiles.

   She was Lois, and he was Stiles.

   Best friends; package deal; inseparable.

   They had a bond that could break walls, and as they laid there, Lois suddenly felt a little less lost.

   Stiles was her compass. If she was ever lost, wandering from the guided path or lead astray, he would get lost with her. Together, the two of them would find their way. Together. Always, and forever.

   Lois Lane and Stiles Stilinski, in it until the very end.

They weren't sure at what point Scott McCall crawled through the window and shuffled onto the bed, on Lois' other side. And who really knew what time Lydia Martin slipped through the door, using the spare key, and squeezed in close beside Stiles? Lois didn't know, and Lois didn't care either. It didn't matter. What mattered was that her people were with her, and she still had them. And with them, was going to be alright. They were going to get through this together, and they were going to figure it out.

They always did.

Not long after, Matthew Lane arrived home from the station with news of Vernon Boyd's death. A feeling in his chest that Lois already knew, and a sixth sense telling him that Stiles would have already been with her, he had opted not to bother her, just yet. He had made himself dinner, and waited.

By the time that midnight had passed, two hours after he had gotten home, he had ventured to see how she was. Matthew Lane knocked on her bedroom door and got no response. With a second knock and nothing in return, her father carefully pushed the door open and noticed the four teenagers sound asleep on her bed; an entanglement of limbs and unconditional love. He softly smiled.

——

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