Early August

Senior year was going to be the year I focused on information, the year to prepare myself for the times after graduation in the real world called life. I wanted to be ready to set out far away from Beacon Hills, California, population 29,947. I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to change the world. According to my SATs I had a pretty good chance of doing that, or at least going to pretty much any college accepting smart-ass, lanky teens with high IQs and low self-esteem.

A lot of kids my age, if you can still call us that, use senior year as a buffer year, breezing through easy courses and partying until the sun comes up, rewarding themselves for not dying of alcohol-poisoning before they can even legally drink. I didn't want that. Not this year.

This was my year to read everything I could get my hands on, to pick the brains of every teacher who had the misfortune of setting eyes on me this year. I wanted to push myself and my teachers to look at the world in a different, more realistic way, in a way that could open up our minds to change. How much do you think Mr. Harris is gonna love me in his U.S. government/current events class where he regularly substitutes facts for the shit wiped from Donald "I think I am a nice person" Trump's hairy ass?

By the end of the year I planned on carving my name in Beacon Hill's hall of fame for being the first student to win the state cross-country meet followed by me smoothly sweeping Derek Hale right off his feet and onto my dick. My eye was on the prize and that prize was 6 feet, 172 pounds of pure baseball studmuffin. That's right, Derek Hale was going to be the Catwoman to my Batman, the Lois Lane to my Clark Kent, the Daisy to my Gatsby. I was going to shoot Derek with my arrow of love and make him fall down hard onto my level, which was several leagues below his since he was way, way, way out of my league.

But then I got the news, just a week after my 18th birthday and about a month before school started. I was shot down by life before I even got to step up to the starting line. The so-called god in the sky decided he'd pick me to get disqualified at the last minute, which was so unfair 'cause I didn't even get my first warning. Just a phone call from Dr. McCall to come into her office stat with her 'I've-got-bad-news' voice and a suggestion to bring moral support. I went alone.

"Stiles, hi. The sheriff out parking the cruiser?" she asked, looking behind me as if he were hiding behind my back.

"Eh, you know how his work is. He couldn't make it."
"And your mom? I know she's sick, but I really think it's best if one of them were here."

"No can do, but I'll be sure to clue them on all the big, juicy gossip you got for me."

"Stiles," she paused with a grimace. "I really think -"

"Look, I'm 18 last Tuesday which means I am legally an adult in the eyes of the government. I'm my own man and I get to say who hears what about me. Lay it on me."

She sighed, running her hand through her hair while directing me into a small check-up room down the hallway. Then she broke the news and I felt like maybe I really should have brought my pops with me. God, my pops is gonna cry. Mom is gonna cry. Shit, Scott is gonna be all alone without his big brother.

"I'll need to take another blood sample, but I really have no doubt about it," she placed her hand on my knee and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I really am."

She left the room, softly closing the door behind her with a click.

I looked out the window behind me to see the sunny day outside, living on in warmth even though I could feel chills to my very bones. You'll be lucky if you even make it a year.

Oddly enough I didn't feel so much surprise as I felt acceptance. I felt like I was supposed to be expecting this, like I lived my whole life just to end up sitting here in this room at this moment. I felt ... serene. It's probably the shock talking.

I had always been a pretty dark child. Not the kind that enjoyed torturing small animals and burying them out in Mrs. Calavera's pet cemetery. No, I was more of a realist; I understood what the teachers meant when they said Erica Reyes had "gone to a better place" after she had a seizure on the playground in the first grade. Erica died because she had epilepsy; Erica died because that's what people do. They die, just like I'm going to pretty soon.

And hell is that so fucking scary. Shit. I need to run.

I pulled an old receipt out of my pocket, tossing some old, fuzzy gunk that came with it in the trash and wrote a quick note to Dr. McCall.

Gone for a run. Be back in an hour. Don't worry.

I grabbed my bag and looked out the window on the door. The coast was clear and I was out of there.

I climbed into my jeep and drove home. It was a bit of a daze, but I think I may have even passed Scott on his way to Isaac's house.

When I opened the front door, I automatically knew mom wasn't gonna be out anytime soon. She hasn't been out for days and I miss the sound of her laughter. God, mom won't be able to handle this. She can barely handle herself.

I ran up the stairs to my room, quickly changing into a pair of shorts and a - sniff - barely used tee. Searching my cluttered room, I finally found my second running shoe halfway under my bed, halfway covered by a pair of overworn jeans. My iPod was sitting next to a picture of Scott and I at lacrosse camp freshman year. I ignored it, yanking the iPod off the charger uncaring of the damage it could cause.

Finally I was off, my footsteps pounding against the cement with a dull thud at every step. I pushed the headphones in my ears, selecting shuffle and letting the music take me away.

Come out Virginia; Don't let me wait

You Catholic girls start much too late

But sooner or later it comes down to fate

I might as well be the one

[…]

Only the good die young

The line hit me like a kick to the chest. There was that word again: die; death; dead. I had been so deep into my running, so deep into ignoring the world around me that I hadn't realized what song was playing. I quickly clicked the forward button to the next song, sneering at the irony of it all. Of course it would be Billy fucking Joel coming to tell me there's no avoiding this.

I ran for 40 minutes before I finally decided to go back. Not bothering to change, I ran inside and grabbed my wallet, keys and a bottle of water. The sweat on my back began to dry, but it was still pretty sticky against my car seat and I shifted into reverse.

Dr. McCall darted through the crowded waiting room as soon as I walked through the door, releasing a nurse from her custody to chase after a screaming, feverish child, "Stiles, where have you been?"

I shrugged, "Told you already. Went for a run."

"You," she stared at me in silence before tugging my arm in a firm grip and dragging me back to the examination room from before.

My scrawled note was still sitting where I had left, although it had obviously been moved from its previous position to the very edge of the counter, "No, you don't just run off like that. This is serious."

She rubbed her eyes, "We need to talk about treatment plans."

"Okay," I nodded along with her. "I'll make it simple. There won't be any."

"What? What in the hell is wrong with you, Stiles Stilinski? Call your dad right now and bring him in or I'll call him for you. You don't just give up, Stiles! I've never known you to do that, so don't you start now."

"Dr. McCall … Melissa, look. I get this is confusing and hell, I don't even know what I'm doing here," my mouth was dry when I swallow. "I just know I'm not going to live the rest of my life - which obviously isn't going to be that long - rotting away in a hospital room, okay? And I'm not calling my dad. He's got enough to deal with."

"This is insane. Stiles, you are insane," she took out her cell phone with a shake of her head. "If you won't call him, I will. With you Stilinski boys, I've got your father on speed dial."

"Dr. McCall, you've known me since you yanked me out from between my mom's legs and announced I was gonna be a smart, young man some day. You were right, because I know legally you can't tell my parents shit about this or I could sue you for all you've got. I don't wanna do that, but I will if you don't put down that phone."

"Stiles, you can't be serious! He have a right to know!"

"Yeah, well I have a right to keep this to myself."

"Stiles -"

"This shit is top secret, special clearance required. I expect only you, me and the President of the United States can see this, alright?," I sigh. "I know you mean the best, but you don't understand."
"Then help me understand, because you're not making much sense now."
"I can't explain it. It feels right. It feels like this is what's supposed to happen and it would just be wrong to go against it," I shook my head, looking her in the eyes. "I just wasn't meant to grow old."

She looked down, closing her eyes in silence before snapping them open and standing up, "This is stupid and dangerous, but you're right. You're 18 and you can legally make your own decision in this."

Breathing in deeply, she followed up, "But remember soon enough it'll be too late to change your mind. These things get you fast, Stiles."

I nod, "Thanks, but I don't think I'm going to change my mind."

Mid-August

Dr. McCall and I drove the next town over for a second opinion. The doctor's name was Conrad Fenris and he basically told me the same thing.

He said I had a rare form of blood disease, that it was "aggressive" and "resilient." It was very important that we worked fast, but they hadn't had much luck in the curing department so far. They could add on a month or two of sickness and vomiting, but I think I'll just take my chances living how I want to live. I want to be alive while I'm alive, not dead in a bed as sweat and bones.

I'm thinking now my future is changing, I might as well hop on the wagon and try out for lacrosse. Scott's gonna go wild.

I'm currently looking for two beta readers for this story. I hope all enjoyed!