TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE
My first fanfic, and it's really depressing.. oops. Reviews appreciated, and yeah :)
Italic, summarizing his life basically, the first is my quote, the second is from a poem.
Bold, canon quotes.
Such a beautiful young boy, yet so broken and addicted to anything that makes the pain stop for a little while. A bruise, a cut, a burn, a bottle. And nothing ever really worked, but even those things were nothing compared to his mind.
"I'm fine. Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant overwhelming crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen."
They all thought it was the recent events, the literal danger they were in. And yeah, okay, maybe part of it was. But nobody knew the things he hid. The closest of his friends were aware of his anxiety. However, not anyone, not even Scott knew the true extent of his agony. The cuts, the burns and bruises, the way he'd drink anything alcoholic to the point of unconsciousness just to forget his sorrows for a while. There were nights he'd cry as he bled, wishing he had the guts to cut deeper. Other nights, he'd be numb. He'd lie in bed staring at the ceiling, doing nothing but breathing, although he wished he wasn't doing that either, because really, being dead, is so much better than being alive in his life.
"I remember everything I did. And the worst part, is I remember liking it."
He screwed his own life up years ago. But that just wouldn't do, would it? No, he had to fuck with everyone else's too. They all tried to say it wasn't his fault, and he never could've stopped it, but he saw it in their eyes. Blame. Anger. But most of all, hurt. His best friends, hurt because of him. Because he killed people. Allison died because of him, Aiden died because of him. Two good people, maybe not completely innocent, but good people, were killed because of him. He killed his best friend's first love, his life-long crush's best friend. And god even knows what Aiden and Lydia were, but they were something. But he's long gone, and it's all Stiles fault. And he liked what he was doing.
"It's you. It's all you. You know, every day I saw her lying that hospital slowly dying - I thought, "how the hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own? This hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life?" It's all you. It's you, Stiles. You killed your mother. You hear me? You killed her. And now you're killing me."
Maybe he couldn't have been to blame for his mother's death, how would that be possible? But maybe he is killing his father. He dragged the Sheriff into so much danger, even for someone in the police force. He was the reason his father so nearly lost his job. He was the reason the Darach was after the Sheriff. Sure he isn't dead, but it's so close.
"I wanna help, you know? But I can't do the things that you can do."
Useless. Weak. Helpless. Okay, he was only human, like other ordinary people. But among his friends, he was the only one. Scott, the true Alpha who was incredibly powerful but would always find a way to save everyone, even people against the pack. Lydia, the Banshee who could hear things that helped find those in danger. Malia, the strong one who could fight to save what she cared about. Liam, maybe younger but incredibly strong and smart, even when he was still learning. Kira, the one who could always be counted on to defend the pack. But Stiles? Nothing.
"I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse."
Oh, he knew. He'd always been alone, except for a couple months with Malia. But after Malia, he had nobody. He was more alone than he'd ever known. He didn't even have Scott, his brother. Scott left because he didn't trust Stiles. Malia left for Theo, because he saved her life when Stiles wasn't even there. Lydia, even if she wasn't really there to start with, was with Parrish, the strong cop who taught her to defend herself. It's sad really; he only ever had those three, and they all left.
"What if it's agony now, and then hell later on?"
He said this over a year before, and he was right. It was hell. Fuck, it was unbearable. Every day, every night, he constantly asked himself if anyone ever actually thought for a second that he was good enough. If anyone cared at all. If they'd notice if he disappeared. Back when he was possessed by the Nogitsune, they said he was void. And void, by dictionary definition, is empty. So silly them, he was always void. They just didn't care enough to notice.
"You mean, if he dies, do I die? I don't care."
He meant it. He followed with an explanation of how he meant it was so he hurt nobody else, and it was true, but that wasn't it. He was tired of living a life like his. He'd tried, he really did. But he couldn't. Not anymore. He was only human, after all. He wasn't a kitsune, a werewolf, a werecoyote, a Banshee. He only had so much strength in him, and he just had none left by this time. He believed everyone had their time; his was now.
"How did I even get so lonely? That, I never knew. But I was. And it hurt, and it hurt so much more than this does. I just want to apologize. For what I did do and what I didn't. For getting everyone hurt, for being a hyperactive nobody, for not being able to save everyone like you guys could. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me for not saying anything. Partly because I tried, and partly because I couldn't make you all understand when I didn't understand either. But anyway. I'm just sorry, okay? Goodbye, Stiles." He wrote the note several times, hands shaking and tears falling, until he finally got it neat and he got the words write. And then he did what he'd been wanting to do for years.
He tied the rope, and jumped.
Living this life, he could no longer handle, he hung himself, and his feet just dangled. His face turned blue, his body turned white, the cuts on his wrist, what an awful sight.