This is just way too much fun to write, holy cow. I rewatched the 3A finale because I couldn't quite remember all that went down, but it gave me an idea that will cause almost 100% of you to hate me. I kinda hate me too… But thank you so much for all your comments! *snergles all the readers in a non creepy way*

Are you ready for the next installment? I want you to know, this'll sorta be split up into 2 parts: Once I reach the part of the story when Stiles is a bit too far gone, it's going to switch POV to Scott and the others, so you'll all know what it's like to WATCH Stiles, as opposed to what it's like BEING Stiles.

Sound good?

Chapter 3

What Is Broken Every Time It's Spoken?

It was one hour, twenty-two minutes, and thirty-five seconds before the letters started to change.

Stiles contemplates just going home, but figures some sort of appearance at school would probably be beneficial.

It's funny, Stiles always liked school. As much as he found it difficult to pay attention and as much as he was restless in his chair, he liked learning. He loved to read. He just didn't feel that the curriculum covering everything he wanted. So, of course, he would have to alter it to fit his own needs. But now?

Now school seemed like a never-ending nightmare. Every time he walked through those halls, he did with the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe things would go back to normal. Maybe he would walk into the school and feel safe. The walls wouldn't have blood stained under layers of paint and there wouldn't be a body count in the double digits. School could go back to being safe.

Stiles opens the doors to school and no such feeling washes over him. Instead, it's like he can feel the death radiating off the walls. The blood seeping through the paint. The bodies hidden in the shadows of the school.

All he can feel is darkness.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?"

Being accosted when he walks into school wasn't even close to being on his list of things he wanted to happen today. Stiles blinks a few time before Scott is at his side, he eyes flashing. "Hey Scott," Stiles says wearily. His head hurts more than usual. It's like all that time he spent desperately trying to focus and it drained him of any energy he had to exist in the remaining part of the day.

Scott looks like he wants to throttle him and his indifference. "Where the hell were you last night? Deaton said you never showed up and then Lydia comes to school and said she had to talk you down from a panic attack?"

He couldn't help it. Stiles felt a twinge of betrayal with Scott's words. "She… she told you that?"

"Yeah, but I had to basically force it out of her. She was freaking out when you didn't show up for first period." Scott placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles, are you alright? Are the dreams getting worse?"

Yes. "No, no, I just—" Stiles looked around, as if the walls would give him the lie he so desperately needed. His mind wasn't working. He always had an answer. Stiles Stilinski always had answers.

He feels so helpless. He didn't care about the sleep. Hell, he didn't care much about the reading. Stiles could find a way around it. But what he did care about was the soul-crushing notion that everything he thought he was – everything he prided himself in being – was being stripped away from him along with his sense of reality. Everything about him was melting away.

And he didn't have the sense enough to step away from the flames.

It took him a moment to realize a tear slid down his cheek and he hastily wipes it away. "I-It's nothing, Scott." Stiles says, closing his eyes. "I'm not sleeping and it's catching up with me. That's all."

"It's not." Scott states.

Stiles stares at him. Scott's voice is gentle – not pressing, like he felt like he would straight up Alpha-slam him against a wall. He looks in his eyes and for a moment, Stiles is sure.

This is real.

This is real and his best friend is speaking to him.

For some reason, he knows.

"You're going to be okay, Stiles." Scott says. "We'll figure out this whole darkness thing. We'll find something new. We'll try again."

This is real. And for moments he knows are truth, he needs to take advantage of them.

"No, Scott, I'm not." Stiles says. "You don't get it. Something happened that day and I – I don't think that there's—"

The bell rings.

Stiles looks up at the bell and it's all it took. All of his confidence and desire to explain vanishes.

He can't put this on anyone. The darkness is not a burden to place upon friends.

Scott stares, waiting for the explanation that never comes. When Stiles moves to go to class, Scott grabs his arm. "Wait, what were you going to say?"

Scott can do so much without the darkness. For the first time in weeks, Stiles feels a strong sense of calm. "Nothing. I wasn't going to say anything."

XXX

The class feels normal. Stiles doesn't think he's ever focused so hard on what the teacher's saying before in his life. He's even afraid to blink. Because if somehow he nods off or lets the darkness pervade his mind, he'll have to guess again.

Stiles is so sick of guessing.

The teacher even catches his eyes a few times and gives him a strange look. He must have a deranged look on his face, but he will keep his eyes open. "Mr. Stilinski, are you… okay?" She asks, hesitating before moving back to the blackboard.

Stiles wishes she'd just say the words aloud instead of mixing the letters up. "No, I'm just super pumped about the laws of thermodynamics. As we all are, I'm sure."

The teacher squints. "I can't tell if you're mocking me or not."

Stiles widens his eyes. "That's a very important distinction."

"Principal's office, Mr. Stilinski."

"Wha—" Stiles exclaims, waving his arms in disbelief. "I am literally not doing anything. And yes, that is the first time I used that sentence with a clear conscious."

"Office."

Stiles groans, grabbing his textbooks as he saunters out the door. He barely makes it down one hallway until he spots a familiar face, staring intently at her locker mirror. "Hey, Lydia!" Stiles calls out, waving. She glances up at him, but quickly puts her head back down.

Obviously, the office will need to wait.

"Lydia!" Stiles calls out to her, rushing over. She turns to face her locker. "Lydia, can you tell me why you told Scott about last night? Because, to be honest, that kinda sucks. I'm really trying not to involve him in my crazy and you telling him… is everything alright?" She still hasn't looked at him. He looks at her hands, a makeup compact tight in her hand. "Lydia, you always look awesome. I don't understand why—"

Then he does. Lightly under her eye is a almost-concealed bruise. Stiles stares. "Lydia, what… how – who did this to you?" He settles on, his voice shaking.

"It's nothing."

Stiles slams his hand against a locker. "Dammit, Lydia, tell me!"

Then it hits him. There's only one person she wouldn't tell him about. There's only one person she would keep this a secret from him. Stiles' voice is low and venomous. "Did…he do this to you."

Lydia finally faces him and seeing just the slightest imperfection on her face makes the blood rush from his face. "It's not a big deal, Stiles."

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal? Did you really just say that?" He exclaims. "Yeah, if you definition of 'not a big deal' means a massive deal! Like, the United States being severely in debt to China is less of a big deal than this. I'm gonna kill him." Stiles whispers to himself. "I'm going to freaking kill him."

Lydia places a hand his shoulder. It doesn't help. "Please, just leave it alone."

With that, she walks away.

"Lydia!" Stiles cries, but she doesn't turn around. "Lydia, I'm not done with this conversation!"

Lydia walks into her classroom.

Stiles has to sit down. The wrath is beating like a drum in his head, his mind pulsating with how much he wished he was a werewolf right now. He would rip his face off. Not that it would matter so much – there is a spare.

The bell rings and Stiles takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself down. It's not working. People start to bustle in the hallway, but Stiles blinks a few times, only looking for one person. He only needs one.

He sees him.

Stiles rises to his feet, watching Aiden put a few books away in his locker. Lydia may as well have not sad anything because there is nothing on this earth that would prevent him from leaving it alone.

Stiles marches over there, the thought that Aiden was a werewolf clear from his head. Grabbing a fistful of his collar, Stiles slams him against a locker. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" He shouts.

Aiden's too surprised to make a move, but everyone in the hallway stops talking. Before Aiden can even ask what the hell is going on, Stiles takes a swing at him. Then he proceeds to resist the urge to swear. Holy shit, his face is hard. But he doesn't care. He takes another swing. And another.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Someone shouts.

Aiden takes Stiles' hesitation to shove him off. Stiles jaw clenches as he move menacingly closer, every part of his body feeling like it was on fire. He cocks his arm back, but someone grabs him. "Stiles, stop it, what are you doing!"

Stiles glances to see Lydia grabbing his arm. "What do you think I'm doing, I'm—"

He stops.

Her face is perfect.

Stiles blinks. Every time he does, he sees exactly the same. No bruise. No injury. Just Lydia. Just Lydia staring at him, terrified. "Wha—" he breathes, his fist dropping.

Then someone else's strikes him in the face.

Stiles stumbles backwards, almost dropping to his knees. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Aiden cries, grabbing Stiles by his shirt cuffs. He throws another punch, except this time there's considerable force behind it and it leaves him reeling. Slamming him against the opposite lockers, Aiden knees him in the chest, causing Stiles to choke.

Aiden brings his arm back and Stiles flinches, but it never comes.

"What is going on out here?" A teacher shouts as Ethan drags Aiden away from Stiles.

Stiles collapses to the ground, rubbing his face. His fingers come back covered with blood.

"Stiles, what were you thinking?" Lydia cries, kneeling next to him.

He takes one last look at her, hoping the adrenaline made him miss the bruise. Made him miss her injury.

There was nothing.

XXX

"Stop squirming, Stiles. You're just as bad as you were when you were little." Ms. McCall dabs Stiles' face, blood staining several gauge wraps behind her.

"Sorry," Stiles says, his eyes darting around. "I'm not a big fan of hospitals."

"I know, sweetie. I know."

Stiles swings his legs on the examination table like he did when he was little. It made him smile a little. Everything was easier then. Well, maybe not. Watching his mother die isn't something he could ever relive. But classifying pain is like blowing bubbles and expecting them to stay with you: pointless and unsuccessful.

"Stiles, good Lord, what were you thinking?" Ms. McCall breaths as she presses her fingers against his rib cage. He squeaks when she does so, his chest heaving. "You've got some pretty nasty bruises. No lacrosse for you for a week or so."

Stiles shrugs. Lacrosse isn't exactly high on his priorities list these days.

Ms. McCall moves toward the door, but instead of leaving with his test results, she closes it. "Alright," she says when she returns. "You're going to start explaining and you're going to do it now."

Stiles bites his lip. It's just the two of them. He's already told someone once, but that wasn't real.

"If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?" Stiles says in a soft voice.

Ms. McCall's eyes light up, surprised, as if she didn't expect him to agree. "Of course."

"No, I mean it. You can't tell my dad – or even Scott."

Her eyebrows narrow. "Okay, Stiles, you're scaring me."

"Promise."

She sighs. "I promise."

Stiles licks his lips, the nervousness making his skin crawl. "I don't know how much Scott told about the darkness and the doors, but we tried to close the doors opened to our mind a few days ago."

She nods. "Yes and he said it didn't work. Nothing changed."

Stiles is having a hard time looking in her eyes. He has the key to her house on his keychain for God's sake. "I, uh, lied. That day about what happened. I lied to everyone." He hangs his head. "I got to the doors. I closed Scott's and Allison's. But…" Stiles winces. "Something went wrong and mine opened further. It's wide open now.

"I'm losing my mind, Ms. McCall. I can barely determine what's a dream or not. Like this right now? I'm not even sure. Maybe I'll wake up in a few minutes or an hour. Who knows?"

Ms. McCall's hand is over her mouth, tears dotting her eyes. "Stiles—"

"And I'm getting more scared. At school today? There wasn't even a moment."

She grips his arm. "What do you mean?"

Stiles' feels the darkness coming over him like a wet blanket. His skin feels cold, like he's back in the ice tub, ready to drown. Maybe he is. "I have a moment of realization. Either when I wake up or right when I'm about to, I know it's a dream. I know what happened wasn't real. But this time," he says, gritting his teeth. "This time there was no moment. What was happening was real, and then it wasn't, and then it was again. I thought he hurt her, Ms. McCall. I had a conversation with Lydia minutes before I saw him and he hurt her. But then? Then when she came over, she wasn't hurt.

"So somehow, I slipped between reality and my mind without realizing it. I didn't even notice it happening." Stiles' hands start to shake, so Ms. McCall takes them in hers. She motions for him to calm his breathing. He didn't even realize it was erratic. "The line is blurring.

"Ms. McCall, I'm going to die."

A few tears slide down her cheeks. "No, honey," she says, wrapping her arms around him and bringing his head into her chest. "You're not going to die. We'll figure something out."

Stiles stays there for a while, the warmth welcome. That's the thing. Ms. McCall is warm. She's so warm. He clutches her back, trying to control his tears. Unsuccessfully, but trying.

"I feel so alone." He says.

"You're not, sweetie. No matter what your mind tells you, you are not alone."

Stiles brings his head to her shoulder so he could properly hug her, but is startled when he sees someone staring at them in the window.

He stiffens.

Ms. McCall doesn't seem to notice, but his chest starts to heave. He's shaking.

Those eyes. Those eyes staring at him through the hospital window. The person places a hand on the window, her hazel eyes striking through him. She's mouthing something to him, but Stiles can't make it out. He can't move. He can't think.

"Mom?"

XXX

He wakes up screaming.

Stiles only screams for so long before he feels someone tackle him. His entire body aches when they do so and so his yelling strangles into a pitiful howl, the person locking their grip so he can't do anything.

That's when he realizes he's not at home.

Stiles flails frantically, trying to get out of the stranger's grip, but has to give up after a while. "Shit, you're much stronger than I ever would've given you credit for." The stranger breathes when Stiles lands an elbow in his side. "No wonder Aiden was pissed."

"Who are you?" Stiles bellows, pushing against the arms. "Let me go!"

"Dude, Stiles, it's me. Isaac."

"Isaac?" Stiles repeats. The surprise is enough to calm him down. As he turns his head behind him, Scott bursts through the door. "Scott?"

Scott peers at his friend, his eyes wide. "God, Stiles. You didn't tell me they were getting this bad."

Isaac loosens his grip on Stiles, but doesn't move away. "What am I doing here?" Stiles asks, panting. He scoots a little away from Isaac, clutching his chest. There's the feeling again.

He's underwater.

Isaac looks at him pitifully. Stiles hates that. "You came over to spend the night because your dad's working nights again because of the impeachment? He heard about your panic attack last night and asked if you could stay here."

Even as Isaac's explaining, Stiles tries to remember. He tries to put that memory into place, but it's not there. He can't even find a whisper of it. But sure enough, there's his backpack. And he was in a sleeping bag. Well, theoretically. The sleeping bag is unzipped and kicked under Isaac's bed.

Footsteps grow louder and before Stiles can hide, Ms. McCall is in the room. "Everything alright?"

Scott nods at his mom, his eyes weary. "We got it under control."

"I-I'm sorry," Stiles mutters, grabbing his head. "I shouldn't make you guys deal with this. It's bad enough my dad has to—"

"Hush, Stiles." Ms. McCall kneels by him, lifting up his head so she can take it in her hands. "We are here for you."

Chills run down his spine. "Did we have a conversation earlier today?" Stiles asks after a moment. "In the hospital?"

Ms. McCall frowns. "Sweetie, you didn't go to the hospital." She runs her hands down his face to his chin. "But maybe you should, just to make sure everything is okay. I mean, it's hard to explain to a principal how an ordinary case of teenage fight could be problematic, especially when one's a werewolf."

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. His mom's eyes haunt him when he does so, so he squeezes tighter to try and hide them. She was there. His mom was standing right there.

If this was a contest, he wouldn't even be competition, let alone winning.

Not real.

A/N: …yes. I brought Claudia Stilinski in it. *hides from everyone* And yes, prepare for more.

I know the show is adding more supernatural elements, but I'm going for a more metaphorical darkness: like the darkness that already resides in his mind is manifesting itself. So everything – his mother, father, uselessness, etc. is going to play a factor here.

I really love reading your guys' thoughts! So if you have a little bit, please do leave a note! It makes my heart oh so happy. And makes my pen quite motivated… haha!