Characters: Teen Wolf ensemble
Word Count: 1379
Summary: In the dead of night, when their nightmares run rampant, the pack takes care of each other.
A/N: Written for dream_mancer who I have yelled at consistently for getting me into this fandom, even though I don't mean it. Fic takes place post-Season 3A, but there are no spoilers for 3B. Thanks to geckoholic for her speedy beta <3 Title from "Bones and Skin" by Mirah.
Stiles wakes in the middle of the night to a figure standing at his window. He's sure he's hallucinating, but he still grabs the bat next to his bed and starts swinging. A hand shoots out, stopping the motion, and Stiles stumbles backwards.
"Jesus Christ, Isaac," Stiles hisses, and Isaac lets go. Stiles lets the bat fall to the floor and sits down on his bed, hands clenched to hide their shaking.
Isaac steps aside, and Stiles startles, eyes widening as he pushes Allison forward. Stiles hadn't even seen her hiding behind him, which in and of itself was a revelation - Allison Argent hasn't hid from anyone or anything for a long time.
"She wanted to come here," Isaac says, "But I'm not leaving her alone."
Stiles stares at Allison, at the dark circles standing out like purple bruises under her eyes, stark against pale skin. There’s a frailness to her shoulders and the line of her jaw that Stiles immediately recognizes from every time he looks in a mirror.
"I can't sleep," she says quietly, and Stiles opens his arms.
Allison kicks off her shoes and crawls in beside him, swamped by her oversize sweatshirt. Isaac lays down at her back, and it should be weird, Scott's ex-girlfriend and her sort-of-but-not-really new boyfriend sleeping in his bed, but Allison huddles closer, and Stiles wraps his arms around her waist.
When he sleeps, he dreams of nothing, an empty, black room. He wakes up with the sun on his face, Allison pressed against his chest, and Isaac sitting in his desk chair with a bowl of cereal.
"Your dad says breakfast is ready," he says with his mouth full.
"Breakfast?" Allison picks up her head, hair mussed and eyes only half open, and yeah, okay, she looks kind of adorable. Stiles maybe understands Scott's obsession with her a little more now.
Stiles rolls his eyes, pushing Allison out of bed and towards the door. His eyes narrow when he walks out into the hall.
"Why the hell do I smell bacon? I've told you a million times--" He starts, and when his father bellows his token protests, Isaac rolls his eyes. Allison laughs.
They don't talk about it.
Allison shows up at his house more often than not over the coming days, creeping in through the window with Isaac in the middle of the night. His father threatens to change all of the locks, but some of the anxiety is gone from his eyes, worry that was brought on by werewolves and nosy FBI agents and Stiles waking up screaming almost every night.
The first time Scott shows up at Stiles' window, he stops short at the sight of Allison and Isaac in Stiles' bed.
Isaac stiffens, smelling Scott before Stiles sees him, and the two of them sit up slowly. Allison sleeps on between them, chest rising and falling with gentle breaths.
Scott opens his mouth. Closes it again. He swallows, hard enough that even Stiles hears him.
"There room for one more?" he asks, all hesitant and guilty, like being their alpha means he isn't entitled to ask for comfort from the rest of his pack, like it's always supposed to be the other way around.
"Get your ass over here, McCall," Allison mutters with her eyes still closed, and Scott huffs a laugh but slides in behind Stiles, crowding him up against the wall.
Stiles grumbles curses under his breath, but he falls asleep with his face pressed against Allison's hair, Scott's arm warm and solid around his waist.
They still don't talk about it, how when Stiles wakes up screaming, he huddles as far away from the three of them as possible until the panic fades and he can stand them touching him without feeling like he's going to vibrate out of his skin.
Allison searches for comfort, vulnerable and terrified in a way she so rarely is in the harsh light of day. She burrows as close to all three of them as possible, hoping their closeness will drive the images away.
Isaac wakes up shaking, torn between wanting to get closer and needing his own space, to not feel confined, trapped. It takes a long time to drive the fear from his eyes, to anchor him back down to their space, to remind him that he's safe.
Scott tries to be the glue that holds all of them together. He gives comfort without ever asking for it in return, but they pull him in, switching places until he's lying in the middle of the bed, surrounded by the warmth and scent of his pack.
Stiles comes home from school one day to find his bed has been swapped out for the larger bed in the guest room, the one that used to belong to his parents.
He blinks, brain still not making sense of the sight. His father drops a hand to his shoulder, squeezing tight, then goes downstairs to make dinner. No further explanations are necessary.
That night, Stiles dreams of his mother, of the feeling of her arms around him when she pulled him close, the smell of the hospital, the way she looked when she died. When he wakes up, there's an extra body in the bed, Lydia's nose pressed up against his.
"I didn't want to be alone," she says softly, terrified she'll be turned away . Stiles pulls her closer and doesn't say anything at all.
When Ethan and Aiden take off in the middle of the semester without so much as a goodbye, Lydia throws herself into research, learning what it means to be a banshee. She writes off her recurring nightmares as nothing more than an inconvenience, ignoring all of their attempts at comfort, but the moment Allison tugs her back down into the pile, Lydia bursts into tears against her shoulder.
Danny's a wreck, too, confused and betrayed, left with the knowledge that his boyfriend was something other, but with no acknowledgments as to how or why. Scott does his best to explain, but in the end, he drags Danny to Stiles' house, pushing him into the center of the bed while the rest of the pack curls around him.
"This is sort of weird, you know," Danny mutters, but he relaxes almost instantly, and Scott huffs a laugh against his shoulder.
Stiles wakes up one night to find Derek and Cora standing at the end of the bed. Both of them look torn between confusion and a longing so strong that his stomach clenches in sympathy.
Neither of them make a move to join them until Scott lifts his head. "You getting in here or what?" he asks, but even as the tension seeps out of both of their shoulders, they glance at each other, wary and hesitant.
"Get in the bed, or get out of my room," Stiles mutters, making the decision for them. Derek huffs and rolls his eyes, but he slips out of his shoes and huddles behind Stiles. Scott raises his eyebrow at Cora, who makes a face.
"I am doing this under protest," she mutters, even as she slips out of her jacket and crawls in at Lydia's back.
No one asks why they left, or why they came back. They fall into place with the rest of the pack like they've always been there, an empty space Stiles didn't realize existed until it was filled. Derek tries so damn hard to be helpful, like he has something to prove, but at night, he's as broken as the rest of them, sitting in the desk chair, watching over them while they sleep.
"Derek," Cora says softly, going over to him and rubbing her hand across his shoulders. She tugs him over to the bed and lays him down next to Stiles, places her hand on the back of his neck, and runs her fingers through his hair. Stiles follows her lead, hesitant at first as he places a hand on Derek's wrist, growing more confident when Derek leans into the touch.
"It's a werewolf thing," Cora says quietly, as if they need some form of explanation.
Scott shakes his head, leaning around Danny to brush his hand against her shoulder. "No. It's a pack thing," he says, and Stiles smiles.