A/N PLEASE READ! PLEASE READ! PLEASE READ! PLEASE READ! PLEASE READ! A/N

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Hey guys! so. this is my first fanfic, so any helpful hints on how to improve my writing would be amazing! and please no hate. I have not yet developed a schedule to update this story, but I will updating as much as possible as fast as possible. But my mind does not stick to one story idea 24/7, which can be a problem. So, I'm apologizing in advance for any long periods of time where I do not update. I also have no idea if I want it to be a Sterek or Stydia end-game fanfic yet, so please roll with me. Sorry, I know I'm asking a lot of you. Now that I'm done rambling, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my fanfic!

(And I know some things won't make sense since it takes place after 3b but before 4 and Stiles is still in Chemistry, but roll with it, please. Thank you so much!)

OH AND FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY JACKSON NEVER WENT TO LONDON. AND GERARD FOUND A WAY TO GET BETTER, SO YEAH. HE'S ALIVE AND WELL. JUST NOT LIVING WITH CHRIS AND ALLISON.

- Cc

Stiles don't know why it hurts. He knew why they were doing this. Why the pack was ignoring him. He killed Allison. He killed Aiden. He was responsible for every single death during the nogistune. Stiles was responsible for every death in Beacon Hills before the nogistune, during the nogistune, and after it. It was all his fault.

So, why did it hurt? Why did it hurt if he understood why the pack was pushing him away? They blamed him, and he couldn't bitch about it. Stiles blamed himself too.

Stiles didn't believe them when they said that "Stiles, Its not your fault." ,"It wasn't you.", "I Don't blame you, I just need time.", "we need time."

They stopped talking to him, stopped sitting with him at lunch. Stiles no longer attended pack meetings. He didn't do anything with the pack. Not anymore. And this wasn't his doing. They needed time. They needed to grieve. They couldn't grieve if they always saw their friends' killer. If they always saw Stiles.

He understood. He blamed myself too. And when he started loosing weight, loosing energy, loosing sleep, loosing will, he didn't do anything. Stiles thought deserved it.

Stiles knows he's a killer.

His Dad knew. He knew everything. So he didn't seek him out when he started taking as many extra hours as possible. When he stopped eating the dinner Stiles had prepared for him. When he looked at Stiles with such disappointment, sadness, and worst of all, fear.

On the few days he got sleep, the dead would talk to him. His mother would scream and yell at him. Blame Stiles for her death, insult him, call him a monster. Aiden, Boyd, Erica, Allison. They all did. Even Scott, Derek, Isaac, and Lydia often joined in on the shaming as well.

And Stiles believed them. Because they were right. What they were saying was true. So he allowed himself to get thinner, to constantly feel the burn of hunger in his stomach. He allowed himself to have a constant headache from lack of sleep, allowed himself to be alone.

he was used to it now.

Being alone.

Stiles deserved it. He deserved the torture.

Stiles deserved to be alone.

So that's what he was.

Alone.

...

Stiles woke up choking. he was having a panic attack, and he let it fester for a moment. He deserved the lack of air; and the pain that came with it.

So when he started to calm down Stiles was confused. He hadn't made any move to calm himself down. He almost, and a torturous way, wanted it to last longer.

Stiles looked down when his fingers felt slick. blood was underneath his fingernails and slowly dripping down his fingers and forearm. During the panic attack he must have managed to dig his fingernails in to his forearm, and there were five crescent shaped cuts where his fingers pierced his skin to prove it.

Pain. That was what brought Stiles out of his attack. And for some reason, it felt better. Pain. The pain and bleeding felt better than the panic attack. It gave me a grounded feeling, like he could control myself, but it still gave him a sense of punishment for letting his friends die.

Stiles glanced at the alarm clock on his dresser. 6:30a.m. He realized he was running out of time to get ready for school, and would have to clean up his arm and find clothes to cover it so Scott or the rest of the pack wouldn't question him. That added about 15 minutes to his already behind schedule.

Stiles rushed to the bathroom and stripped down, almost forgetting to take off his boxers before jumping in the shower. He focused on washing his arm, fingers, and anywhere else he saw blood, so no werewolves would smell it on him.

...

Stiles pulled up to the school, dread running through him at lightning speed. He didn't want to deal with teachers'- mainly 's- bullshit right now. He was worried that he might- never mind, he was worried about when he would back talk one of the teachers and get in serious trouble.

Just as Stiles climbed out of the jeep, the bell rang, and Stiles groaned. His first period was Mr. Harris. Stiles might as well earn detention early, and get it over with, since it was basically inevitable with his current mood.

He hightailed it to his locker to grab his Chemistry book, then to the actual class. Stiles slammed through the door, causing everyone, including Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Danny, Jackson, Ethan, and Malia.

Mr. Harris stopped talking, turned to Stiles, and glared. "Is there a reason why you're late, Mr. Stilinski?" Stiles rolled his eyes before walking to his seat behind Scott while talking. "Sorry Mr. Harris. Someone told me to go to hell, and at first I couldn't find it, but now I'm here."

The class erupted in to laughter, and Mr. Harris was outraged. " Well, Mr. Stilinski, you just earned yourself detention after school." Stiles shrugged, "Not surprised. And I'm sure it'll be packed full of students who did nothing wrong because you're just a big dick." Mr. Harris sat down, his face red. "One more word Stilinksi and you'll be going to the principal's office." Stiles glared at as he began teaching again.

Scott turned to look at me. "Dude, you ok? You smell like blood" Stiles did his best not to physically wince and forced a grin. "Yeah man, just tripped on my shoelace on my way in and cut up my arm."

Scott snorted and turned back around, seemingly buying the lie. Stiles was shocked. Because like, what the hell? Not that he wasn't happy Scott bought it, but he was a fucking werewolf. Weren't they supposed to be lie detectors? Or had Stiles simple become to good at lying that werewolves couldn't tell the difference? He wouldn't be surprised. He'd been lying about how he's feeling and things like that since his mom died.

...

Stiles had just closed his locker and was about to begin his trek to the jeep to go home, when Scott jogged towards him, still in his lacrosse gear, all sweaty.

Right. Stiles was no longer on the team. He got kicked off. He forgot Scott would be finished with practice at the same time he finished with detention. He quickly turned around and tried to escaped the cursed hallway between Scott got to him.

He didn't have the energy to act happy, like nothing was wrong right now.

"Hey, Stiles!" Stiles stopped mid-step, wincing a little. It looks like he'll have to manage with what little energy he had left.

"Scotty, ma boy! What's up?" Stiles turned around and practically skipped over to Scott with a almost too big grin on his face.

"Hey, listen. There's a pack meeting tonight at 8. Can you come? We have some important stuff to talk about."

Stiles nearly beamed. They wanted to talk to him. They invited him to a pack meeting! His chest swelled with happiness he hasn't felt in to long, and he was ready to cry tears of joy. Oh how Stiles had missed this feeling, The feeling of happiness.

"Yeah, of course! I'll even cook up something to eat during the meeting!" They bro-hugged, and parted their ways, With Scott heading towards the locker rooms with a depressed like walk, and Stiles literally skipping to his jeep. He had caught sight of Scott's walk, confused, because Scott only walked like that when he had bad news, but he ignored it because he was so damn happy.

...

Stiles walked up to the loft, a container full of beef wellington that he had spent three hours slaving over. He struggled to open the door, which he thought was weird, because before the nogistune, the pack would hear him coming and smell the food he often brought and would be waiting be the open wide door, looking like puppies begging for food.

Pack meetings were usually lighthearted when there were no villains, filled with laughter, movies, food, and pack piles. But when Stiles walked in the loft it looked... depressing. Scott, Malia, Isaac, Scott, Malia, and Lydia were a lounging around in the living room, but still somehow seeming, tense. Peter was sitting on the stairs, staring at the food currently being balanced in his hands. Derek was no where to be seen.

Stiles walked in to the kitchen and placed the food down on a counter before making his way back to the group. Derek was by the door when he walked in. The door was open.

"Stiles." Derek looked at him expectantly, like Stiles should have already known what Derek was trying to say.

"You're out of the pack. Leave. You're no longer wanted, or needed. I'm not sure you every were."

"What?" Stiles blinked. He really should have seen this. How could the pack forgive him for killing all those people? He let the nogistune in. He let them die. Their blood is on his hands.

"Stiles, I said you're out of the pack. You cause too much damage, and you're just meat that we have to protect. dead weight. So, for the better of the people in the pack that actually matter, to protect them, you're out. Goodbye Stiles." Derek motioned to the door, waiting for him to leave.

Stiles looked around the room. Scott, his best friend- his brother. Scott was looking at him, albeit sadly, but saying nothing. Malia, his ex-girlfriend, was glaring at him. But that was expected. They did break up, after all. Lydia was looking at the ground. Isaac, he was staring at the wall beside him, as if he didn't hear what had just come out of Derek's mouth.

Peter had a almost permanent looking frown on his face. He stood up, and began walking towards Derek. With sudden realization, Stiles noticed that Peter was the only one responding. Peter, who Stiles never really liked and didn't talk to very often."Derek, what the actual fuck? Are you out of your mind? You think this pack is going to last without Stiles? This pack is SHIT without Stiles, and you expect-"

"Okay."

Peter stopped, taken aback. The whole pack looked shocked.

"What?" Peter asked, taking a step backwards.

"I said okay."

Stiles, well Stiles didn't care anymore. He was tired. tired of fighting, tired of being ignored, tired of being left out.

He wasn't angry, or sad. He wasn't sad anymore. He was just tired. Tired of Beacon Hills. Tired of all the dying, the fighting, the lies. Hell, he's tired of his life. Stiles just didn't care anymore. He was done.

He turned on his heel slowly, eyes not even watering, and walked out of the open door without a word. He climbed in to his jeep, and drove home. To where no one was waiting for him.

That's it for now. Sorry if it was a bit fast paced, I was just really excited to write the part at the end. Please leave your thoughts about my fanfic in the comments and heart/vote. It would mean a lot to me.

Until next time,

- Cc