Help, I'm Alive

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Teen Wolf. Or, ya know, shit would happen. The title belongs to the song "Help, I'm Alive" by Metric.

Summary: "I lied to you. I'm in some bad shit, Dad. And I'm scared." An accident causes Stiles to take a step back from the things that go bump in the night. The accident also wakes something inside of him, and while the werewolves scramble to figure out who attacked him, he starts dreaming of people long dead. Okay is relative, and normal is simply a state of mind.

Warnings: Maybe pre-slash? Uh, pre-like every pairing probably. Trigger warning for depression, and anxiety and car accidents and some other stuff that comes with that. Swearing, violence, and the tendency to possibly get things wrong.

A: N – Boooo. Welcome to chapter three.

Allison slumped down in her seat, twirling her pen in her fingers and glanced sideways at the empty seat to her left. Scott was practically lying on his desk, his head buried so far in his arms it was like he was trying to mold himself into one large Scott-blob. Stiles' seat was empty in front of him. It had been empty for the past week.

Allison sighed and looked down at her empty notebook. She had yet to really work up the courage to ask Scott how he was doing – how Stiles was doing, how the Sheriff was doing, how Scott was doing. She had yet to work up the courage to really speak about the accident to anyone. Everyone else was talking about it – even the teachers. But Allison had kept her mouth shut. And she was quite surprised when Jackson of all people snapped at one of the people making fun of what happened. "It's not a fucking circus act." He had snapped and the others had backed down. Not many people had talked about it since then.

Allison wondered if Stiles knew just how many people cared about him. She had a feeling he didn't.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were all mysteriously silent and she had seen Scott with them more than she had seen Scott with Lydia or Danny or Jackson. But it seemed almost like they were making him hang out with them. They always came to him, he never came to them. No… Scott was almost in a perpetual state of half aware. Mrs. Sarlo – their math teacher – called on Scott, obviously sensing his lack of attention. Allison couldn't help thinking just how cruel that was of her to do. Obviously Scott didn't know how to do the problem and she was only embarrassing him by calling him up to the front to demonstrate in front of the class.

She glared and Scott made no motion to move. Almost as though he hadn't heard a word she had said. His fingertips brushed against the back of the empty seat that Stiles usually accompanied. "Mister McCall." She tried again, sterner this time.

More than a few of the students in the room had tensed and more than a few of the students had turned back to look at Scott.

Still, Scott made no motion to move towards the front of the class.

"Mrs. Sarlo?" Lydia's hand shot out and Allison jumped at the sound of her voice coming from behind her.

"Yes, Lydia?" The teacher finally tore her eyes from Scott's profile.

"I'll do the problem." She gave the teacher no room for argument, standing up with an elegance and arrogance that only Lydia could have and walked up to the board. For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the sound of chalk on the black board and then Lydia circled her answer and clapped her hands together. The chalk dust floated from her hands and onto the floor as her heels tapped against it.

Lydia had been acting strangely too, Allison had noticed. She hadn't spoken to Scott either, hadn't talked to anyone really. But she had held on tightly to Jackson whenever she saw him, gave Allison a tighter, harder, longer hug than she usually did at the end and beginning to every day. Dimly Allison wondered just how close Lydia had considered herself to Stiles. Wondered if Stiles and Lydia had ever talked about what it was that was going on in Beacon Hills. Allison hated how much she had isolated herself after the death of her mother. Not that that wasn't understandable but… Allison couldn't shake the feeling that she could have stopped this somehow. Or at least given Stiles more of a fighting chance.

The bell rang and Allison snapped back to reality. She had missed the assignment for the night but she couldn't bring herself to really worry about that. Instead she worried about Scott. Silent, stoic Scott. Who grabbed his back sluggishly and made his way over to the classroom door at a much more subdued pace than usual.

She acted on impulse.

It made her heart hurt to see him like this. "Scott!" She grabbed her own things and chased after him. "Scott, wait up!" Lydia looked at her in shock but followed at a more subdued speed. Backup in case she needed it perhaps. Or maybe Lydia just wanted to know how Stiles was herself. Though, usually, Lydia had no problem asking and getting the information that she wanted.

Scott didn't stop, though. It was almost like he didn't hear her. It hurt, but Allison tried to understand. Stiles was Scott's best friend, had been there when Allison wasn't and when Allison was. They'd known each other for ages. Allison couldn't replace that bond. Not that she wanted to. She walked beside him, gripping the strap of her back tightly. Lydia walked on the other side of Scott. "Scott?" Allison found his eyes and they were tired. Exhausted. Confused. Hurt. Scared. Worried. And yet, somewhere in there, there was relief.

"How's Stiles?" It was Danny who asked, not that Allison knew where Danny had come from.

Scott glanced up at him and shrugged. "How are you?" Allison pressed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hold his hand in her own.

His eyes found hers and he looked almost angry, feral, scary if Allison wasn't who she was. "I'm fine." He finally said, dropping her gaze and rubbing at his forehead in clear distress. He obviously hadn't been sleeping as much as he should be.

"Can we visit him?" Lydia asked through the silence, her voice smaller than Allison had ever heard it.

Scott just shrugged. "Up to the Sheriff." He started to walk faster and Lydia and Danny let him, as though he had given them all they wanted. He probably had. They weren't really worried about Scott, they were worried about Stiles, ever since they had struck up an odd sort of friendship with him the year before.

"Scott wait!" Allison ran after him, because while she was worried about Stiles she was also worried about Scott. Worried about how he was handling something like this. "Scott!" She grabbed onto his arm and he spun to look at her, anger on his face. He growled.

"What?" He asked her through clenched teeth.

"You don't know who did this, do you?" She pulled away slowly.

"We're working on it."

"So are we, Scott." He looked up at her, almost as though he were shocked. "He's my friend too. And he's innocent."

"He works with wolves."

"So do I." Or she hoped she did anyway, she used to.

Scott studied her for a moment before nodding and starting his slow walk to the cafeteria. She walked beside him. "He wouldn't let me help him." Scott said softly. That must have been what was bothering him, what was still bothering him.

"How would you help him, Scott?" Her voice was kind.

"Take away his pain." Scott shrugged. "But he wouldn't let me."

Allison made a sympathetic noise. "He was probably out of it." She shook her head slowly. "That much trauma… they have him on some heavy drugs."

"No you don't get it, Allison." He turned to face her, and his expression begged her to understand. "It was like… It was like he was scared of me."

"Scott…."

"I've never seen him like that, Allison." He shook his head and his eyes shone with worry. "He's never been scared of me before."

Stiles was ten, playing on a playground. His father was a bench next to his partner on the force – Nina – and not too long ago he had given into his exhaustion and fallen asleep. His mother had been dead for two years. Stiles was playing on the playground by himself. Well, there were other kids, but none that were willing to play with Stiles. It had been two years, but he was still the poor little boy whose mother had died.

He slid down the slide for probably the tenth time now, his sneakered feet hitting the wood chips softly. "Hi!" A small, brown haired boy stood in front of him, his hand out to help him stand. Stiles tilted his head to the side before taking it. "Do you want to play with me and my sister?" He gestured to a younger girl, equally as dark haired, sitting under a tree. Stiles nodded happily. Finally someone was talking to him again.

"I'm Stiles." He introduced himself.

"That's a cool name." The boy said and plopped down on the grass next to his sister, picking a flower out of the ground and tucking it behind the little girl's hair. It was yellow and it brought out the gold in her blue eyes.

The sky above them started to darken, as though a storm was rolling in. The little boy smiled at him but his smile quickly faded at something behind Stiles. He turned around sharply, but all he saw was a flash of orange and heat on his face before he jerked back against the soft sheets of the hospital bed. His heart monitor must have done something funny, because his father jerked awake at the same time he did, looking at him in alarm.

He was okay for a moment, stunned that he wasn't at the playground anymore. And then an echo of a pain spread through his body, coating his bones and floating into his lungs. The monitor started to beep faster and faster. His father shot up to his feet, pressing the emergency button and leaning over him. "Stiles." He called for his attention. "Stiles, it's okay." Only it wasn't okay. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

Why couldn't he tell his father how much it hurt?

The little girl, blue eyes and brown hair and a yellow flower twisted against her ear, sat herself down next to him, her forehead creased in worry almost. She gently reached out a hand, trailing it down his cheek – fire burned through his veins in the wake of her touch.

"Go away." He said the best he could. A nurse came running to the room, his door banging against the wall. His father held onto his arms tightly, holding him in place as best he could.

The little girl leaned harder against his side, her hand tugging on his own and trying to open his fist. The necklace, the one the little boy had given him the night before, was cold against his palm. The charm dug into his skin. Her tiny fingers tried to pry open his own. For some reason, he wouldn't let her open it. "Go away!" He yelled and the girl flew back, startled. His body banged against his father's grasp. The nurse let out a strangled sort of noise and ran from the room to get some help. A panic attack they were thinking.

"Stiles it's fine!" His father gripped him tighter, careful of all the cuts and bruises.

Another nurse came in, bigger this time, stronger, male. He pressed something into Stiles' IV and he felt his bones grow heavy.

The little girl reached out towards him again, kneeling down next to him on the bed and leaning close. Her hair brushed against his cheek and he turned his face away from her and into his father's shoulder. "Go away." He cried into the fabric. His father smoothed a hand down his back and laid him back down. Stiles wouldn't let go though.

Maybe his father would make her go away.

Her breath brushed against his ear and she breathed in deeply. "See a penny, pick it up." She whispered. "And all good day you'll have good luck." She breathed against his ear for a while before the breathing stopped.

Slowly he cracked open his eyes and glanced to the side. There was nothing where the little girl had been.

He let out a sigh of relief and his eyes started to close. A nurse's legs were in his line of vision before he sluggishly turned his head back towards his father. Dimly he noticed Isaac looking at him from behind a window in the hospital hallway. He shut his eyes and reached out blindly for his father's hand. He held on tightly as his vision started to disappear. Standing behind his father was a taller woman. Beautiful, slender. Familiar. She nodded at him seriously. "You're safe, Stiles." She assured at the same time his father brushed back his hair from his forehead and held his hand up close to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat. Like Stiles used to do when he was younger.

And then he was asleep, his breathing evened out, his hand slackening in his father's.

"Sheriff." The Sheriff jerked out of an uneasy sleep at the newly arrived figure that stood in the doorway of his son's hospital room. He hadn't gone home for more than a few minutes in the morning to take a shower and grab a change of clothes. He also grabbed a few books for his son to keep himself entertained. Momentarily he felt bad that he couldn't bring him his computer or his phone but the phone was in evidence and the staff had asked not to bring in computers because they could mess with all the machines he was on. But after what had happened only a few hours before the Sheriff was pretty sure he wouldn't be leaving Stiles to even take a shower as long as he was in the hospital. "How is he?"

He looked up slowly at Chris Argent before looking back down at his son. He shifted so that he was in a more comfortable position. "He's fighting."

Chris nodded as if that was an acceptable answer before sitting down in a chair next to him. "Sheriff…" He wanted to ask something. Obviously he didn't know what to ask.

"What are you doing here, Argent?" The Sheriff would apologize for the snappish quality of his voice later. But now he was running off what little sleep he could catch and four cups of coffee. He wasn't in the mood to listen to anyone's small talk.

"Allison was worried about him." Chris finished lamely. "I told her she could come so long as she got your permission."

"Allison's always welcome." Because she was Stiles' friend and a nice girl. He didn't get the same gut feeling with her that he got with her father or Derek Hale. Like they were dangerous. No, Allison was a nice girl and if there was anything that she was it wasn't a threat to his son. "Why didn't you just call?"

Chris shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted to make sure you were okay, myself." The Sheriff shot him an incredulous look. "Your son is a very bright boy. And I know how hard this must be for you. Especially since… you're going through this alone."

"I'm not going through this alone." He said stiffly.

He didn't say anything else and neither did Chris. After a few minutes of silence Chris left, bidding them goodbye and promising to send word to Allison that she was allowed to visit.

The Sheriff settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. Melissa would be in to visit and check up on both of them anytime now, Scott sure to be following in tow. He should catch some sleep.

But every time he shut his eyes he was back at that accident scene and his boy was yelling out for him. And every time it got harder to get him safe.

Finally, on the third day, Scott got some time alone with Stiles. The Sheriff was in the bathroom and his mother was down at the cafeteria to grab something to eat. He had mentioned to the Sheriff that Lydia, Danny and maybe even Jackson wanted to visit him to see how he was doing so he suspected the Sheriff would be going down to the front desk to make sure the nurses knew they were allowed to visit whenever they came to the hospital.

Stiles was playing some game on his father's phone, a frown on his face but his eyes lighter than they had been all week. "Hey." Scott said softly and Stiles glanced up at him before going back to the game.

"Hi." He grunted as his character died and placed the phone down next to him. "Tell me you brought me something fun." He said miserably, his head resting back against his pillows. Scott could see his bruises much easier now. Could see the cuts and could smell the blood.

He could also smell the hospital and a faint scent of smoke. He was confused by that one still. Mostly, it set his wolf on edge that Stiles no longer smelt like Stiles.

"How- how are you feeling?" Because even though Stiles was his best friend, him and Scott weren't used to having these… heart-to-hearts.

Stiles shrugged uselessly – shrugged as best as he could anyway. "I'll even take homework." He implored desperately, avoiding Scott's question in a manner that only Stiles could do.

Not lying, just avoiding. Scott would know if he was lying. With or without his werewolf hearing. "Your dad brought you some books." Scott handed one to him and Stiles took it greedily, opening up to a random page, his eyes floating from word to word faster than Scott would have been able to process it.

"Scott." He said softly without looking up from the book. "No more, okay?"

"No more, what?" Scott furrowed his eyebrows.

"No more… werewolves."

"I don't get what you're saying." Only he did. Scott wasn't stupid. He just wanted Stiles to prove him wrong.

"I don't… want to know. Anymore."

"Stiles, man-."

"Please." Stiles turned a page in his book. "Please just… I don't want to do this anymore, man."

Scott fell silent, sitting back in his chair. "Are we… Are you still…"

"You're still my best friend, Scott." He rolled his eyes as though it was stupid of Scott to ever think differently. "I just… It got me into this. And I can't put my dad through this. Not again."

Scott nodded as though he understood and he did, to a point. It was like when he had first gotten bitten and didn't want to talk to Stiles about handling it or get help from Derek. Only a bit more extreme. "What do you mean… it got you into this?" Scott focused on that though, because that was the part he didn't understand.

Stiles shook his head slowly. "I'm not… sure."

For the rest of the visit Stiles looked down at his book but no pages turned. They were silent. And Scott pretended not to notice the very old looking chain Stiles had wrapped around his most injured hand, always kept in a fist, almost as though he were hiding something from Scott's view.

A:N - Still got readers? Anyone that anyone wants to see more of? Just curious.