HOLY CRAP I AM ALIVE.
So since I have last been around, I have moved across the country twice, gotten a new, healthier significant other, and fallen in love with a new fandom.

Without further ado, please proceed to the good stuff. :)

Warnings: Angst, hints of self-harm, character death, future slash, I fully expect this story to blossom into a lovely M-Rated fic. So be ready for that. No slash for the time being, but I think this will head toward Void/Stiles with some Scott/Stiles thrown in the mix.

Also this is a WIP/drabble. I have ideas for it to be longer, but as we know, I'm not the best at finishing WIPs. I don't know how often/when/if that will happen. Fair warning.

D/c: Of course this is a work of fiction and I own nothing except my thoughts.

A/n: This is inspired by a delightfully angsty playlist I made that started from an Tumblr/Livejournal challenge. It was a prompt for a challenge, but I didn't make it in time for the claiming. So I did it anyway. Sorrynotsorry.

Save me
(from myself)

He's by himself, but he's not alone. He stares into the dark, eyes unfocused toward the ceiling. He is numb.

Stiles lay in his bed, eyes burning with exhaustion and unshed tears. The gears in his head were louder than ever. There was a constant static, a never-ending pressure from the inside of his skull. And there was a fear so powerful that it took over his entire body.

He wasn't dumb. Far from it, really. He knew everything was wrong. He was slipping away from reality every second of every day. He pretended he was okay, he lashed out, he shied away from everyone who loved him. Because he knew.

He'd stopped denying it to himself when everything looked like he was on acid. Words melted off his papers, half the time his vision flickered and strobed like a bad movie, hell, he saw shit that wasn't there and couldn't even exist. There were voices in his head and it was safe to say he was losing it.

But there was no way in all of hell and eternity that he would ever tell anyone. Bad vision can be fixed. Hearing voices however, was a one-way ticket to a lobotomy.

His breath shook and he rubbed his eyes almost painfully, trying to turn off his brain. His fingers itched to claw at something, break something, destroy something, anything, even if it was himself.

He thought of Scott, of Lydia, of Allison. He thought of his father. Their concerned faces. The way his eyes were beginning to hollow. The way he couldn't look at himself in the mirror, let alone look into his friends' eyes. He was a lie. And he was going to keep it that way if it meant saving everyone else from his twisting reality. Even if that meant that they might be better off without him. If it meant he wouldn't hurt anyone.

But he might hurt himself. Par for the course, really. His mother slowly descended to madness. Now it was his turn. His scars should match hers. It was only fitting. She never let anyone see hers either.

His fingernails dug into his palms in a futile attempt to kill off the violent urges he was feeling. His heartbeat was starting to race and he was just waiting for something to happen.

All at once, the cold, rattling laugh came from everywhere and nowhere and he cringed, curling into a ball and covering his ears. Still, he could hear the rasp, feel it in his bones.

"Stiles..." He flinched and shook his head desperately. He knew it had been waiting for him to get riled up before it emerged from the shadows in his head.

"No, no, no, no..." He whispered, trying his damnedest not to hear what he knew was there. It was always in vain.

The chill came up his spine as invisible fingers ran down the back of his neck.

"We both know you can't get rid of me," came the gravelly, toneless whisper. "I'm here."

Stiles felt the hands that couldn't exist slide down his back and his tears finally escaped quietly down his cheeks.

"And you want me here." It was an observation, not a suggestion.

"No..." His whimper wasn't convincing even to himself. He could feel the Other grin against his neck and he curled tighter.

"Look at me Stiles..." the voice was taunting - gentle and full of warning. It absolutely paralyzed him and he couldn't uncurl from his ball if he wanted to.

Stiles' breath was coming in deep, gulping breaths as he cried to himself, every ounce of his being trying to keep from going under the wave of panic inside him.

"Stiles..." It was getting irritated and Stiles was terrified of what might happen if he didn't give in to it. Or if he did.

The Other had wormed into his thoughts. Slowly. So slowly that he didn't know it was happening until it was too late, until he was not alone in his own mind. It was a shadow, a feeling, a memory of a sensation. Until it wasn't.

Stiles didn't know when the Other became a separate entity. He didn't know when the line was crossed from imaginary friend to... whatever this was.

He wasn't even sure his thoughts were his own anymore.

Like that didn't scream 'lock me up!'.

The hand stroking his skin tightened a grip on the back of his neck and he let out a choked sob.

"I. Said. LOOK AT ME." The voice roared through the pulse in his ears.

Stiles forced his eyes open and turned his head slowly to look behind him.

The cackle exploded through his head, echoing out into his bedroom and the hand disappeared, leaving Stiles alone to his empty heartbeat.

Well? What do we think? Time to come out of retirement? Time to explore our new favorite friends?

Till next time,
-J X