Title: Sick
Pairing: Stiles and Derek
Genre: Romance & Hurt/Comfort
Rating: M
Summary: Stiles can't sleep without dreaming of killing his friends. Worried he's going to hurt them, he tried to kill himself. But will Derek save him?
Warning: Possible trigger. Attempted suicide.
It's been 3 months since Derek left. 3 months since Jennifer disappeared. Everything seemed to go back to normal, the normal before Scott was bitten. But Deaton had been right; there was a darkness in Stiles, Scott and Allison. But no one would have guessed how it affected Stiles.
The boy in question was sleeping, which was rare these days. He twisted and turned in his bed, a wounded noise leaving his mouth. His left hand gripped the bed sheet and his body twisted painfully. With a loud gasp, he sat up, suddenly wide awake. Stiles wrenched the sheets away from his body and rushed to the bathroom. There he leant over the toilet and vomited. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the teenager emptied his stomach contents into the porcelain bowl. After he finally stopped throwing up, he sat on the floor and placed his head in his hands.
"Fuck," he said "so fucked up." Stiles leant against the bathtub and thought about his dream.
He was running through the forest. At first he thought he was being chased, but it felt different. He knew what being chased felt like, and this time it wasn't fear that was making his heart pound, it was… anticipation. There was a blade in his hand, silver and sharp. He recognised this knife; it was the one he had Deaton make, made of mountain ash and wolfs bane. It was lethal to any werewolf who dare touch it, let alone get stabbed with it. He could see someone now, running away from him. Dark, crazy hair. He'd know that hair anywhere. Scott.
"You can't run forever Scott!" he shouted, only it didn't feel like him. It was like something was controlling him, and he opened his mouth to scream but it came out a laugh. A high, crazy laugh.
"Stiles! Stop, please. This isn't you!" Scott pleaded. And then, Stiles was in front of Scott holding him by the throat. Stiles watched through his eyes as he threw Scott with strength he knew he didn't have onto the ground. Scott looked up at him.
"St-Stiles, please," he begged, eyes filled with tears.
"Stiles, please," Stiles mocked. "Please, what? Let you live? No. I've always been there for you, always been right behind you cleaning up your messes and saving your ass. Did I ever get a thank you? Did you ever do the same for me? No. Every time I needed you, you were off fucking around with Allison or Isaac." He snarled, hands digging into fists as his sides. Stop it! Stiles screamed at himself, but nothing happened. Scott whimpered from his position on the ground.
"I know, I'm a shit friend. But I'll be better, I promise. We can forget this. Come on, Stiles, please." Stiles smashed his hands against his head in frustration.
"Shut up! Shut up! I won't ever forget this. And I'm going to take pleasure in killing you. After I'm done with you I'm going to visit Allison. Sweet Allison, she wouldn't suspect me would she? And when she's crying into my shoulder I'll plunge the knife into her gut and watch the life go out her eyes, " Stiles taunted, grinning as Scott growled and launched himself at Stiles. It happened so fast, one second Scott was growling in his face and the next there was a red patch on Scott's shirt, his face twisted in pain and the knife was slick in his hands.
"Don't-Don't you dare touch Allison," Scott chocked out, a little blood on the corner of his mouth. But his words hit something in Stiles, and it made his face scrunch up in anger.
"Even now, all you can think about is her!" Stiles screeched. He placed his face right next to Scott's and whispered: "When I kill her, I'm going to do it slowly. I'm going to tell her how you died, how you begged me to let you live and how she was your last thought. I'll watch her cry, but before I do all that, I'm going to fuck her senseless. I'll fuck her pussy so hard she'll forget you, make her scream my name so loud even you'll hear it." And with that, Stiles stood up and placed his foot on Scott's throat at hard as he could, cackling when he heard the crack of his neck breaking.
Hearing a twig snap behind him, he whirled around to find Derek standing a little away from him, watching with amusement. Derek started to walk towards him.
"Good job, baby. But couldn't you have waited for me?" Derek said, pouting a little. He took the bloody knife from Stiles' hands and brought to his face. Poking his tongue out, he licked up the blade once before looking at Stiles whose eyes had gone dark with arousal. He was palming his cock over the jeans he was wearing. Derek reached for the boy, who pushed the boy to the floor, falling with him.
Stiles and Derek leaned up at the same time, and when they kissed Stiles could taste the metallic taste of Scott's blood mixed with Derek. Stiles moaned at the two mixed together and ground himself onto Derek but the wolf squeezed his hips in half-hearted protest.
"Slow down, we've got all night," Derek murmured before biting Stiles' pout away because he could.
Stiles was brought back to reality by his dad knocking on the bathroom door.
"You ok, son?" he asked. Stiles let out a broken laugh. No, he wasn't fine. But of course his das couldn't know that, couldn't find out about the fucked up dreams Stiles had been having, just like the one he had tonight.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Got the flu or something." He spoke a little louder, focusing on keeping his voice steady.
"Okay, I'm going to work. See you later, Stiles. Love you." Stiles waited until he heard his dad walk out the door and drive away before Stiles dared to reach into the cupboard under the sink and pull out the razor. Taking off his shirt, Stiles looked at himself in the mirror. Black bags under his red eyes from lack of sleep and crying, his cheeks red as well. Scratched and cuts littered his upper body and arms. Some, from his nails raking across his skin just like in his dreams, others from the razor he was holding. Looking over himself, he decided on his wrist. He didn't normally do it so far down; too hard to hide but his latest dream had disgusted him that much he didn't care at the moment.
See, he'd been having these dreams for the last 3 months. All in which he killed someone he loved. His dad, Lydia, Scott, no one was safe. Except for Derek, who would always appeared after he'd killed. They'd always fuck, or Stiles would attempt to but Derek would slow him down and just kiss him. But he'd always be proud of what Stiles has done.
Shaking his head in disgust, Stiles dragged the razor over his wrist. The blood poured instantly, dripping over his fingertips and to the floor. Stiles stared at the blood and knew what he has to do. He wouldn't – couldn't – live like this, knowing that one day he might just make his dreams a reality and hurt his friends. Couldn't go to school every day and look at them, when just the night before he'd dreamt of killing them. So, with more energy than he'd done anything the last 3 months, Stiles took the razor to his other wrist. He hissed at the pain but smiled; he was protecting his friends.
But then the bathroom door was being wrenched open and his name was being called by a rough voice. Derek. He was back.
"Stiles, stop! What are you doing?" Derek took the razor from his hands roughly and threw it to the side. The blood loss and sheer surprise at seeing Derek made him sway to the side and he stated to fall, but Derek was there and he was dragging him to his bed with towels. Wrapping them around Stiles' wrists, he began to call the hospital. This made Stiles start.
"No! I want to die!" he yelled, weakly reaching for Derek's phone. The confession made Derek drop his phone and he swore before picking it back up. "Please, don't!" and Stiles sounded so much like Scott in his dream that he mustered all the energy he had – which wasn't much – and launched himself at Derek. The phone fell again and Derek stared at him.
"Why?" he asked. It was a simple question, but his tone was filled with such hurt and sadness and a little bit of anger that it made Stiles stop for a second.
"I have to." Was his reply.
"Is someone threatening you? Stiles, you don't have to do this," Derek tried reasoning, tone turning soothing.
"I-I have to, before I hurt someone," Stiles explained, before he was just so tired he slumped against Derek and closed his eyes for a second.
When they next opened, he was in hospital. He was hooked up to a machine and several tubes and his wrists were bandaged. His eyes searched the room as best they could from his position and he let out a yelp of surprise when he found Derek staring at him.
"You're awake," the older man said quietly.
"Yeah," was Stiles' equally quiet reply. Then Derek was up and pacing the room.
"You mind telling me what the FUCK you were thinking?" Derek growled out. Stiles winced at the tone.
"I had to," he repeated.
"What does that mean? Stiles, what's going on?" Derek paused his pacing to stare at Stiles, his emotions clear and open on his face for once. They made Stiles feel safe, and suddenly he was pouring his heart out to the man.
"I've been having dreams-nightmares. I-I kill people, Derek. Scott, Lydia, my dad. Everyone. And it's sick and twisted and fucked up but I liked it. I laugh at them crying and I don't want to. I'm afraid I'm going to really hurt one of them and I couldn't live with that. So, I had to do it." Stiles fell silent and fidgeted when Derek continued to stare at him and flinched away a little when Derek came and sat next to him.
"It'll be okay, Stiles. I'll help you get better."
And if Derek kept looking at him at like, maybe Stiles could believe it too.