Chapter 1

There's absolutely nothing that can compare. There is nothing like the feeling of having your own body ripped from your control; Nothing like being forced to watch people be hurt by your hand. It's worse than feeling helpless or weak. It's shattering. It's something you never come back from. Not really. You smile and laugh and pretend. But behind all of that, behind the mask, you're being tortured by the past. The already shattered pieces of your soul break apart more and more, day by day, until there is nothing left but an empty shell of what you once were.

Stiles knows this feeling all too well.

Three months ago he was taken over. Three months ago he became a murderer. Well, not him exactly. If you want to be technical, it was the evil spirit that, at the time, was walking around in his body. But to him, that's only an excuse. Because he wasn't strong enough to stop it. He should have been. Instead of giving up he should have fought with everything he had. But he didn't. And that is why all of the death, all of the carnage, is his fault; His responsibility. At least that's what he thinks. His friends and family wholeheartedly disagree. But they don't know what it feels like. He does. And he will never forgive himself.

'It should have been me.' That's another thought running rampant through his mind as of late. Google has officially diagnosed him with Survivors Guilt: A condition of persistent mental and emotional stress experienced by someone who has survived an incident in which others died. But Stiles has his doubts. Because it really should have been him. He should have taken his own life as soon as he knew something was wrong. He should have stopped it before it was too late. Should, should, should. But he didn't because he was afraid. He was afraid to die. But so were Allison and Aiden, and everyone else who lost their life because of him.

They didn't deserve to die. But he did. And he won't ever let himself forget that.

He's running. He doesn't know where he's going, or where he's been, or even what it is he's running from. All he knows is that if he stops, it's over. For everyone.

He is met with a sudden resistance, causing him to trip over his feet. He feels icy fingers gripping onto him, holding him in place. He can't move, he can't breathe, and, worst of all, he can't see anything. What had previously been a dark forest is now an endless expanse of nothingness. He closes his eyes, desperately hoping that when they open again, he'll be met with the sight of haunting treetops and starry skies. He opens his eyes and curses himself for hoping; For believing, even for just a moment, that there is any way to escape from the abyss which threatens to swallow him whole. Chilling laughter suddenly echoes in his ears. He has no idea where it is coming from, only that it is growing louder and louder, gradually coming to a deafening crescendo. He begins to wonder whether the laughter is truly coming from anywhere. Perhaps the maniacal sound is coming from within him, a testament to how far from sanity he has fallen. The laughter stops, the resulting silence making his ears ring.

Then he hears them, the whispers, almost too quiet to make out. "Your fault," they say. Over and over again. Once again the sound grows louder, this time causing his eardrums to rupture painfully, slick blood beginning to run down his face. There is a pressure weighing him down, pressing his back further into the soft ground beneath him. In an instant there is something hovering directly above him, the off-white coloring of it starkly contrasting with the obsidian darkness which previously obscured his vision. He is momentarily blinded. But within seconds he regains his sight; He immediately wishes he hadn't.

The figure before him is covered in medical gauze, no doubt hiding a horrific disfigurement beneath it. Because of this, the thing's face has no discernible features, leaving it void of humanity and unrecognizable to those who have never encountered it before. But he has. He knows what this creature is, what it does, how it thinks. He knows that he has very few moments left, and that these last few moments will be filled with as much misery as this thing looking down upon him can produce. He knows that he will die in agony. And the creature pinning him down can see this knowing in his eyes.

It smiles at him, and he screams.

Stiles wakes up screaming. Yeah, go ahead and say it, he's heard it all before. "That's unhealthy, Stiles.", "You need help, Stiles.", "Maybe you should talk to someone, Stiles." Well, Stiles has never accused himself of being particularly healthy anyway, and the idea of talking to someone about it is laughable. Sure, it'll be great and all, until they come out with the question of, "Why do you think this is happening to you, Stiles." What is he supposed to do then? Maybe he could say, "You see, I was possessed a little while back; I killed some people, terrorized a hospital, and generally wreaked havoc on the entirety of Beacon Hills. So, yeah, really just a casual Tuesday. And oh, by the way, werewolves are real and, if you were really smart, you'd be living in constant fear of being murdered by the things that go bump in the night. Oh well, nauczyć się z tym żyć, learn to live with it." Oh yeah, he'd be back in Eichen House before he could say, "I was just kidding." Great plan. No, this is something he has to deal with on his own. Besides, he's used to it by now. On a better note, his father must already be at the station. Otherwise he'd have been in Stiles' room within seconds, shotgun at the ready, prepared for anything. Yeah, his father's protective streak had grown to gargantuan proportions ever since the, uh… incident.

It's been three months since the whole fiasco with the nogitsune and Stiles couldn't be happier. He's a senior now, which is one hell of an accomplishment for a human that spends his free time fighting monsters with a werewolf pack. Yes, he knows his life choices are questionable at best, it's a staple part of his personality. He also has a decent group of friends. He says that as if he has any room to complain, but the reality is, that he didn't think he'd have any other friends besides Scott until he was old enough to need a death buddy. So, to sum it all up, he's definitely not complaining. He loves his pack and he would do absolutely anything for them, no questions asked. He doesn't have a girlfriend, but he's not exactly complaining about that either. He and Malia had spoken at length about whether or not they wanted a relationship, but in the end neither of them were ready. Trauma really is a bitch. Well, that and the fact that Stiles isn't sure whether or not having a girlfriend is really up his alley these days. His type seems to have shifted quite drastically within the past few months. He no longer daydreams about flawless pale skin, green eyes, and strawberry blonde hair. Instead he finds himself thinking about a certain grumpy werewolf face with a light dusting of facial hair, a body to be worshipped by the gods themselves, and- No, he's stopping that train before it even leaves the station. He is so not ready to admit that to himself yet.

Anyway, the point is that Stiles has been going through a sexual… something (Crisis? Awakening? Whatever you want to call it) and every day it seems clearer and clearer to him that he's actually gay. I mean, if he thinks about it, he's only ever had eyes for Lydia Martin, which is decidedly strange in and of itself, and the more he looks into it, the more he's convinced that he never actually felt any physical attraction toward her. He's realized that he was in love with the idea of Lydia Martin, not actually in love with her. But he has plenty of time to think about all of that. After all, there has been no sign of supernatural activity since his friends had banished the nogitsune from his body. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the skies predict smooth sailing from here on out. As his mother used to say, " Nie daj się podejrzewać dobrego dnia. Żyjesz tylko z tego powodu." From Polish that roughly translates to, "Don't be suspicious of a good day. You'll only live to regret it."

Stiles takes a minute to slow his rapid heartbeat before rolling out of bed with a dramatic groan. "I fucking hate mondays." He mutters to himself, completely accepting the fact that today is going to suck. He has three tests today. THREE OF THEM. 'Just kill me now. Seriously, strike me down where I stand. Forgive me god for I will sin.'

He pulls himself off of the floor where he had fallen. Yes, for him 'rolling out of bed' legitimately means rolling off of his bed onto the floor and hoping to the gods that he doesn't break anything. He is that dramatic. After he gets his bearings, he stretches, hearing his shoulders pop, and meanders his way toward the bathroom to relieve himself and start his day.

Once he returns to his room, he digs through his drawers, attempting to find appropriate clothing for school. And honestly, how some people can get dressed without going through at least one other wardrobe option, Stiles has no idea. He, himself, tends to have a problem with whether or not his shirts send the "right message" as Coach Finstock has so elegantly put it. And honestly, it's not his fault that not everyone appreciates his amazing sense of humor. He pulls out one of his shirts and grins. The front of this particular shirt says, "I'm not always a dick. Just kidding, go fuck yourself" on the front in big, bolded letters. His father had bought it for him a few months back when he had gone out of town for some sort of conference pertaining to law enforcement. Unfortunately, Stiles had not found the chance to wear it, the shirt being a perfect example of the "right message" bullshit Finstock has been preaching to him.

He places the shirt back in the drawer, unfolded of course. He's a teenager, let him be a slob in peace. He's the one who'll ultimately have to pay the piper, after all.

He finally decides on a plain grey t-shirt paired with a dark red and black flannel, ultimately deciding not to grace the world with his unique sense of humor today. 'It's their loss, honestly. I… am hilarious.'

He checks the clock sitting beside his bed and curses. It's almost 7:00 and Stiles needs to be at school by 7:20. "I guess I'm skipping breakfast. Again," he laments as he pulls on his jeans and black converse. He grabs a few of his notebooks off his desk and shoves them into his backpack, zipping it up hurriedly. Once he's deemed himself presentable and prepared for the day, he grabs the keys to his beloved jeep from the bedside table and rushes out the door.

Once he finds himself downstairs he realizes that his earlier conclusion of his father not being home had been entirely correct. Another point for Stiles. His dad would be pissed if he knew that Stiles was going to be late for school.

Stiles exits the house and is met immediately with a raging fire demon, out for blood. Okay, maybe not, but the sun is an inconsiderate bitch. Doesn't it know that Stiles just got out of bed? The least it could do was tone the brightness down a notch… or three.

Stiles clambers into his Jeep, putting his school bag in the seat next to him, and starts the ignition. Stiles basks in the sound of the engine purring to life. Fine, maybe it's less of a purr and more of a rumble, but that is completely beside the point. Every time Stiles hears the sound, he's bombarded with happy memories of his mother, and that's all that really matters. His friends can call the vehicle a piece of crap all they want, it won't change how he feels and it sure as hell won't convince him to buy another car.

Stiles pulls out of his driveway and begins to make his way toward Beacon Hills High School, a frown on his face. Yeah, he could give Derek a run for his money today in the bad mood department.

'So help me, if something bad happens today, I am officially losing my shit.'

A/N: So that's the first chapter! I have this story posted on AO3 too, but I decided to post it here too, just for the fun of it...

Anyway, I haven't finished writing this story yet, and the updates will be very sporadic once I post all the chapters I have already written. I'm trying to get better about it, I really am. But I'm also working on two other stories at the moment, which I refuse to admit was a mistake, of course.

Right now I have 11 chapters written for this story and I will be posting every Monday from now on.

Also, if you're in to Harry Potter and/or Merlin please check out my other stories(Harry Potter and the Slytherin Truth: Year 1 and We Can Create Our Own Destiny).

One last thing, I really appreciate feedback on my writing. I'm always looking to improve and I love hearing what my readers have to say.Thank you so much for reading!

Much Love,

RavenGrey2107