SUCCUMB
"ANCHORS"
CHAPTER II - STILES
Stiles sighed as he almost turned his bedroom upside down trying to find his textbooks for school. "History, history," he muttered under his breath like a chant or a mantra as he looked under his pillow. "Where are you?" Stiles asked no one in particular, checking his watch and frowning at the time he read. He would be late and Scott would be angry at him for making him wait so long.
Grabbing his backpack, Stiles checked his sock drawer and stared at his book in wonder as he fished it out of the wooden cabinet.
Stiles gave the book a quizzical look as he wondered how in the world his book ended up inside the cabinet. "Wha—" Stiles stared at the cover, blinking as the letters rearranged themselves into something he couldn't really understand. The cover was still recognizable; the Union Flag was by the side and the horribly photoshopped mars-red mushroom explosion, topped off with an out-of-place black-out plane and tank.
Placing the book down, Stiles counted his fingers, his eyes darting towards the book after he had finished. It was still the same DALESI XIS ANLA the main title read in huge white font, Stiles had to squint to make sure that he read it right, that his mind wasn't making everything up. DOL WTAR I AWND RHIE WUTTRNRRIENLA SAOTRGLE FGO TPONE was the sub title in a smaller, black font that would have been readable had it been in the right arrangement.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Immediately, Stiles' head turned to the source of the sound and saw his father dressed up already in his uniform and his badge in place. "Hey. You alright? Ready for school?" Stiles gave his Dad a a pointed look before both of his hands came flying at the direction of his textbooks and other stuff. Stiles' books were lying around in his room, some notebooks and binders were scattered on the carpeted floor.
Stiles looked at the book and realized that it turned back to normal. Stiles could finally read the book's title which was, ALLIES AND AXIS: WORLD WAR II AND THE INTERNATIONAL STRUGGLE FOR POWER, a book about some nations trying to balance back the world to normalcy after the war.
"I will never be ready for school. Ever!" Stiles could see the smile his father was trying to fight. He never really did like school, in fact, he hated the social hierarchy that ruled inside the four walls and their outdated ways on evaluating students. Stiles was ready to tell his father more about hating school with a burning passion when he saw the somewhat relieved expression on his father's face morph into something that had concern.
It was obvious that his Dad was still thinking about what had happened last night, how he suddenly woke up screaming.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." Stiles dismissed his father's thoughts, hoping that he wouldn't worry him about what had happened last night. It still gave him the chills, actually, remembered how he wanted to die. "Dad, seriously, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare." Giving his Dad a serious look, even throwing in a small, half-smile trying to forget about the dream. The very thought of that nightmare gives Stiles this feeling that was something that reminded him of what he felt before a panic attack. Deciding to throw his father off in another direction, Stiles pointed to the banker box his Dad was carrying. "What's that?"
His Dad stared at the box for a second before he met his son's eyes again. "That just, uh, files from office," his father said dismissively as if it wasn't a big thing and Stiles would have believed him if it weren't for the sticker on the side.
Giving his father a pointed and somewhat accusing look, Stiles' finger flew towards the direction of the box's sticker. "Dad, it literally says there 'Sheriff's station, do not remove', if that's not suspicious then I don't know what is," Stiles felt pretty good about his argument, satisfied to say the least.
But his Dad smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, yeah, unless you're the Sheriff." His father chuckled.
Stiles looked dumbfounded. "Oh," he said simply, but he knew that his father was hiding something from him and he'd get to the bottom of it. Right now, Stiles just felt really tired.
Heading downstairs, his father called after him. "Now, get your butt to school, alright?" coming out of his trance, Stiles grabbed the books and the binder notebooks lying on the ground before he sped off, grabbing some money he saw on his bedside. Stopping by to close the zipper of his pants, Stiles remembered breakfast and decided to steal himself a piece of toast and enjoy a glass of orange juice.
"OJ, OJ, OJ. . ." he chanted, eventually trailing off when he opened the refrigerator and scanning its contents. Stiles eventually fist-punched the air when he saw the jug containing the familiar orange liquid. Grabbing himself a tall glass, Stiles poured the juice when his eyes darted towards the nutrition facts and realized it was back. He was dyslexic again and he couldn't a thing, that the number and the letter were all jumbled up in a mix that made absolutely no sense to him.
"What the—" Stiles stared at the sticker in shock and in horror. "What is this?" pinching himself, his arm stung before he placed the jug down, raising his fingers so they'd meet his eyes. Slowly, Stiles counted to ten and when he was finished, he knew that he wasn't dreaming but when he looked at the jug of OJ, he still saw the jumbled letters and shook his head. That was just a figment of your lousy imagination, Stiles told himself as he ditched the glass inside the refrigerator and swallowed the toast in one bite.
Glancing at a wall clock near him, Stiles cursed. He was already late and he's sure that Scott was pissed—or just how pissed that big puppy could get. So Stiles just shook his head, taking his car keys that reflected the sunlight and ran towards his Jeep, happy that it was finally back from the shop his Dad brought it to. Stiles smiled, looking at the new windshield. He was glad when his Dad told him that he'd take care of that, some sort of thanks for saving him.
Fighting off the smile that crept up on his face when he realized that not a single dime went missing from his wallet, Stiles started the engine of his Jeep and drove away towards Beacon Hills High School, a constant venue for supernatural altercations ranging from minor disagreements to full-blown threats like 'I'm-going-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth', and Stiles' personal favourite, the 'I'm-gonna-break-off-an-extra-large-branch-of-mountain-ash-wrap-it-in-wolfsbane-roll-it-in-mistletoe-and-shove-it-up-your-ass' which happens to annoy—he likes to believe that he scares those puppies, too—his furry companions.
Finally, after a few close-calls with some road blocks and almost falling asleep, Stiles managed to reach the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School relatively unscathed. Stepping out of his Jeep, he realized that it was nothing short of being a fucking miracle. Grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat, Stiles was ready to head over his best friend's locker when he spotted Scott running from something like a lunatic.
And in every other normal day, Stiles would have laughed before coming to his side, asking what was wrong or what he was running away from. But it wasn't like any other normal day—Stiles knew that whatever Scott was running from, it was because of the side-effects he was experiencing. Stiles' mind drifted off to the back of the school where the lacrosse field was. The moment they had powered the Nemeton, when they were held practically dead underwater started all of this.
Stiles knew what he had to do. He wanted to go to his friend and help him, help Scott but he was frozen in his place as people passed through him as if he wasn't even there. Stiles was thankful for that, though, having no one go interrogating him over and over again what had happened three weeks ago.
Three weeks ago.
Memories of what happened flashed through his mind and what it brought to his life. The darkness that seemed to envelope around him more often. Not brought, only made more noticeable, a random voice popped up in Stiles' head which definitely creeped him out and helped him finally choose.
Stiles looked away from Scott and headed towards the door. He breathed deep and fast, gasping for some air. Stiles didn't like it but there's a reason why he and Scott were estranged for the past three weeks and it's because he's scared of him. In his nightmares, he fought and failed to protect himself and he just let himself die at his best friend's hands, like he wanted to die. And Scott seemed to enjoy the kill, he loved the feeling of him dying.
If that doesn't creep a person out, then Stiles had to wonder what does.
A part of Stiles wanted to avoid Scott, and right now, that seemed like the option that would bring him a step closer towards a golden ticket. But it was fruitless because Scott burst through one door at the opposite end of the hallway. Allison suddenly appeared behind Stiles, her pupils dilated as if she saw something that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. She was pale as a sheet but she's still best looking of the people who died and came back.
Get ready Olivia Moore because here comes Allison Argent!
Allison stumbled forward, losing her balance when Stiles caught her, mid-fall. "Whoa, whoa," Stiles steadied Allison, helping her up to her feet. "Hey. Hey, are you alright?" Stiles almost groaned when he realized how stupid the question was. None of them were okay. "You don't look all right, Allison," Stiles noticed Scott at the opposite end of the hallway because he towered over some of the freshmen tumbling over the tiles with schedules in hand trying to get to their classes before the bell rang.
Looking around, she nodded. "I'm okay," Allison breathed deeply before steadying herself and giving him a somewhat serious look that would have cleared his thoughts of any doubt had he been a transfer student. Yeah, Stiles wasn't buying any of the bullshit she was giving him.
Walking Allison to her locker, Stiles noticed that Scott had a lost expression to his face, almost like he was in a daze or something. "No, you're not. It's happening to you, too. You're seeing things, aren't you?" Allison gave him an incredulous look, shocked by all accounts. The expression only told Stiles that Allison hasn't been near any member of the pack except Isaac—Scott forced a meeting with him and gave him everything that's happened when they weren't communicating with each other—and that she didn't expect anyone to know.
A part of Stiles wanted to call out for Scott.
If Allison worked as his anchor back when he was going through Werewolf 101, maybe Scott could be her anchor to get through whatever it was they're going through. Maybe they'd even get back together, a small and supportive part of him piped up, just wanting his best friend to be happy even thought he couldn't stand the sight of him—Scott was missing.
Stiles immediately leaped off the locker, not realizing that he was leaning against one, much to the anger of Allison's neighbor who couldn't seem to get her books until Stiles saw the familiar and unmistakable blood red glowing eyes in the sea of people. Stiles' heart hammered against his chest; they can't have people going back to the Middle Ages where they'd massacre each other until a new plague would arrive.
"Stiles?" Allison's voice rang out but he waved her off, desperate to find that glow in the sea of people again when a voice piped up behind her.
"Because it's happening to all three of you," Lydia Martin stood behind him, his best friend Scott in tow. It was almost a funny sight to Stiles, seeing Lydia drag around Scott before he finally woke up from his trance, blinking in confusion as he pointed all the way to the other end of the hallway and muttering how the hell he got to another. Stiles then realized that long ago, he would have given anything—besides his Jeep—to have Lydia Martin drag him around.
A satisfied smirk rested on Lydia's lips.
She clasped her hands together, her head lolled to a side as if it was all innocent banter. "Well, well, look who's no longer the crazy one," Allison tensed up defensively as she put on a brave face, the one people in the horror movies would use before shit hits the fan.
Yeah, that was Allison's face right now. "We're not crazy," Stiles may not have been a werewolf, he could hear the BS in that simple statement. You'd have to be real close like Stiles or else you wouldn't hear it but he swore in the moment that her voice quavered, as if she thought of something before saying that.
Lydia gave passing glances at the three of them. "Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis?" Lydia listed off, her eyes kept on him but Stiles knew she was thinking of Scott and his best friend's really worrisome condition. "Yeah, you guys are fine," sarcasm dripped from her tone. For a moment, Stiles was almost envious—sarcasm was his specialty, his only move for defense because he's, regrettably, 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones.
Scott, beside Lydia, opened up his mouth to protest but she cut him off before he could have said anything. "You," she pointed at his eye bags that made Stiles suddenly feel conscious because he probably has way bigger ones. "Do not look fine," to anyone else, it might have been like Lydia Martin was telling her friend—acquaintance? Stiles didn't exactly know how the school viewed them for Lydia Martin as companions—that he looked awful. In fact, if Stiles was sleepy enough to collapse, he would have thought that Lydia was still enjoying all of it and that she was still teasing.
And she was, but Stiles could pick up something beneath that. He wasn't a werewolf or any supernatural being of sorts, but he knew Lydia Martin like the back of his hand and he knew that she was worried. And she's right to be worried; she has a ship filled with reasons and he just felt guilty because he couldn't comfort his friend.
Scott sighed tiredly and looked at Lydia, groaning at the worried looks everyone's been throwing at him. Stiles knew that Scott just wanted to escape it all and rest if he could. "We did die and come back to life. That's got to have some side effects, right?" benefit of the doubt, Stiles immediately knew what kind of card Scott was playing so that he could get off the whole topic and have everyone to just let it go.
And finally, Stiles mustered all the courage he had in him to tell Scott off, that he wasn't about to let it go because none of them were fine but then again, timing was a bitch. The bell rang and soon, people inside the hallways started to disappear into their respective classrooms.
Sighing, Stiles walked over to Scott's side, who was shocked and initially recoiled at his touch. "Hey, buddy, we've got History together," Stiles slung his hand over Scott's shoulder and began walking towards a classroom, tension between them was tragically obvious. "We keep an eye on each other. Okay? And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much," Stiles said, turning his head to his side, expecting Lydia and Allison to be there but they weren't. Removing his arm from Scott's shoulder, Stiles spun around to see Allison getting one of her compound bows and Lydia reading up on a book. "Where are you going?" Stiles asked out loud, enough to get their attention.
"What?" Lydia asked innocently before flashing Allison's color-coded schedule, and while Stiles can't read it because it's too small from afar, he knew that big free space on top. "Allison's got free period and I," there was a smile on Lydia's face that made Stiles' heart set flutter. She always had this effect on him. "Well, my grades can manage," Stiles snorted before nodding. Manage my ass, Stiles thought to himself when he realized that not even a three-week absence could bring down Lydia's immaculate GPA.
Seeing Allison nod her head ever so slightly, Stiles saw that as his cue to turn around only to realize that Scott went another trance and he was finally coming back from it. Immediately, Stiles felt sorry for his best friend and slung his arm over his shoulders. "Hey, you heard that we have a new History Teacher!" it was over enthusiastic that even Stiles cringed at how fake it was, but looking over to his side, he realized that he said it in a tone higher than usual and that Scott was right beside him.
His hearing, as it turns out, is way more sensitive when he goes with nights without sleep.
"Sorry," Stiles muttered sheepishly, earning a small nod from his best friend. A half-smile was on Stiles' face now—that was baby steps, he thought to himself when he saw some people rushing in to get inside the classroom. May have been at a snail's nerve-wracking pace but it's progress nonetheless, Scott gave him a weird look, probably picking up on a weird and happy chemo-signal that was entirely out of place.
Finally reaching the classroom, Stiles walked over to some two seats near he window, placing his bag on the chair beside him to prevent anyone from taking it when she saw that Scott was stood frozen in front of some student who was sound asleep on his desk. At first, Stiles was thinking that maybe it was another trance. Getting up, he walked over to see that Scott wasn't under some sort hauntingly horrible vision of death—his, in particular—but he was looking at this new Asian girl, probably around their age.
A soft groan escaped Stiles' lips before he dragged his now infatuated werewolf best friend to the seat beside his. "Come on now, lover boy, we've got History to deal with," Scott twisted around to get another glance at the new girl when suddenly, one of Stiles' notebooks dropped to the ground.
At first, Stiles could only blink. "Umm, hey, I've got it," Scott said hesitantly as if he wasn't sure on what he was supposed to do. Bending down to reach the binder notebook, it was like a train crash in slow motion because in a blink of an eye, Scott had his claws around his neck, choking the living daylight out of him.
Trying his best to breathe in, Stiles panicked when he realized that he couldn't. "Scott, buddy, let go," his voice wavered in fear. Stiles gulped, not really knowing if the man in front of him really is the same kid whose sandcastle was destroyed because he had to piss in it.
Thrashing around his arms violently at the wall at his back, Stiles made a ruckus to save his damned life. Scott had him pinned against the wall, towering above him as he deprived him of the oxygen he needed to live. "Help!" Stiles managed to choke out but no one came to his aid, probably because they were afraid of a wolf-boy with glowing red eyes.
"Stiles!"
And then suddenly, Stiles back in his seat. Looking around, he realized that his back wasn't pressed against the wall and that there were people around him, getting settled for class as the teacher was writing on the board. "Wha—what happened?" Scott inched forward, his hand hanging in the air. He probably wanted to comfort him and Stiles wondered what was taking him so long until he realized he was taking Scott so long.
Scott slowly withdrew his hand when Stiles' breathing finally calmed down. He was avoiding his best friend. Stiles was afraid of his brother's hand which held the very fingers used to help defeat the levels of Contra.
Ignoring the hurt look on Scott's face, Stiles blinked rapidly. "What happened?" although Stiles could feel like someone was watching them, Scott didn't urn around so he didn't ask. He would have known anyway considering his best friend is a werewolf with supernatural hearing abilities—and supernatural killing abilities—and Scott would have easily found out if there was someone eavesdropping on their conversation.
Scott leaned back into his seat, obviously trying to make it seem like he wasn't hurt or anything by his avoiding him. "Your notebook fell," Scott pointed to the light blue binder notebook that was now sitting on his armchair. "I put it back in front of you when you started hyperventilating," leaning closer, careful not to overstep the now obviously drawn lines between them. "What did you see?"
Stiles gulped. He hated how there was distance between him and his best friend but he couldn't help but need it. "It was nothing," he didn't mask the abnormal beating his heart gave and Stiles raised his brow when Scott just stared at him as if he didn't know on whether he was lying or not. "I was, uh, hallucinating, yeah, about the Nemeton," Stiles lied about it again, trying to see if there was a change in Scott's expression.
There wasn't.
Then suddenly, the door creaked open and a student went inside, carelessly pushing the door closed but she didn't put much effort into it. The door hung open half-way as she—Hope Mikaelson, the really rich kid whose Dad owns the chalet built on top of Thorn Hill—crossed the room and went to her seat, not bothering to close the door she left open despite knowing that the classroom was an air-conditioned one.
'When is a door not a door?'
Looking around, alarmed, Stiles tried to figure out what just happened. "Stiles, what happened?" Scott asked, looking around as well to try and see what was wrong. Eventually, Stiles stopped looking around and began trying to focus on what the new History teacher was writing on the board only to find out that he can't. The damned letters were jumbled up again and he paled when he couldn't read like what happened earlier.
'When is a door not a door?'
When the voice asked again, Stiles' head whipped to a side, his teeth gritting, suddenly realizing how heavy his eyelids felt like. "What?" Scott gave him a concerned look but Stiles ignored it, looking around like a paranoid fool. "It's just in your head, Stiles, just in your head," he muttered it like a mantra, continuously earning him worried glances from Scott.
But it won't stop, the voice won't stop asking. 'When is a door not a door? When is a door not a door? When is a door not a door? When is a door not a door? When is a door not a door?' having enough, Stiles used his palms to block out the noise, pressing his hands against his ears. But then, suddenly, it vanished. The eerie voice that kept badgering him to answer when a door isn't a fucking door, the same voice that kept boring a hole at his head, stopped and vanished all of a sudden.
It was only then that Stiles heard a soft click. The teacher closed the door, saying something about saving energy by keeping air-conditioned rooms closed. He let out a sigh and groaned as he leaned back into his seat, wondering when the madness is going to end.
Sitting up straight, Stiles saw that the new teacher was finished with what he was writing on the board. "Good morning, everyone. My name is Mr. Yukimura," Stiles looked at the board and sighed in relief when he noticed that the letters weren't all jumbled up and that he could actually read. "I'll be taking over for your previous History teacher," Mr. Yukimura smiled brightly at the students but at the moment, he didn't really care about that.
He just leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, feeling comfort when the burning sensation from keeping his eyes open was gone.
"My family and I moved here three weeks ago. By now, I'm sure, you all know my daugher, Kira," Mr. Yukimura waved his hand at the student at the back, everyone—including Stiles and, unsurprisingly, Scott—only to see the new girl, Kira, waving her hand shyly. "Or you might not, since she's never mentioned anyone from school. Or brought a friend home for that matter." The tight smile Kira had was replaced by a horrified look before she bent her head down and buried it in her arms, groaning, probably, in embarrassment.
Eventually, everyone looked forward to face Mr. Yukimura while Stiles kept staring at the board, wondering to himself if his newly-discovered dyslexia has some sort of a schedule to torment him. Is it hourly, he thought to himself, looking down to read the cover of book like it was a piece of cake.
"Either way, there she is. Now, let's begin with American History at the turn of the 20th century." Mr. Yukimura chuckled before grabbing the textbook he has on his desk and opening it up on a page, asking everyone to answer the evaluation test.
The whole class was a blur to Stiles, partly because he was exhausted. He literally went through History half-awake and half-asleep, making incoherent noises when asked who was Britain's Prime Minister who first lead the nation through the first 8 months of World War II. Either way, Stiles knew the answer—Neville Chamberlain, the PM before Winston Churchill—but he just shrugged dismissively, feeling so dizzy that he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes.
Stiles sighed in relief, feeling comfort when the burning and stinging sensation that came with staying awake was gone. He didn't sleep—he didn't want to risk another episode where he'd freak everyone out except Scott for screaming himself awake from a nightmare—but when Stiles opened his eyes, still groggy from his compromised nap time, people were already standing up and getting their bags, probably going for another class or for the lunch room.
"And remember! Read about the failed blitzkrieg attack on the RAF and why that particular event proved fundamental for the Allies' victory," Mr. Yukimura yelled out, fixing his stuff, probably preparing for his next class.
Stiles groaned, feeling that his nap was too short, that it came as quick as it left him. Standing up, he felt a bit woozy and when Scott tried to help him, he held a hand up. "I'm fine, man," Scott eventually backed away, just waiting for him to get finished at his own seat, his backpack already slung over his shoulders.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Scott gave him a tight smile and stood waiting for him. Stiles felt bad, his best friend was just trying to help him and God knows they all need help. But Scott tried to kill him, albeit it was dream-Scott, but Scott nonetheless. Who knew if giving power back to the Nemeton suddenly dug up this suppressed evilness in his best friend?
Sighing, Stiles grabbed his bag and opened it wide, putting all of his books and notebooks unceremoniously, not bothering to fix it up or arrange it in the very least.
"Maybe," Scott's voice rang behind him, surprising Stiles a little. "Maybe we need a little more time to get back to normal," it wasn't a crappy solution, just one that won't really happen. Stiles knows that his best friend is just trying to help him because he's Stiles, no super-healing and not super with anything. Just human Stiles.
Stiles snorted at the suggestion. "Yeah, try not to forget that we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures. There's a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal," Stiles didn't mean to snap but it came out that way and a gut feeling told him that there was so little he could do to tell Scott anything otherwise. "Look, we've all had a crap day, Scott, so can we just please drop it?" the wordless nod from his best friend came in heavy to him.
Stiles didn't want to do that to Scott.
"Okay, yeah," Scott just nodded. "I'll just wait here," a part of Stiles felt guilty when Scott awkwardly pretended to eavesdrop on Kira and Mr. Yukimura's conversation. He knows that he shouldn't be too harsh on him, that the whole effects and nightmares from the Nemeton wasn't his fault. . .but it was just so easy to do that, to blame someone.
Blaming, surprisingly, makes bearing the after effects a whole lot easier for Stiles, actually.
Finishing up, Stiles grabbed his bag and noticed his notebook again, how he couldn't read the it. Opening, he couldn't even read the already load of gibberish. Stiles sighed as he placed it inside his bag, zipping it closed. His notes were ineligible and hard to read to begin with and now he's dyslexic, Stiles thought to himself after he slung the backpack over his shoulder.
Turning to face Scott, Stiles had an apology brewing in his mind when he saw his best friend's eyes.
Stiles came close, turning Scott around so that Mr. Yukimura and Kira wouldn't notice. "Oh, dude, your eyes." Stiles whispered in a low voice, trying not to catch their new History teacher's attention.
Scott looked alarmed. "What about them?" he asked, worried all of a sudden.
Stiles paced around nervously in his place. "Your eyes, they're starting to glow," every time Kira would turn around and face their direction, Stiles swore, he's having a mini heart attack.
Scott's eyes widened. "You mean like right now?" Scott pointed to his eyes and Stiles furiously nodded.
Still hiding him from Kira and Mr. Yukimura, Stiles kept trying to glance at the two in front of them, wondering if they noticed what was happening to Scott. "Yes, right now. Scott, stop it. Stop it." Scott started hyperventilating and soon, Stiles saw the sharp, white fangs that bit him earlier in a little trance or vision.
Scott panicked. "I can't. I can't control it!" he whispered, hissing in fear.
Soon, Scott tried to push Stiles away and go into a corner but his hand grabbed the strap of his backpack. "Hey, buddy, look down and keep your head bent, I've got an idea, okay? Just keep your head down. Look down, come on. Keep your head down." Scott and Stiles tried their best to go out the classroom without attracting Kira or Mr. Yukimura's attention and after what seemed like a lifetime of keeping Scott on his feet, they got out and went inside a vacant classroom.
Once they got inside, Scott threw himself away from him. "Get back away from me." Stiles blocked the windows and turned his head back to face his best friend who drew blood as he dug his nails into the palm of his hands. Stiles felt weird. That fact shouldn't be bad, seeing as he's naturally queasy around blood, but the sight of it wasn't the thing bothering him, it was different.
Stiles tried to find his voice. Aside from the weird feeling he has, he felt extremely sorry for his best friend. He inched forward, trying to comfort him at least when Scott looked up, his eyes glowing blood red and his face pinched in pain. "Scott, it's okay." He wanted to believe in the lie but he couldn't, not when the thought came knocking on his mind.
What are you feeling, Stiles? Tell me, what is it? What is that feeling?
The voice came asking when Scott drew more blood from his palm. "I don't know what's going to happen. Get back!" reluctantly, Stiles stepped back, his hand itching to help his best friend.
It was a familiar feeling. In fact, Stiles felt it almost everyday for the 5 days in a week. He tried to remember what triggered it when suddenly, blood trickled to the floor and Stiles remembered the color red, the common misconception of how Lydia was a redhead. Strawberry blonde, his own voice popped up in his mind.
Suddenly, it all made sense. If anything, Stiles loves the idea of seeing Lydia. Ever since 3rd grade, the one motivation he has, the drive that made him go to school and pass every grade was so that he could see Lydia, have the slightest possibility of being her classmate the next year.
So, if I feel like this whenever I see Lydia, Stiles thought to himself, passing the word love and anticipate in his head, his eyes suddenly widened. He likes seeing Scott in pain?
Stiles shook his head as Scott groaned in pain, falling to the ground as he panted. Stiles could see it now, that it was all clear that Scott was obviously more exhausted than he was.
When Stiles was sure that his best friend's episode was over, he went to Scott's side and helped him up. "Pain makes you human," Stiles winced, wondering why it was has to end with that, why they'd have to resort to that.
Stiles shook his head, feeling better now that the weird thoughts of wanting to harm his friend was gone and that the paranoia of being close to his best friend would kill him now vanished into thin air, that the chaos that ruled in his mind and prevented him from helping Scott was gone. "Scott, this isn't just in our heads. This is real. And it's starting to get bad for me, too. The nightmares, the ones I literally have to scream myself awake, I'm not even sure if I'm actually ever waking up," he confessed, feeling the heavy weight in his chest grow lighter as the seconds pass by.
Scott's face was etched with confusion. "What do you mean?"
Stiles stared at the classroom, looking around it before facing Scott who trying his best to clean up the blood that spilled on the ground and on the armchairs. "Do you know how you can tell if you're not dreaming?" Stiles pointed at the board and Scott's face followed. "You can't read in dreams. More and more, the past few days, I've been having trouble reading. It's like I can't even see the words," staring at the board, Scott paled. "I can't put the letters in order."
Walking closer to Stiles, Scott's brows furrowed in confusion.
"Like even now?"
Stiles gulped when he faced the board, unable to read anything. "I can't read a thing."