Disclaimer: I do not own anything. If I did, I would hopefully be typing this in my vacation home in Prague.
Stiles eyes what he's secretly nicknamed The Bathtub of Doom and all he can think of is how he was going to go out in a blaze of glory. He was supposed to die sword in hand, plunging his trusty horse straight into the midst of battle, or maybe shot in defending the woman he loved. At the very least horribly mauled by the alpha pack, protecting his friends and family.
But no. Fate's struck again, and Stiles Stilinski is going to die in a tub that really should be used for bobbing apples instead of drowning him.
And damn, is that hunk of tin cold, he thinks as he grabs the freezing rim, the other hand unconsciously rubbing his dad's sheriff badge. Even though Stiles knows the badge is just a hunk of cheap metal, it's still lending his muscles strength and his heart courage.
This isn't the first time he's felt pins and needles from icy cold water.
When he was eight and just beginning to really get into Star Wars and Lydia Martin, they were learning about the Titanic. Their teacher, Mr. Kepler—weird old bat—made him stick his hand into a bucket of ice water, before announcing the fact—all the while breathing his coffee breath into Stiles's face—that any survivors in the water would have been dead within twenty minutes.
When he steps in the tub, Stiles thinks that he can break this record, hands down, no questions asked.
Taking a morbid sort of comfort in this fact (and maybe just the slightest bit of hell yeah look who's right now, Mr. Kepler) along with the more important knowledge that woah holy shit Lydia's my emotional tether, this counts for some sort of relationship, right? he tries to slow his breathing into something that wouldn't be mistaken for a rabbit, and tries to act like it doesn't feel like he was just punched in the gut.
This has to work.
It will work.
He exchanges a sideways glance with Allison and Scott. The two of them look like warriors—chins up, jaws set, shoulders back, determination like stone weighing in their eyes—the same determination that will drag them down and drown them, the same determination that is attached to their ankle with a ball and chain, binding them here, never to become anyone else, always looking over their shoulder-
No.
He made his choice a long time ago, when Scott was first bitten and he didn't run screaming for the hills.
Not that he would even if Scott was something gross, like a slobbery slugwere, because yikes, but he and Scott were in this to the end. There were already too many memories, too many early morning carpools, and way too many pizzas for him to squeak out now.
Stiles would always be there for him, and that was another fact and promise he would carry to the grave.
Speaking of Scott—"If I don't make it out of this, just to let you know, your dad's in town."
He ignores the shock on his brother's face and turns around im sorry im sorry i only wanted to protect you from more hurt, i only wanted to protect everyone i care about and then he can no longer feel the muscles in his face and his heart feels like it's going to explode it's thumping so loud and fighting so desperately and now it's trying to crawl up his throat, is it really only trying to explode now, why didn't it do that earlier-
Everything is coming back now, of all the times he couldn't defend and why can't i be anyone else they would be better off without me why why why and all he can see and hear and breath and taste is mud.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who tried to run with the wolves, but fell behind with cut-up knees and dirt in his mouth. It turned to mud and tasted like failure so he always spat it out. But he is tired and he has tried, oh how he's tried, has come up with so many plan B's and thrown himself into the lion's den so many times and it's never enough.
But this time, he will not fail.
The badge is slipping from his grasp.
He will get his dad back, and Allison and Scott and Melissa and Chris Argent and everybody else will be ok, and his dad will actually eat salads without complaining and throwing it out the window, and he will invite everyone over for a big movie night, and the days will be long and full of stupid games and stupid pranks and smiles.
Yes.
Don't worry Dad. I'll get you back.
He picks up his sword and plunges into battle, and the mud and failure in his mouth is washed away with the tang of water and blood.
Angst fest! I really wanted to try to bring out what Stiles may have been thinking when he went under. Unfortunately, I may have went slightly overboard with the heavy metal emotions, so if anyone thinks this is too AU, drop me a review. This is my first story anyways, so I'd love to hear whatever! I may continue with Allison and Scott's feelings, too, idk yet :)