{2.6}

"false sense of security"

***

"YOU KNOW, ON AVERAGE, if someone was suffering from a gunshot wound they could bleed out in five minutes."

 The clock was ticking too loudly. It was all he could focus on. His brain should be moving at one thousand miles a minute, but all he could focus on was the clock. 

 Tick tick tick - but how was that fair? How could time drag on even now, when it doesn't matter? How could time march at the same pace now as it did then, yet hold less impact? How could seconds mean less from different perspectives?

 After all - they were just seconds. Sixty in a minute, three thousand six hundred in an hour, eighty-six thousand four hundred in a day; they dictated movement and purpose and capability; but how did they matter? How did they matter now - how did they continue to tick even after the damage had already been done? There were three hundred seconds in five minutes. Sixty, five times in a row. 

 How could a life be measured in three hundred seconds?

 He tapped his foot against the ground, bouncing it faster than the ticks from the corner of the room. "And like-" he swallowed, wishing that he couldn't feel how red his face was, or how he felt like he was about to cry. "That's not a lot of time, you know? But when blood loss starts, it can be really hard to stop it... or at least stop it for good. Because like, a paper cut could clot in three seconds, right? But if it doesn't get the chance - the blood could just keep coming and coming-"

 He closed his eyes and saw it. Blood soaking through his leg, onto his stomach, pooling underneath him like a shadow that can exist without the sun. His ashen face, the mark on his shoulder -

 "Stiles."

 He opened his eyes. The counselor was staring at him from across the desk; and he couldn't tell if the concern on her face was fabricated or not. Her smile certainly was - who smiled at a student spouting bullshit about bleeding out? Ms. Morrell folded her hands and leaned forward ever so slightly, and Stiles wondered if that was a tactic to get him to open up. Like a false sense of security. "You've been through significant trauma." She said, and the boy resisted the urge to scoff. "It's normal for you to feel these intense emotions-"

 "Intense emotions?" His eyebrows flew up on his head, and his mouth began to do the thing where it moved faster than his brain. "What am I, the main character in a romantic comedy?"

 She didn't seem deterred. "What about Matt?"

 Stiles leaned back further in his seat and crossed his arms, feeling the way the sharp beat of his heart coensided with the pulse of his wrist. Still faster than the clock, it seemed. The name sent a sharp flash of anger through his chest. "What about him? Drowning's not even that bad. They say it's peaceful -" he waved his hand in an effort to appear offhanded. "More peaceful than bleeding out, that is."

 "Are you saying you hope Matt found some peace in his last moments?"

 "I don't feel sorry for him."

 "Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

 Stiles remained silent for a long moment. Long enough Ms. Morrell might've thought that he was deep in thought or deliberation. In actuality, he was counting the ticks on the clock. The hour was almost over, and he had someplace to be. Finally, he spoke up. "Some dumbasses pushed him into a pool and he couldn't swim. And instead of being normal and going to therapy or taking up violin; he decided to take out his anger by murdering a bunch of people. That doesn't really seem like a forgivable connection."

 She leaned forward, and Stiles noticed that the ends of her hair were caught in a loose thread on her sweater. He wished she would rip it out - or at least tie her hair back. That would be less distracting. And the bracelet she was wearing was too shiny; it reflected the sun into his eyes. Stiles wondered if she placed the room that way on purpose...

 She tilted her head. "Forgiveness?"

 That was the first word she said that the boy truly listened to. He slid his chair back, slinging his bag over his shoulder; wishing his face didn't feel so warm. 

"He killed Ollie. That's not forgivable no matter what way you spin it."

 And then he turned away so she couldn't see the tears pooling beneath his eyes.

 ***

"JUST SO THERE'S NO confusion, I'm only here because it's required by law."

Katrin really wished that the guidance counselor wasn't so hot. It was making it difficult to be a bitch to her; and the girls one goal coming into this session was that she could make the woman at least shed a tear. Besides, this session was ridiculous. She suffered a trauma and now has to talk to some random lady to make it better? Katrin didn't trust anyone hired by this school district - much less some twenty-something year old who probably had an iguana and an undergrad in psychology. 

 Marin Morrell just smiled. "Nice to see you too, Katrin."

The redhead huffed, crossing her arms. She didn't know what to say; how was she supposed to talk about what happened to anyone? They didn't get it - no one got it. Not even Scott or Stiles. They didn't sit next to him and tell him it would be okay. They didn't try to stop the bleeding - and they certainly didn't leave his side. Even in a situation that dire. She should have stayed next to him - god, why did she stand up?

"Tell me." The woman leaned forward as if they were sharing a secret. "How have you been?"

 How have I been? She almost scoffed again. "I've been pretty fucking great, thanks for asking."

 "Katrin-"

"What? What do you want me to say?" Her cheeks flushed, and her chest was curled into a tight ball of rage. How could this woman sit across from her and ask her how she's been, when her entire fucking universe was suddenly split down a faultline? Her best friend was gone, and she hadn't seen him since he was hauled out of the station by Derek; gone. Her father was as clueless as the rest of the population - and her aunt couldn't even look her in the eye. So who did she have?

 Katrin now knew how Ollie felt when she dug into his business so long ago. It would have been so much easier to leave Nicole in the dark. Explaining a whole world in ten minutes was impossible enough not being chokeholded by grief; and it was even more impossible when everything that came out of her mouth felt impossible. And perhaps Scott's wolf-demonstration against the kanima helped to prove things; but it was so unequivocably unfair that Katrin was trying to paint the baseline of a world that she had barely scratched the surface of. A world that she wanted nothing to do with anymore. A world that took Ollie.

 She wished that she could go back and time and shove herself back. Tell her to not care about her cousins odd behaviour. Tell her to mind her own and focus on her life. She knew that would have never happened (curiosity was a curse) but she wished she could have at least done more to be a protector instead of a mindless follower with black market weapons stuffed in her purse.

But how could she put that pain into words?

"Well..." she twisted her hair around her finger, using the pain in her scalp to keep her grounded. "I don't know what to say."

 "You don't have to explain your pain to me." The woman said, and Katrin hated the compassion in her words. It was like she was trying to trick a lion into captivity. Like she was being lulled into a false sense of security. "And I'm not here to try and get rid of that pain. More to help you cope with it."

 "Cope with it?" Katrin's face felt hot. "I'm supposed to just... cope with it?"

 The counselor was doing a good job at staying calm and passive; Kat would give her that. "There are always ways to-"

"You don't know shit! Okay?" The girl stood up and hit her palms against the desk. She was being dramatic and she was being cliche; but she didn't care. She didn't care about herself; about how she was brash and annoying and said things that didn't matter. She didn't care if she was going to get an even worse reputation once the story got out; and she didn't care about just how bleak her future seemed. She just cared about putting a dent in this woman's perspective - she had to see the truth somehow. "I just- I just- fuck." She shook her head. "I can't fucking do this! I'm not anything without him, you don't understand-"

 "That's not-"

 "I've only ever wanted to help him." Her face felt hot, and when she raised her hands to her cheeks her palms came back wet. Her shoulders heaved. "I just wanted to help him-" her voice broke, and a sob made her shoulders shudder as she fell back into her chair and wrapped her arms around herself. Her stomach hurt so bad she couldn't breathe. She felt like she was drowning. Or dying. "I just wanted to help, I wanted to help him-"

 Miss Morrell rose from her chair and moved across the room, crouching next to Katrin and holding the arm of her chair. "Katrin."

 She wiped at her face. She couldn't say anything without a sob getting in the way, and she couldn't fathom how she was supposed to move forward from here. She couldn't be who she was before Ollie - she couldn't even be who she was forty eight hours ago. 

 Life wasn't fair in that aspect. It wasn't fair to anyone; but especially not right now. How could she be who she was alone? How could she be who she was with no one to turn to, no one to talk to, no one to trust? God, who was she supposed to talk to?

"I've never done anything significant." She hiccuped, holding herself and pretending he was there. "I'm just here. I'm just fucking here, and he isn't. How am I supposed to heal from that?"

 ***

SCOTT WAS DISTRACTED, but not in the way he usually was.

 He was staring at the clock, but not in the way he usually was. His gaze was shifted off a millimeter to the left so that he was staring into the distance instead of anything in particular. And while Scott usually found himself staring into space, this was a way that was different. 

 She said his name three times before he heard her. "Hm? Oh-" he shifted his gaze sheepishly back into existence, and gave her a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry."

  Miss Morrell was pretty, and seemed like she was good at her job - but there was something about her that made Scott's hair stand up on edge. Before, he would think that he was just being paranoid. But now, he wasn't so sure. Besides, he didn't think that Matt was a psychotic serial killer, but-

 He sniffled so that he had something to do other than finish that thought. His nerves felt on high-command, like he was ready to fight or flight. But he figured that was more normal than not these days. And he should be worrying about his mom, or about Jackson, or about Derek and his pack, but he wasn't. He really wasn't thinking about... well, anything. 

 "So..." she folded her hands. "How did you sleep yesterday? More nightmares?"

 Nightmares... Scott didn't think that even covered it. He slept for maybe three hours, and all he could do was relive the last moment he saw him. Ollie, limp as a rag doll, in Derek's arms as the man limped out of the police station. How he set him on the grass and said that people were heavier after they were gone ...

 "Um, I'm fine." He shifted in his seat, glancing just past the woman's shoulder at the streaky sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds. She remained silent, so he thought that he should say something else. "There's uh... a big lacrosse game tonight."

 Did he sound as monotonous as he felt? He couldn't form a coherent thought to save his life. He wondered if anything had changed, and he couldn't stop thinking about what happened. Something had to have gone right - right? Ollie couldn't be gone... right?

 "And how are you feeling about that?"

 "Uh... nervous." He lied. 

 "And how has your mom been?"

 "My mom?" He looked her in the eye for the first time since this meeting started. "My mom's fine. She's great."

 The truth? She wouldn't even look at him, and Scott didn't know how to fix it. He felt as if he was trying to fix everything at once. He didn't know what happened to Isaac, Erica, or Boyd. He didn't know where Derek was or who killed Matt . He didn't know what the hell was going on with Allison, or if Lydia was okay; and he didn't know if his best friend was even alive. Most of all, he didn't know how to say any of it aloud, and he was stuck waiting for the fallout; as if being selfish and pierced by grief could be enough of a punishment for not saying all that he knows.

 He just wanted to save everyone. 

"What was your relationship like with Oliver?" 

 "What?" Scott's head flew up. "Ollie's not - he's -" he shook his head. "I don't know. I don't even know what-"

 "Scott, you don't have to think hard about this." She gave him a small smile, and it was kind of enough, but Scott still felt like he was the prey in this room. "We don't have to talk about what happened, we just want to make sense out of what you're feeling right now."

 Scott had no idea what he was feeling. Right now, he wasn't feeling anything. "Right... um..." he pursed his lips. "Ollie's my best friend, you know? Or one of them, since he came here. Before he did it was really just me and Stiles, but he sort of came in and... protected us, I guess?" He wasn't sure if that sounded stupid. "I don't know. He was just a really good person, and I don't think I know a lot of those anymore."

  Pain seized his chest so suddenly that it made it difficult to speak. He pictured Ollie at the police station, squeezing his hand and saying that it would be okay. Getting shot because Scott did first ... Tears welled in his eyes, but he shook his head and blinked them away. He promised himself that he wouldn't cry anymore. Not until he knew. "And... and he was brave. Is."

 He stood up and grabbed onto his backpack strap. "Sorry, I really have to go." He muttered some excuse about a class, or his mom, or lacrosse - he wasn't sure; and turned to shove the door open. As he walked down the hallway, voices seemed to swim together as he clung onto his backpack strap and looked around for some sort of answer. But he didn't know what he was looking for -

 He spotted Stiles at his locker, and froze. 

 He was putting something into it; a book or a bag, and was staring as aimlessly forward as Scott. He looked paler than usual; and his eyes were so vacant he may as well have been a ghost. It made Scott's chest hurt again. This Stiles, who he knew since he was a kid with no perception of the future. The Stiles who stuck by him through middle school and highschool; who made him laugh and roll his eyes all at once. 

 He thought of how, when Ollie first moved here, he walked into their ninth grade English class, and Stiles leaned over and whispered to Scott how "the new kid looks kinda depressed." And then how, even before they became friends, he would always have something to say about him. "New kid has a baseball bat in his locker" "I heard his like, parents died. That sucks" "Do you think it's weird if I ask that new kid to hang out with us?" "Hey Scott! His name is Oliver" ...

  And then Scott thought about how Stiles came to him in a panic one night and said that he thought his friendship with Ollie was getting messed up, and he didn't know why... only he did. "I think I might like - like him, Scott."

  He thought about how, for a split second, he thought that he was a bad friend. For not seeing the signs, or perhaps for feeling as if his friendship didn't mean as much. But it meant just as much - just in a different light. And he would be damned if he didn't do everything he could to save them. Both of them. He thought back to Stiles a few nights ago, hugging a pillow as if it was keeping him in the room "I think I might love him, Scott."

 Well Scott loved him too. 

 "Stiles!" Scott called, thankful for the emptiness of the hallway as students retreated to their classrooms. The boy barely had time to turn around before Scott was in front of him, and he noticed that he could smell tears on his friend's face. He had been crying. But of course he had. 

 The boy tried for a smile, but just seemed tired. "Hey, Scott."

 The boy was suddenly frozen. "I-" he cleaered his throat. "I think Ollie's still alive."

a/n:

this is kinda short but it had to be to segway into the next chap <33

LMAOOO YALL I POSTED THIS THING AB OLLIE DYING ON MY MB AND PEOPLE ARE UP IN HERE LIKE "who's ollie?" GO READ MY BOOK.

jk ofc. anyway, in the actual show i can just picture the actors being so jawdroppingly tear wrenchingly perfect and i love it. also the way it would be like montage-y and cool i love the idea sm. anyway, ig we'll see in like a few weeks to a few months if i actually killed ollie!!

jk, ofc i'll update as soon as possible. ily guys so much, and i can't wait for this book to be done tbh i love it so much but i'm so excited for season three!!!

whose portion was your fav?? 

for me tbh in theory it was scott bc i love his perspective on stoliver and i feel like he's too underrated in this story bc he's one of my fav characters go read my scott fic. anyway, in practice it might be kat bc i love giving her depth but also stiles bc i got to use my anxiety/slight adhd brain for it. anyway, i love you all so so much, see you soon!!