Stiles never liked you tagging along and it wasn’t because you didn’t understand the concept of being quiet or the fact that you could easily stumble over air but because he didn’t want you getting hurt. He could handle the cuts and bruises he would sustain from that night but he couldn’t handle the thought of you wearing the same markings.
He didn’t want to admit that he started to care for you. And despite trying convince both himself and Scott of this, he knew deep down, he couldn’t ever truly deny it. Stiles tried so hard to be as ignorant and slightly more sarcastic with you than the others, solely to get you to drift away from him. He wanted you to keep away and eventually cut him off because he knew that as long as he was friends with Scott, he couldn’t risk anyone else that he cared about getting injured.
But, when you showed up at school late at night because you had forgotten your Chemistry textbook, his fear turned into reality. You had stumbled into a fight you weren’t prepared for. Fortunately for you, all you had to deal with was a broken arm and a sprained ankle. The cut under your eye would heal and the bruises would fade, those weren’t a big deal to you. But they were to him.
Stiles swore to himself that he would never let another being harm you in any way. Because he couldn’t fight it anymore, he couldn’t battle the butterflies and urge to move the strands of hair that fell from your neatly groomed hair. You could see the change in him when he scooped you up from the floor, he hadn’t said a word to you and in a way, he didn’t have to. It made sense to you with his act of being the one to take you to the hospital. You meant something to him and little did he know, Stiles meant a great deal to you.