The final time Stiles utters the words 'I'm fine'

The sky was like a blanket of darkness, smothering everything it touched. Lights in houses flickered dim, as all of the alarm clocks in Beacon Hills inched forward, each second like a pounding heartbeat, the thumps getting increasingly louder. It was some point, early in the morning, Scott suspected. He didn't have the mental or physical strength to check the knock-off rolex that was fastened by a navy blue strap around his tanned wrist. He was drained of whatever energy he had. He'd just fought Deucalion, Kali... the alpha pack, his friends by his side…

And now his best friend since he was five was bleeding heavily, propped up against his father who pulled him closer to his chest. John didn't care that both his hands and shirt were almost drenched in blood, and to express this, he wrapped his son up in his sheriffs jacket.

Stiles' teeth were chattering, and he was huffing quick, short breaths through his mouth and nose, sounding slightly like a train. Scott was sure that if he wasn't in pain, his friend would be making some sarcastic comment about Thomas the tank engine.

Stiles was trying to push his dad's hands away from the four large gashes that inched the whole way across his small chest. The extreme pressure was supposed to reduce the bleeding, but the blood was pooling thick and fast onto the concrete below the father and son, staining the ground with mistakes and regret. Derek was hovering over a dead Kali, who had her throat ripped out and was now lying in a bloodied heap on the ground head lolling, while Ennis' head lay halfway across the tarmac, his body god-knows-where.

Lydia was being checked over by Chris Argent, who thought of the girl as a daughter. He held his gun cocked in his hand, so that if there were any movements from the supposed-to-be-dead bodies, a few wolfsbane bullets to the head could be administered within a few short seconds, killing them instantly... the asshole Deucalion was nowhere to be seen. Chris was fussing over the cut on her forehead, and at the same time she was shoving him away so that she could rush to Stiles. With one large push, Chris Argent fell back and landed on his ass, a look of surprise donning his face. She gave a short flip of her strawberry-blonde hair before getting up and rushing to the father and son.

Scott got there before her, now not in were-wolf form.

"Hey, hey, Stiles… stay awake dude, there's an ambulance on the way," Scott managed through tears as he slapped Stiles' cheeks. All he got was a small, sad smile in return, with a few choking sounds added into the mix. It didn't sound healthy, and the blood forming on Stiles' lips took him back to the night Allison was stabbed through the stomach by the Oni.

"W-what're you talk-king abo-out, I'm fi-ine," his voice wavered. John Stilinski added pressure to his sons wounds, in which Stiles gave a loud hissing noise, which trailed off as a dull whistle. Again, he tried to move his hand to push away his fathers, but his dad just shook his head and grasped Stiles' right hand in his own, holding it for dear life. He wasn't there for Claudia, but if Stiles was going to die, which would hopefully not be the case, he was sure as hell he'd be there for his son.

"H-hey… you wo-won't mi-ss me, I wa-asn't go-ood for mu-much," Stiles smiled sadly as he lifted a blood soaked hand to Scott's cheek. All of the emotions were flooding out of him at that moment. He had watched it on television many a time, where the victim lay on their death bed and began to apologise for all the wrongs in their life. All the people they cursed with a death of a loved one... All of the shit they kept bottled up that was eating them from the inside. Stiles never thought he'd be doing it... atleast not this soon. He was awaiting for some cringey-ass tune to play and credits to roll, then a narrative voice at the end begin to explain that it was some sort of dream or that an extra character would come in and change everything. It was highly unlikely.

"Sh-shit sor-rry," he apologised as he saw the mess he had created. Even when he was dying he couldn't do anything right. The next thing you know he'll be crawling out of his grave still half-alive, just because his body didn't properly shut down.

"You've no reason to be sorry dude," Scott smiled through the wetness rolling down his cheeks. He had begun to hear ambulance sirens in the distance and he was mentally cursing them to go faster. Please. Just a little faster... That's all he asks.

"Te-ell dad I'm-I'm sorr-ry for be-ing a b-a-ad so-n," Stiles managed. John looked down at Stiles as tears began to track down his own cheeks. He wasn't a bad son at all. He was fucking phenomenal. Sure he messes up, but he's human. We all do shit that unbalances the world. They're called 'mistakes'.

"I'm here son, I'm here… I love you Stiles," John's voice wavered as he kissed Stiles on the forehead. This was heartbreaking... his last moments were spent apologising.

"Te-ell every-ryone, tha-at I'm so-orry fo-or Al-lison… it w-was...is… all m-my faul-lt," He stuttered out. Scott just shook his head. No. No it wasn't Stiles' fault... If Jennifer hadn't taken John, Melissa and Chris, then the three teens wouldn't have had to go into a supernatural subconsciousness. Stiles tried his hardest to close the door in his mind, but the nogitsune stuck its foot in the middle of the door and the framework, not allowing the door to close, but at the same time, allowing itself in. Then it all unravelled... So really, it was Jennifers fault.

It felt like hours later when the ambulance arrived, reversing back at full speed. The doors opened to reveal Melissa McCall, and a hand covered her mouth as Stiles was loaded onto a gurney.

The whole lot were speechless as he was whisked away, into the ambulance. The last thing they heard... the words Stiles was always quick to answer with... 'I'm fine'.

Two days later, everything was quiet, still…

It was sad day...

There were tears and flowers and a large gathering, to which even Derek attended.

Stiles was finally allowed back home after the attack. His chest was bandaged up tightly, his bandages a pristine white, and his mental walls were rushing to rebuild themselves, as when John had asked him if he was alright, he just shrugged and huffed a simple 'I'm fine'.

John was sick and tired of hearing that short ass sentence.

His son was not fine, and he refused to believe whatever his son said about being able to cope. He had kept an eye on eating patterns and had even got Scott to watch Stiles' chemosignals, asking daily if his son was anxious about anything. Of Course Stiles, being the smart person he is, found out about this and he learned to keep his chemosignals under control.

As long as his family and friends thought he was okay, that's all that mattered…

Cause heck, he'll always be fine.