Stiles slammed his laptop shut as he walked over to the widow, cracking it so he could speak to Summer. “H-hey… Uh… Whatcha doing?”
“I would have blamed me. Can you — try not to feel quite so hard? You’re making it worse.” Summer sniffled, smearing at more tears.
“I’m not really good at holding back my emotions, if you hadn’t noticed. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out cause you’re in pain and I can’t really do anything about it and it was kinda my fault.”
She bit her tongue on a gasp and glared at him. She hadn’t meant to look at him, dammit Stiles. “I didn’t have to offer to try to fix it. Could’ve left you there. Could’ve done it the other way.” It felt like things were starting to slow down, before another huge spasm bent her back into a bow. “‘s not your fault,” she forced out, and then it let her go, it all let her go, and she slumped back over, panting.