A/N: Big thanks to my beta reader Cami for giving me feedback and helping fix my ridiculous spelling errors. If there's anything still in there, it's my bad.

The shadows are closing in. It feels sort of
like drowning, but different somehow. Almost like a panic attack, but it's
strangely calm and, almost... relieving. There's a sense of resignation to the
inevitable: a sense that there's no use fighting it and he might as well just
let it take him. The darkness creeps up around his neck and starts to pour into
his mouth. It fills him with emptiness.

The darkness leaves his eyes for last, seemingly trying to avoid them. But, it
comes time for it to engulf him completely and it has no choice. Dark fringes
creep around the corners, the snow white flesh becoming a part of the void.

At the last moment, when all that's left are the green-flecked, hollowed, amber
rings of life, the darkness is stung away. Light pours from his eyes like some
sort of faucet, forcing the darkness away.

He tries to grab it, pull the shroud of thick, dark nothingness back around
him; but it flees, recoiling against something inside of him.

He cries out for it to return, to bring back the soothing numbness. But it's
far gone. He's surrounded by a sea of multicolored swirls. It looks like he
imagines the universe does outside of the galaxy. It's bright, not as bright as
his own light, but bright all the same. And it's cold, harshly so. And, despite
his sensing, knowing that he is not, he feels utterly alone.

Stiles jolts back to reality from where he lies, curled in the fetal position
on the floor if his bedroom next his desk. Dripping with a cold sweat, he takes
gasping breaths, trying to ease the burning sensation in his lungs.

After he regains enough of his composure to not be a puddle on the floor, he
drags himself up and looks intensely toward the clock on his nightstand.
2:43am. Last time he checked it, he was sitting in the chair next to him now,
staring blankly at his physics textbook and wondering how passing his test in
the morning could possibly be on his priorities list when there is so much
other, much more drastic stuff going on. Then, the time had read: 1:13am.

It's been going like this for some time now. Ever since the whole
recharge-the-magic-stump-by-sacrificing-their-lives-for-their-parents thing.
Stiles isn't surprised. Not really. Deaton said that there would be side
effects. He said that dying like that and coming back brought a sort of
darkness around their hearts. But, he didn't really understand what Deaton had
meant. The darkness he feels doesn't feel like some outside force. It's not the
shadow that shrouds him and abandons him in his dreams whenever he accidentally
falls asleep. The darkness is a desire. It's the want, the longing press on his
will that Stiles feels. He wants that darkness to come back. He wants to stop
trying to fight it off. He doesn't want to worry about anything anymore. He
doesn't want to see how his dad looks at him now, proud but so worried. He
doesn't want to look at the people in school and see how blissfully unaware
they are of all the danger in the world. He doesn't want to look at Scott and
Allison, see that same want lingering over them: a part of them. He doesn't
want to face the world. He wants the numbing void that filled him up, still
does in his dreams.

He wants to die.

.oOo.

"So..." Isaac draws out. He's been avoiding the actual question for
some time now. But, inevitably, he had to ask. "With Derek gone and you
having... ascended the ranks, I guess..." They're sitting at the lunch
table: Scott, Allison, Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac. It seems so empty. It has for
a while, really. Erica and Boyd are gone, so is Jackson, but in a different
way. It's just the five of them now. Scott looks expectantly at the other
werewolf and Isaac shifts uncomfortably, preparing to spit it out. "Are
you my Alpha now?"

Scott puts his fork down gently on his lunch tray. Considering, he responds
sincerely, "I don't know. Does it feel like I am?"

Isaac looks more uncomfortable now. Stiles' mood sinks a little, not that it
had far to go, because Isaac had been doing so well. He was adjusting to social
structures. He was even cracking jokes. And now. Now he's right back where he
was: abandoned and feeling worthless. Sure, he and Allison have been hanging
out. Stiles isn't blind, though Scott may be. He can see that there's some sort
of spark there. He's sure it won't last long though. There's too much between
Scott and Allison. Isaac will find someone.

"It..." Isaac starts, trying to feel out the right answer. "It
doesn't exactly feel like it did with Derek," he explains. "But, then
again, it's not like a connection to other Betas. It's stronger. I'm just not
sure if it's you being my Alpha or you being my friend."

Lydia blows swiftly through her nose, clearly not entertained by the
conversation. "Do you have some input, Lydia?" Scott asks harshly,
turning away from the contemplative Beta.

She gives him an only vaguely derisive look before she speaks, "Nothing in
particular. It's just: Don't you think that it's all a bit depressing? Two of
the old pack are dead, two have gone AWOL, Jackson's in London, and now there's
just five of us, not necessarily counting Ethan and Aiden. Plus, three of you
died and came back to life while the other two of us and Scott's weird Druid
vet boss held you under. After all of that, are we really concerned with how
much Scott feels like an Alpha? He's seventeen, all of us are. I'm not saying
we're not mature. I mean, we've all got battle scars and we know how life is.
Aren't we just a tad young and unprepared for what Deaton tells us is
coming?"

The group just sits in silence for a bit, mulling over what's been said.
"She's right," Stiles says, sounding uncharacteristically defeated.
The group looks at him, not shocked by his strange new outlook, but not
encouraged by his words either. "We don't know what we're going to be up
against and I don't think we're strong enough to face anything right now. But,
what do we do to prepare?" He can feel the darkness in his chest build as
he looks around the table.

Lydia's face contorts a bit. "Wait: We're just giving up?" Stiles looks
at her blankly as she stares him down. "You are giving up?"
she pauses for dramatic effect, pointing a finger at Stiles and raising her
voice, though not loud enough to draw attention in the lunch room. "You've
been chasing after me for years, with zero
chance of getting anywhere. You never give up! What's going on around here?
What about Ethan and Aiden? They can help us. And Deaton. And the less crazy
side of Allison's family. And really, someone has got to call Derek and get his
furry ass back here. Who does he think he is gallivanting off like that? Psssh."
Lydia takes a vicious bite of her apple to conclude her little tirade, looking
elsewhere while the group recovers from collective shock at her outburst.

"Uh. Yeah. Ok," Stiles fumbles, not sure exactly how to respond. He
doesn't really notice, but the darkness is pulling back. Just a little.