Chapter Five: Trembling Hands

Song Inspiration: Help Me Out by Alicks

Stiles sits in the corner of the decrepit, old train station that's ridden with mold and reeks of a distinct, coppery smell similar to rusty pennies. His head lulls back and forth, anxious eyes falling closed every once in a while. Those are the moments when he dreams of a time before this one where his worry-filled life was taken up with the latest supernatural conundrum, the newest case his dad was working on, making it through high school, and his flip-flopping emotions.

And now all there is, is silence.

There is no sense of time down there. There is no structure of what is down and what is up, how many seconds or days he'd been there, if anything he was seeing really even existed.

Peter comes and sits down beside him, his back colliding loudly against the wall as he lets out a huff and his back slumps to the same position that Stiles is currently in.

"You still think they're going to remember you, don't you?" He asks in his usual overbearing manner, eyeing him with pity that Stiles surely didn't need from a guy like him.

"I'm so happy that I have something worth hoping for. You broke your ties with everyone. You tried to turn us against Scott, you tried to kill him. And you manipulated Malia. From where I'm sitting, I have a better chance of your own daughter remembering me before you. And good riddance, she doesn't need you in her life. She never needed you." Stiles retorts with a cynical bite to his tone, loving the satisfaction his gets from the momentary silence from Peter. But of course, all good things must end.

"And you think she needs you?" He asks in utter disbelief. "You honestly, truly think that Malia would ever want anything to do with you after everything you've done, Stiles? You can point fingers all you want, but I've never pretended to be the good guy. You walk around in your flannels and big brown eyes like you're some sort of saint, but Malia is a smart girl. She finally saw through you when you showed your true colors. She's better off without you, too, even if you don't want to admit it. You know, I always did wonder what she saw in you. Poor, skinny, defenseless, Stiles. I always figured she'd go for a guy like Scott... Kind, noble, compassionate. Who knows, maybe that's exactly what she's doing right now." Peter muses, chuckling at the deep frown on Stiles face.

"Stop talking." Stiles grits out, quickly losing his temper. No matter what happened between him and Malia, he's still protective of her and Peter doesn't get to speak about her like he knows anything about her and how she's feels. He doesn't get that luxury.

He knew that him and Malia were over, it started as an unspoken thing that eventually just stayed that way. But something about the idea of her and Scott rubbed him the wrong way. Just the thought of her looking at his best friend the way she used to look at him made him... sad. Like that hollow feeling in your chest where you can feel your heart drop down to your stomach and your insides twisting into knots. And what if Peter was right? He was no Scott. He could never measure up to him, no matter how hard he'd tried throughout school. But then Malia came along and saw something in him from the second she had met him and from that point, Stiles no longer felt like he needed to be in competition with Scott. He'd had a good thing at the time and she had been fiercely devoted to him. That's just who Malia is. But what about now?

Was she laying her head in Scott's lap the way she used to with him when they would do homework together? Did Scott run his fingers through her hair and massage her scalp the way he would when she was stressed out about a test coming up? Did she brush his fingers in the hallway the way her and him used to?

Stiles isn't naive and won't deny noticing the subtle shift in their dynamic throughout the year, but he never said anything about it because he had Lydia. At first, he had chalked it up to Scott being a good friend and looking out for her, but eventually the lingering hugs and knowing looks were difficult to ignore. Scott's hand would stay on the small of her back for a beat too long and Malia would look up at him through her lashes with this unreadable look in her eyes. Stiles always had a feeling that Scott had been trying to tell him a few different times that something had changed between the two of them, but he never did.

It bothered him, the endless scenarios of how things could be playing out right now with him gone. As egocentric as it is, Stiles craved the feeling of having something that was just his. And his connection with Malia was one of those things that was priceless to him. He never felt threatened that someone would take that away from him, not Scott, not anybody. That's when he realizes that maybe he had loved Malia in a selfish way all along. And when you care about someone, you can't be thoughtless with them.

"So, didn't you leave my beautiful, coyote daughter for that Lydia Martin, girl? I always did like something about her. She just had this thing about her blood when I bit her that night... It was so... Spicy." Peter grins and continues to pick at Stiles' brain, pestering and goading him into a confrontation. "I mean, I get what you see in her, really I do. But she can't hold a candle to my Malia. It's those Hale genes, they don't skip any generations." He chuckles and winks, as if the two of them were buddies and talking about the weather.

"How about you keep both of their names out of your mouth, huh? And Malia is a Tate, not a Hale." Stiles breathes, dangerously close to losing control of his temper. Peter senses his breaking point is near and decides to back off for now, enjoying the fact that he is able to work up the Stilinski boy so easily. He really is predictable.

Time goes on. Stiles thoughts began to ebb back and forth.

Scott. Lydia. Malia. His dad. Lydia. Malia. Scott. His dad. Malia. Scott. Lydia. His dad.

The worst part about the Wild Hunt isn't even being taken. It isn't just the realization that every single person that you've ever known, loved, or cared about doesn't bat an eyelash at your disappearance. It's the waiting... The thinking. It's the isolation and the descent into madness that keeps you up and leaves you missing people that don't miss you back. Maybe this is what Purgatory is like, or maybe even Hell. Maybe eternal suffering is already here on Earth and the demons have escaped in the form of men on horses.

The Four Horseman, how fitting.

Stiles rocks in a fetal position, biting numbly on his finger nails until he draws blood.

"Someone is going to remember me; Scott, Lydia, Malia. They'll come for me. They'll bring me back. They'll bring me home."