| steelxlungs : “Would it really kill you if we kissed?” |

“Lydia –” voice low, an attempt at remaining somewhat even. “–you’re drunk.” Firm as Hale takes a step back, puts space between them. He would say this was no way to conduct one’s self at a funeral but when the person being put in the ground is their old man? Derek would never hold anything against her. He also, would never take advantage of the situation. Stiles and him might not have been as close as they could have been – but Martin isn’t his to get involved with. He can only guess the scent to be whiskey on her breath, eyes can’t even glance at the ember in the bottle. Knows the way it sparkles and glistens, the coloring too much like Stiles’ eyes peering into his soul like they once did.
“We’re not going to do this. Let me get you some water.” Announced with no room for argument as Derek walks away, runs his hand over the scruff of one cheek. Tellers always die – and they die bloody. Why did he think Stiles would be any different in that regards? Maybe a sense of hope but now the question remained: who was going to take care of Lydia? Someone doesn’t just lose someone and walk away unscathed.