Stiles Stilinski was gripping his bedsheets, sweat covering his face and chest.
"Allison!" Lydia screamed in his dream, just like she had the night before.
His eyes flew open, his dream waking him with a start.
It's because of you Lydia's best friend is dead, He thought.
This was not new information to Stiles. He thought about it every day. But lately, he had been thinking about it multiple times a day. Allison Argent was dead because of him. Lydia had less people in her life that she loved because of him.
The guilt was weighing on him like an anchor.
Not only was he thinking about Allison, he was thinking about his Mother. He was thinking about how she was scared of him, even when he was nine years old. She thought he was ruining her life, out to get her. Like he was capable of harming her.
Not only was he thinking about Allison, and his Mother, he was thinking of how his Father, too, blamed him. It was Stiles' fault that his Mother was dead. His fault that his parents were no longer a team, but his Father was left as a single parent to a hyperactive little shit of a son. Always causing trouble. Mischief.
Stiles ran a hand through his damp hair, tossing over. He knew he would never be able to get back to sleep. He had so little sleep these days.
His thoughts were haunting him.
Little did Stiles know, a demon was taking up residence in his head.
"Have you noticed Stiles is a little... off lately?" Lydia asked Scott as she shut her locker.
"Yeah," Scott agreed. "He definitely doesn't seem himself." Scott rearranged the text books under his elbow. "I know his Dad is working more than usual, but I don't think that has anything to do with Stiles' mood."
Stiles was standing at his locker, staring in front of him, not blinking. One hand was in his pocket and the other was holding the locker door. He suddenly started to shake his head.
Lydia and Scott both crossed the short distance to Stiles' locker, eyebrows knotting in concern.
"Stiles?" Lydia asked gently.
Stiles broke his stare, blinking, then turned to face Lydia as a tear fell down his face.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, then shut his locker, turned, and stormed out of Beacon Hills highschool.
He kept his head down until he reached his Jeep, his vision blurring at the amount of tears threatening to spill over.
They'd be better off without you, He thought. Why didn't his inner monologue sound anything like his real voice? It sounded deeper. More threatening. But it didn't matter. Not at that moment. All Stiles could think was how he could stop hurting those he loved.
He started his car and peeled out of the parking lot, his last moments with his Mother a constant reel in his head. Why couldn't he think of anything else?
Stiles went for a long drive on back roads, music blaring. He had the windows down - anything to help him shake this feeling. He drove for hours until he nearly ran out of gas, until the skies were dark.
When he got home, he was alone like usual. His Father had been working all hours lately. Probably to get away from you, He thought.
Stiles set his keys down on the counter, staring around his dark foyer. The living room was dark. The hallway was dark. The kitchen was dark. All he wanted to do was turn on the light to drown out some of the darkness in his head, but it was like he couldn't lift his arm up to flip the switch. He dragged his feet to the staircase, sitting on the bottom step.
What's the point?
"Leave me alone," He said out loud, his voice raspy.
Like a tape, he thought of Lydia screaming for Allison as she died. It was on replay in his mind. You left her alone after that. You, Scott, everyone. Her heart was breaking after losing her best friend, and you selfish pricks didn't do anything to help her.
"I didn't mean to." Stiles whimpered into the dark.
You're like cancer, He thought. You're affecting everyone around you. You're a disease.
"No," He whispered, gripping at his hair. He wanted to rip the thoughts out of his mind.
Everyone would be better off without you.
"Get out of my head!" Stiles screamed. It felt like he ripped his throat apart with the force. Tears rolled down his face once more. Why couldn't he get the thoughts out of his mind?
He took the stairs two at a time, slamming his bedroom door as he entered the room.
It's all your fault, he thought.
He sat at his desk and pulled a notebook out of the drawer. He wrote his thoughts down as quickly as they came, dodging the thoughts of his parents as best he could. He wrote out all his thoughts for her.
Have you talked to Stiles since he left school? Scott texted Lydia. He sat in his bedroom, textbooks and novels littering his bed. Catching up on school had been difficult since this whole werewolf business started.
His phone beeped a couple seconds later with a reply. I texted him, but nothing yet. You?
Nothing. Scott wrote. I might go by there later. Or call. Lots of homework.
Let me know what you do. I'm worried about him. Lydia texted back.
Me too. Scott typed back, then dropped his phone lightly on his pillow. He cracked the next textbook he needed, biting the end of his pencil as he concentrated on the Math problem in front of him. He would call Stiles as soon as he was done with this page.
Scott woke up a few hours later to a heavy banging on his door. He tried to shake the sleep from his brain as he surveyed his bed. He must have fallen asleep doing Math equasions, the textbook still cracked open under him. His notebook and pencil was on the floor, as was the novel he had to read for English. The Science textbook was still perched on his bed. He hadn't even started his Science homework yet.
He groaned as the banging on his door resumed. He had just gotten off his bed to let whoever it was in when the door opened. Lydia stood there looking absolutely wrecked.
"Lydia? What is it?" Scott said worriedly.
"I - I don't know." Lydia choked back a sob. "I feel... I feel like I need to scream."
Scott got off the bed and shrugged on a sweater. "Then scream." He prompted.
"I can't." Lydia's eyes teared up. "I don't know what is happening or to whom. I just know I feel like I'm being pulled towards something."
"Let's go to wherever you feel like you're being pulled to, then." Scott offered.
Lydia nodded and pulled her arms tighter around her core. Something felt very off. She felt as if she was going to unravel.
The two left Scott's room, taking the stairs as quickly as they could. Scott locked the door behind him and they found themselves in Lydia's small car.
Lydia got behind the wheel and took a deep, wavering breath.
"Okay, just... just drive wherever you feel like you're being led or pulled to, okay?"
Lydia nodded slowly, starting the car. She pulled straight out in front of her, driving slowly along the road.
It felt like there was static in her brain.
She shook her head so slightly, as if that would get rid of it.
"What did Stiles say when you called him?"
Lydia turned right at the intersection, then straight along that street for quite a bit.
Scott looked a little sheepish. "Well, all I remember is doing a couple Math problems and then I woke up when you banged on my door."
"You didn't call him?" Lydia turned left suddenly.
"I fell asleep."
Lydia bit her lip and tried to keep the tears that welled in her eyes from spilling over.
"Lydia?"
She accelerated as she took the next turn, then, suddenly, stomped on the breaks when she felt the static crescendo.
"Lydia -" Scott's voice broke. "Lydia why are we at Stiles' house?"
Lydia just shook her head as she pulled at the handle of her car door.
They walked up to the house silent, Scott noting that Stiles' Jeep was in the driveway. The Sheriff's car was not.
"Hello?" Scott called as he opened the side door and stepped inside. Please, please, he thought. He knew what Lydia's premonitions meant.
"Upstairs." Lydia whispered.
Scott turned on the hall light so they could see where they were going, and took the stairs two at a time until he realized Lydia wasn't following him.
She looked up at Scott and slowly placed her foot on the bottom stair. She could do this. Her feeling was wrong. She had been wrong before.
She took a deep breath once more and met Scott in the middle of the staircase, placing her hand in his. They were both shaking.
When they reached Stiles' room, the door was closed but the light was on. Scott pushed the door open with a creak.
He immediately turned to block the room to shield it from Lydia's view, but it was too late.
The scream that came out of Lydia shattered every light in the Stilinski house.
I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry that I've hurt you all as much as I have. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment. I'm sorry I killed the person you both loved most in this world.
Tell my Dad I'm sorry for being such a dick. Such a hard kid to try and parent. And tell him I'm sorry for killing Mom. I loved her so much. Both of them. I'm sorry I killed her, too.
What doesn't kill you makes you want to die. Seeing all the ones you love broken from the things you've done to them? It makes you want to die. There's a hole inside of me that I'm never going to be able to fill. It's getting bigger, and bigger, and there's nothing left of me. The ghosts are growing around me, haunting me. My Mom, Allison, the people I've killed - I just
I know this must be a weight off your shoulders. But I get it - I do.I feel like the ground isn't mine to walk on. I'm just so tired, and sometimes all that's left to do is sleep.
Please try and remember me as someone you both once liked. Try not to remember me as someone who fucked up both of your lives so much. Please don't remember me as her killer.
Please forgive what I have done.
Stiles.
Lydia was clad in a black dress and a black sweater. She knocked on Scott's door, where he seemed to be waiting for her.
She wasn't wearing any makeup because she couldn't stop crying. She had to put a cold compress over her eyes before she left the house today to try and depuff.
"Are you ready?" She asked Scott. Her voice was hoarse from the screaming and crying she had done over the last couple of days.
Scott nodded, searching for his car keys. He was wearing short black khakis and a black shirt. He hadn't done much talking over the last couple days. When he did, it was mostly "I should've done something. I should've known. I should've seen it."
Lydia bit back the tears, holding the door open for Scott.
They walked the short distance to his Mom's car and they both climbed in.
"What are you thinking?" He finally asked her. It was a stupid question, he thought.
"Something Stiles said to me once - 'death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives without you in it.'"