And this little bit of angst is dedicated to the lovely ModernFemMerlinSpy.
He felt numb.
Everything felt numb after the Nogitsune.
He went through the motions. He was appropriately snarky, held a high GPA, and didn't mention he was a murderer. It wasn't a big deal he could never go to the hospital again and Stiles was pretty sure his dad wasn't aware of his avoidance of the police station. Scott definitely didn't notice Stiles never stopping by the animal clinic anymore. Unfortunately, avoiding the school wasn't an option. However, school also had the benefit of work. Nothing important of course and, theoretically, it could keep his mind busy. Of course, chaos and death was brought to his attention no matter where he turned. So he completed his schoolwork like everything else. Numbly.
He was an expert at hiding his thoughts and emotions. He easily fooled the werewolves. His heart rate was steady and he didn't reek of misery and torment—Scott would be a good indicator if he did—which wasn't a difficult feat when your entire being was void of emotion.
Everyone watched him like a hawk when the Nogitsune was first extracted. They still do when they don't think he's looking. Their lack of trust should hurt. It should cause some type of reaction. It didn't.
His dad was too grateful at finally having his son back to investigate his silence at first. He quickly learned his lesson, however, and began rambling as soon as Lydia and Scott threw him worried looks after a solid two weeks of noncommittal grunts. He made a point to never stop talking now. He would probably be irritating in ordinary situations, but they were too relieved that he was himself again to even think of complaining.
He felt an odd sense of accomplishment for blinding Lydia from his true thoughts. He assumed his most perceptive friend would be the first to know his vague bitterness and pain. He was numb except when flashes of the chaos he caused burst in his mind. The sword he twisted through his best friend's chest, his psychological torture of Lydia, the massacre at the hospital and sheriff's station, the order to kill Allison and Aiden…it was all fresh.
They were all his friends. He cared deeply for them and he caused them pain and death. He knew most of the slaughtered officers from his days of running around the station. Now they were all gone. Everyone he murdered had families and he took away their loved ones simply to cause chaos and distractions. He left Ethan forever without his closest friend and other half. He stole Allison—his friend, Scott's first love, Lydia's best friend, Chris Argent's only close family member—from the world just because she cleverly destroyed an Oni. She was a threat. So he eliminated her. He might as well have swung the sword that stole her last breath. Everyone assumed that since the Nogitsune and Stiles separated bodies, they lost their connection. As soon as the Nogitsune was eradicated, all their thoughts and strategies rushed to him. He knew all too well the destruction and pain they caused, even when they weren't in one body.
It's been months since Stiles' mind was finally alone. It was an odd feeling no longer having another presence in his mind. It was like he had all this room to stretch out and move. Enough room to shove his morbid thoughts behind a defense of ramblings and snark. Enough room to protect his loved ones from the fact he wasn't even close to healing. His mask should worry him. But it was for the best. Stiles learned at least one thing from the Nogitsune: how to be cold and calculating. His dad couldn't handle this—he shouldn't have to. His dad deserved a normal son—and his friends would be overly concerned, not that he warranted it.
No one knew what it was like to at once be in complete control, yet have none. The Nogitsune was constantly five steps ahead of him. Stiles had never been so thoroughly manipulated. He eventually—inevitably—relinquished the little amount of will he had to the Nogitsune. He had no control. Yet he knew exactly what he was doing. And he had never been so terrified.
He had no way to deal with his agony except to opt for numbness.
Stiles was doing fine everything considered. He went to school, hung out with Scott, prepared himself to play the quirky human when the supernatural entered Beacon Hills again, and even threw himself into lacrosse. Coach thought he was committed and determined to succeed in first line. Truthfully, he thought the contact sport would relieve his morbid thoughts, distract him from his numb surroundings. No such luck. Not that he was shocked.
Everything was fine. Nobody suspected a thing.
He brushed his teeth, dictated his dad's diet, and convinced Lydia to go shopping with Kira and Malia—who apparently he was dating, which was fine. She didn't know him well enough to interpret his silences as troubling. Stiles was a master at hiding his true feelings. Until today.
It wasn't anything big.
But Scott flinched.
His best friend, the only brother he ever had, recoiled from Stiles. It shouldn't be a big deal. Stiles hadn't been himself for a while now. He lied to everyone he held dear on a daily basis. He hadn't felt anything but pain since the Nogitsune left. Until Scott.
Stiles was teasing Scott in the locker room, still vaguely hoping if he acted normal enough, it would eventually become a reality. Stiles poked his lacrosse stick at Scott's stomach—which was stupid, stupid.He should have known better—and he flinched. Not play flinched. Scott had panicked and jerked backwards on survival instincts. Stiles apparently lost control of his face for the first time in public because Scott's eyes instantly widened and his mouth opened in apology, reassurance, or worst, love. Stiles didn't deserve any of it. He made a jumbled excuse and fled the locker room. Scott didn't follow him. Or text him. Stiles tried to convince himself Scott wanted to give him space. But a distant pain was throbbing through him. He felt neglected, which was irrational. Really his best friend probably didn't know how to react and was consulting Lydia. Stiles was not prepared for an intervention. If he opened up too much he knew the agony and sobs would come.
Stiles was too much of a coward to deal with all his emotions. He didn't want his dad to know Stiles lied to him yet again. Stiles didn't deserve trust. That didn't stop him from craving it.
He also didn't deserve peace, but he craved it. So so much. Death was everywhere. It's why Stiles attempted to keep his locations limited to his bedroom and school. And even those were fraught with the stench of death. And traveling between locations was perilous. After Stiles escaped the locker room, he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings—so stupid—and ran into Chris Argent. Stiles bolted before Chris' expression could alter from surprise at his abrupt appearance. Stiles didn't know how he would react to Chris' hatred and betrayal. Stiles had tried to keep peace after the Nogitsune. He was the perfect son, the funny friend, and a caring person. But all his hard work was unraveling. No doubt Chris caught his haggard expression under his cracked façade.
No one deserved to deal with a suffering murderer. No one deserved to deal with someone who was in agony and unrightfully wanted forgiveness. No one deserved Stiles' problems.
Everyone had been clueless. But two incidents in ten minutes changed everything. Stiles had no doubt everyone had kept tabs on him. Why wouldn't they? It's not like his past actions earned him any trust.
Stiles was alone. His numbness was morphing into panic, it had since Scott's flinch. He almost missed his numbness.
He was a coward.
His eyes flickered to the gun at his night stand. He picked it up with a familiar hand, staring at it critically. No one deserved to deal with his problems.