Hallelujah, Bright Eyes
It starts off slow. Slow enough you don't feel it. Slow like ice cream melting on a hot summer day, slowly then all at once. Because once it starts, it's over.
The one thing about Stiles that everyone noticed, were his eyes. They were bright; you could see everything and anything he was feeling in them. When he was sad they clouded over, when they were happy they shone brighter than any star. You can tell anything and everything that he was feeling when you looked into his eyes. It was beautiful. It's one of Derek's favorite things about Stiles.
"The only way to destroy them… is to become them." Deaton said as he explained to the pack, that demons like them were indestructible. They did not feel. They did not act like humans, because their humanity was ripped away. "You need to leave behind everything. Your soul. Your very essence."
"But how do we know that you won't become them?" Scott asked scrunching his nose in confusion. "Not that anyone is going to do it. There has to be another way."
"Essentially, you are like them, no soul, no emotions, and just one goal at mind. But you are still human, technically. You still have a moral compass and you still have thoughts you just don't have a soul." Deaton explained.
"So, you're still you—you just don't feel?" Stiles asked, leaning against the table looking contemplative.
"I, guess so. It's never been done before, so I don't know how to explain it." Deaton responded reading back into his book. Derek let out a low growl.
"If it's never been done before how do we know it'll work?" Derek barked out in annoyance, walking over to Deaton and clenching his fists.
"We don't know for sure." Deaton said calmly, keeping a placid face when dealing with Derek. "But as you've told me, when one accidentally attacked the other when Isaac ducked out of the way, the injury sustained."
"It doesn't even matter Derek." Stiles called from his spot, eyes flashing annoyance, "It's not like anyone's going to do it." Derek rigidly walked back to his old spot and attempted to calm down. "I know it's hard for all of us right now, but we just have to keep coming at them until they I don't know, get tired."
"Yeah, anyways, we have that point thing to keep them at bay while we keep researching. Eventually." Scott reassured as he walked over to Derek and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay."
The next few weeks passed in a blur for all of them. Fighting demons, going to school, dealing with familial problems. Eventually though, a breaking point had to come. A point of no return. The demons were only getting stronger, potion by potion, adjusting like white blood cells adjusted to illness.
Then it happened. Before all their eyes, another one of their own had fallen when their numbers were already so low and losses could not be withstood. A son lost his best friend. A son lost his super hero. A son lost his sun. A son lost his world. A son, lost his father.
The Sheriff had always been a good man; put his son over everything and anything. He let so many things go, and took in so many things that a normal father would regularly not be able to withstand. He'd taken in werewolves, he'd taken in people coming back from the dead, he'd taken in lizard monsters, and he'd taken in things of fantasy, and allowed them all to be real just because his son told him so. He'd accepted the god and the bad things; he'd never ever blame his son.
The Sheriff was a father to always remember, and his whole world, was his son. The boy he'd watch take his first steps, say his first word, find out he wasn't quite like the other kids and loved him anyway. The Sheriff, as disappointed as he acted, or how mad he got, or even how sad he got he'd love Stiles more than anything in the world—his boy, his last reminder of everything he loved before and after he was a father. A reminder of what he loved when he was just a husband, just a boy, and then what he loved when he was finally a man.
The Sheriff… would never allow anything to take his son away from him when he could protect him with everything he was.
Stiles refused to fight. He would not. He could not. Everything was pain, even when Scott was there. When Derek was there. When anyone was there. He just wanted to be alone. To be as empty as he felt. Those monsters took his father from him and now he was alone. Alone. He had nothing left. The only person that he'd give and take anything for, was gone. Sure he'd do the same for Scott or any of the pack, but it was his father. His father. And he was never, ever coming back.
Stiles was finally alone. Sixteen and an orphan. He wasn't old enough to be on his own, nor was he old enough to go to an orphanage.
Derek hated that, for weeks Stiles refused to come out of his house, refused to talk to anyone or say anything other than shouts of leaving him alone. Derek hated that his eyes were always misty with grief and onset tears. Derek wished for nothing more than to take the pain away, but Stiles would not talk to him, would not listen to him. The last time he held Stiles was when he pulled the younger boy away from his father's body. Tears were fresh and he clung to Derek like a lifeline, trying to figure out of this was really reality or if someone was playing a trick on him. But. The result never changed. His father was dead, it was his fault, and there was nothing Derek could do to make Stiles feel better.
No one thought it was a surprise, that the first thing Stiles did when he left was ignore them. To be alone but walk around with his head held high, with dignity, only to show that he was strong. That nothing could break him, that his father taught him to be strong.
Slowly though, the walked seemed less, and less fake. Like the stopped caring about the world around him and how everything felt. Slowly you could see his eyes dilating less and less, see them slowly lose the shine. Then, one day, it was like nothing.
Stiles was nothing. A shell. Empty.
"Stiles." Scott finally said, six pack meetings had passed and finally Stiles had come to one. "Are you okay?" Derek saw Scott scrunch up his nose like he did when something didn't seem right—or smell right.
"I'm fine." Stiles said eyes dull, voice placid.
"You don't... smell." Scott insisted, walking over to his best friend, trying to take a deeper breathe of the other's scent. "You always smell like something because you always feel something. Like, you generally smell like cinnamon, which I've figured is the smell of sarcasm."
"Really? Good to know." Stiles said batting an eyelash like he was bored before brushing his best friend off like nothing. "So, what do we know about the demons? Where are they striking next?"
"… We're avoiding them Stiles, they're too powerful." Scott spoke, calmly, slowly, finally catching something off.
"So you don't know." Stiles asked, looking down at the map they'd marked up of all the demon encounters to protect others. "You're just letting them attack people and kill them."
"Stiles, what did you do." Scott said, pulling his best friend up, Derek could only watch because he realized right when Scott did. "Stiles, please tell me you didn't—"
"Didn't what Scott? Sell my soul?" Stiles asked, blinking and then grinning with too much effort. "Because I couldn't tell you that."
"Stiles, why did." Scott said, a strong wave of rage wafting over him. "Why didn't you say anything, why didn't you tell anyone." He asked, trying hard not to lose his cool.
"What? Tell you that my decision to give up my soul. To get rid of these monsters? It's not your business, Scott. It's my choice, everything I do is my choice. You couldn't have convinced me either way, if I told you or not. I just thought I'd save us both the effort." Stiles said, and then yawned before brushing Scott off. "You don't have the information I need, so I'm going."
"Why." Derek finally asked, voice low. Stiles looked at him, eyes blank, unnerving and inhumane.
"Because I have nothing left." Stiles whispered, voice hitching ever so slightly before twisting a smile on his face. "Because my whole world was torn apart. You, of all people Derek, should understand."
"You had me. You had us." Derek's voice was so low, he wondered if he actually even spoke at all.
"You weren't enough." Stiles said, before turning on them and walking out of the room. Leaving behind everything and everyone he once loved. Everything he once cared about.
It starts off slowly. Slow enough that you don't feel it, but you know what's happening. His hands tightened against the last of the monsters; then again he was not one to call other's monsters. He reached inside its chest, as it did the same to him. It was like a game of chicken, both feeling the other's hand wrapped around their hearts. A simple tug would set them both out, bleeding and left for dead.
Dying wasn't what Stiles' had expected. Maybe it was the lack of feeling, the lack of expression. But the one thing that did surprise him, in his last moments was that he was not alone. Then again, it would have surprised him if he could be surprised. They watched as his already dull eyes became duller, until finally there was nothing left in them.
It starts off slowly, then all at once. That's what losing someone feels like. It hurts, it hurts looking at them, thinking about them. But then it stops. And you stop feeling it. You lose the piece of your soul that was them.