He wasn't always like this. So funny and care free that is. He use to be wounded. A teary eyed boy in the crowed. But, for as funny and care free as he is, I know it's a mask. I've heard his screams at night. I've heard his pain filled sobs as he wakes from his night terrors night after night. I've seen the way he looks at his father. Eyes wide lip bitten as if it was the last time he would see the man. I've seen him at his best…and worse. With looks of pain painted across the canvas called his face. The abuse he goes through at the hands of his "friends".

But he doesn't care. And that is the hardest thing I have seen.

That someone as strong, as funny, as caring, as hero-inspiring as Stiles Stilinkski will stand to be abused for a second of recognition. For a millisecond of gratefulness from so called "friends". "Friends" that say they are there for him! That say they love him! But if that is true, where are they? Where are they when hes hurt? When hes crying? When he sits in an empty graveyard every Sunday at 4:30am because he misses his mothers loving hugs and caring words. Where are they when he needs them more than he needs the deafening silence of his empty house?

It is abuse of the worst kind. It is unintentional. It is careless. It is taking someone for granted that would die for you.

Stiles Stilinski is more than a friend. He is a hurt boy looking for a way out. He is a hero fighting for his life against kryptonite that just so happens to be lying in the ground wherever he takes a step. He is a fighter! Trying to find justice in a world that is corrupt and unfair. And he never stops.

That's what makes Stiles Stilinski all these things. That is what makes Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski. Because he could've ended it. He could've popped the pills I see him stare at in his hand every night. The pills that hold the power to end the pain. The pills that mock him, taunting him with temptation as if saying, "you're not worth it! No one would care! Do it! End your life! Theres no reason for you to be alive anyways!"

But he never takes them. He fights back. Because even though hes suffered, even though he is in pain, even though there are days he would rather not wake, he puts his mask on and keeps going.

He walks through the kryptonite like a true hero. He stays standing when all he wants to do is collapse. He keeps fighting even when the odds are against him.

And that's why I watch. Because I can see behind the mask. I can see the pain as it flits across his face day in and day out. I can see the internal struggle to keep breathing.

But I can also see the courage. I can see the strength behind the teary eyed boy. I can see the fight in his eyes, the determination set in his jaw. And maybe that's why I watch. Maybe that's why I observe. Because I know I don't have that. I know that I don't have the fight. I don't have the determination. All I have are the broken pieces of myself that I try to desperately put back together but always seem to fall back apart. Stiles Stilinski isn't just a hero. He is my hero. He is the one that I watch put the pills down every night as I echo his hand. As I put my own relief back into a small orange bottle that might as well read death.

He is his own rock. But he is also mine. And for that I am thankful. Because if it were not for his night terrors, his pain, his tears, his fight. I would be just like his mother. Buried 6 feet under. But I wouldn't have a son to visit me. I wouldn't have friends or family or loved ones bring flowers to my lifeless body. I would have nothing but a wooden box and a mask. Because though Stiles Stilinski hides behind a mask, he lets that mask crack.

He wears it thin and takes it off on rare occasions to give others a glance at what pain is. He takes it off to let others help him.

You see, I have a mask too. But mine is iron. Unbreaking and heavy. Weighing me down with the mistakes of my life. But every time the teary eyed boy in the crowd takes off that mask it gives me hope. It lightens the load of my own mask and shines some light in the darkness that is my heart.

So I will keep watching. I will continue to observe from a far. Because in those moments when that teary eyed boy drops his mask is when hope lightens mine. That is why my hero is the teary eyed boy that sits one desk up and two desks over at this exact moment. That is why my hero is Stile Stilinski.

I read over the essay with calculating eyes knowing this piece of paper meant more to me than a grade. The shrill bell rang overhead as all the students filtered out of the room handing our English teach their essays. I looked at mine with a knowing glance. No one could read this. No one could enter my life in such a personal way as this. I crumpled the paper shoving it in my backpack the only words visible are the few that make up the dreaded question at the top. The words our teacher thought were good as an ice breaker assignment. The words spelling out the least yet most complicated question. Who is your hero? And why?

I skittered out of the room. Face down hood up. My backpack weighing on my shoulders. I felt a body push into mine my backpack falling, papers being thrown everywhere. I quickly grabbed my bag not meeting the stranger's eyes and hurrying away. Little did I know that the random body was my hero. And in his hands held a single paper with the question, Who is your hero? And why?

A/N: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of the characters. I only own my oc. Please tell me what you think. Only a one-shot for now but if y'all want a full story tell me in the comments! Love y'all and happy reading 3