You guys are so awesome! I usually am not this prolific, but you make me want to write more! (Not to mention, this is super fun and I'm pretty stoked where it's heading) I have to say, a review made me laugh so hard, I'm putting another chapter up today. So, this may not be 4 new chapters in an evening, but you definitely made me want to write another!

Chapter 4

What Demands an Answer, but Asks No Questions?

Stiles' leg pops up and down. He tries running his hands down his thigh to calm himself down, but it doesn't work. They still shake.

He's in the hospital waiting room alone.

As much as he protested, he couldn't convince his father that he didn't need a CAT scan. Everyone continued to ask him why he was so sure, why the sudden increase of panic attacks? Why can't he discern what is real or not? And why, oh why, are Scott and Allison doing just fun and he, Stiles, can't seem to hold himself together to save his life?

Literally.

He couldn't tell them. When they all stared at him as he tried to voice his opinion, when he tried to explain exactly why he wasn't able to do anything, no words came. He couldn't tell them again. He couldn't tell them for a third time and then it not be real. No, he was in this alone.

That's fine, though.

That's at least what he tells himself.

But he thinks about it and realizes it'll be true. Everyone, without him, will be just fine. Scott will have his pack and Alpha Status, Allison will have Scott and Isaac, Isaac will have the McCalls, Lydia will have Allison and Aiden, and his dad… Well, his dad will have everyone around him. And most likely, he will be better off for it. He won't have Stiles, a hyperactive basket case with a severe case of ADHD, ruining his life.

Maybe, the world would be better without him anyway.

The thought slithers in the back of his mind and he finds himself shrinking in his seat. The back of his neck grows cold and he starts to shake. Sweat breaks out on his forehead and he tries to settle his breathing. They would be better without me. The thought echoes over and over in his head and his sight goes out of focus. Are they tears? Or is it something else?

Someone sits next to him and Stiles almost leaps out of his skin. He recoils at the stranger, gripping the sides of the hospital chair as if he's afraid the person will attack him. But then, he realizes it's just a kid.

Stiles isn't sure the kid is even aware he sat next to someone unhinged. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve. He hangs his head in his hands, a quiet whimpering smother through his fingers. Stiles looks around, waiting for someone to claim the child, tell him whatever is bothering his that it's alright, but no one comes. Stiles looks at him and remembers all the moments he sat in the hospital by himself, surrounded by wrappers of vending machine candy, waiting for a nurse to bring him water and his father to arrive.

"Hey there," Stiles says, putting a hand on the kid's back. "Everything alright?"

The boy looks up at Stiles, his eyes brimming with tears. He doesn't answer at first, but then again, he doesn't turn away either. He just stares at Stiles with his tear-filled gaze, making Stiles' breath catch. He's a scrawny kid with knobby elbows and big brown eyes. "She's going to die." The kid says.

Stiles can't help but look around, hoping someone would come over and see that this is a crisis, but he can't get the boy's words out of his head. She's going to die. "Who?" Stiles asks, although a part of him doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know at all.

"My mom."

Stiles wants to recoil away from him. This feels too familiar, too scary, and too real. His hands start to tremble. But the kid doesn't stop. He doesn't stop talking, even though Stiles is leaning away from him. "I heard the nurses say that she's going to die and they tried calling my dad, but he won't pick up."

Stiles can't breathe. Memories of this flash in his mind. His small hands gripping the hospital phone. His desperate attempt to call his father, but no answer from the other line. His mother's choking gasps for air as nurses bustled around him, forgetting he was standing there, pressed against the corner, trying not to watch. Redial. Redial, redial, redial.

"My dad isn't going to get here in time." The boy says vacantly, his brown eyes hollowing like he lost his soul, like there's nothing left inside his body. Like he's a shell. "I have to watch my mother die."

Stiles lets go of his shoulder as if the child burned him. Leaping from his seat, he calls out, "Is there anyone here who can help this kid?" He calls out. "Anyone who can get his father on the phone? Can anyone help him?"

The hospital lights flicker.

Stiles peers around, his breath shortening.

There's no one else here.

The hospital, which was bustling only moments ago, is empty. The lights dim to a faint blue, washing the entire area in the melancholy hue of a graveyard. "H-Hello?" Stiles calls out, his hands trembling. "I-Is there anyone else here?"

He peers back down and the boy is gone.

Stiles grabs his head. "This is a dream." He says to himself, his body shaking with tremors. "This is a dream, Stiles. Wake up."

Someone grabs his shoulder and he yells and jerks away, but they don't let go. One of the nurses he's seen throughout his entire life is standing at his side. "Ms. Paige?" He asks, staring at her vice-like grip. "W-What are you doing?"

"Come with me, Stiles."

Stiles doesn't want to, but find himself being led by the woman who was there throughout the treatments. Throughout the overnight visits at the hospital. The woman who made sure he had a blanket when he rested his head on the cot as his mother's monitors beeped on.

She was the nurse who called time of death.

Stiles recognizes the hallways. He walked them so many times, the nurses barely noticed he was there. Of course the small, Stilinski boy was wandering the halls. He was always here. His father wasn't, but the little boy was. The Stilinski boy lived in these walls.

Except this route is too familiar. It's the hallways he walked every day. "Let me go," Stiles struggles, trying to wrench his arm from her grip. "Let me go, please."

He sees the door.

"No," Stiles is panicking more now, trying to whirl around and run, but another set of hands grab his other arm. Another pair pushes his back. "No!" He shouts, trembling. "No, don't do this! Make it stop!"

There are too many people and there's only one of him. They shove Stiles to his mother's old room, but he puts his hands out to catch the door frame. He's frozen in the middle, his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn't want to see. "Stop! Please!" He cries, his arms burning as the people press against his back. Every part of his body feels like it's on fire. "Please, please don't make me watch again! Please!"

Behind him, he hears the collected voice of Nurse Paige.

"Time of death, 6:46 P.M."

XXX

"PLEASE!" Stiles begs, reaching his hands out wildly. "Please don't make me do this!"

Except this time, when he puts his hands out, his fists his something solid. Stiles opens his eyes and sees white.

He's in a tube.

"What?" He breathes, placing his palms on the sleek surface above him. It surrounds every part of him and tries to move his head around, but there it is. The white walls. "Where am I?" He gasps, his hands dragging alongside of the tube. "Let me out!"

"Stiles!"

A voice shouts from above him and his eyes widen. "No!" Stiles slams his hand against the walls around him and the entire thing shudders. "Wake up, Stiles! Wake up! This is just a dream!"

"Stiles, sweetie, you need to calm down. I'm right here."

Stiles continues to slams his hands against the white walls, his bellowing swirling around him like poison. It echoes again and again, until he's trapped within the tube of his own screams.

"Wake up, Stiles!" He shouts, using both hands to push against the white walls. "This is just a dream. Wake up!"

He moves to slams his hand against the wall again, but his body moves. "No! Please!" He begs, shielding his face. "Please stop!"

Lights flash before his eyes and he's no longer surrounded by the walls of white. "Stiles!" Someone shouts from the corner of the room, but before he could register who it is, he leaps to his feet and scrambles to the far wall. "Stiles, honey, it's okay. You're okay."

The whole world is blurring. He can't make out who's talking to him or where he is. "Please, don't." He cries pitifully, putting his hands up by his face. "Please don't make me watch it again. Please, I'm begging you. Don't make me watch it again."

"Stiles, you need to focus on your breathing. You're going to go into cardiac arrest if you don't listen to me."

All he can see is her nurses scrubs. "Stay away from me!" He shouts, recoiling. "Don't make me see it again. Please don't make me see it again!"

"Stiles, it's me, sweetie. Calm down. We were just trying to get a CAT scan, that's all. You don't have to get back in there if you don't want to. I promise." The voice sounds so familiar, but all he can see are the scrubs. "Just please, focus on me. Focus on me, Stiles."

Stiles can't. He clutches his chest and everything's going dark. Sweat rolls down his face as he tries to grab something to stabilize himself, but there's nothing around. His hands desperately flail for something to hold onto, but there's nothing and he falls.

His shoulders slam against the ground and he cries out, his chest exploding with a pain he hasn't experienced in a while. "Melissa, we need to sedate him or his heart's going to stop."

Stiles lifts his head, but only sees shapes.

"I can bring him back, I've done it before. I've done it so many times before." The person says, but her voice is so far away.

"It's too late for that now."

XXX

Stiles isn't sure, but he doesn't think he's been more scared in his life.

They sedated him.

It was all real. The CAT scan, the panic attack, Ms. McCall trying to calm him down as he cowered in the corner. It was real.

Except… the sedative. The sedative is the most terrifying thing they could've done. Sure, he stopped panicking and sure, he no longer was walking around like he was stepping on ice, but it was so much worse.

His mind was foggy. The edges of the world were blurred. He could feel something cold and ruthless clutching his chest, but he can't fight it. He can't even function properly. He sees his house come into view and something grabs a hold of him. Something in the deep confines of his mind. A notion that he can't shake because he's not his full self. He's only his sedated self.

They would be better off without you.

He doesn't have the mental congruence to fight it. He can't. His entire mind is relaxed and empty, leaving so much more room for the darkness to seep in. He can feel it happening.

It settles like a flood, small at first, and then filling up his mind until he can't bring himself to think anything else. They would be better off without you. He wants to yell, he wants to scream, but he can't. The drugs are coursing through his system, making his arms and legs feel like unwelcome burdens.

"Melissa, what is going on with him?" Stiles hears his father ask as he makes his way through the halls of his house. "What am I going to do?"

"I-I don't know," Ms. McCall answers. She pulls a prescription out of her purse, handing it to the sheriff. "These are oral versions of the sedative we gave him, in case anything else happens like that again."

"It's so much worse than it was. These past few days, it's gotten so much worse. Are you sure you three didn't do anything to make the darkness more permanent?"

Stiles can hear Scott's voice distantly. "I don't think so. I actually feel fine. Good, even. Better than I have in weeks. Allison says she's the same - she stopped seeing her aunt. Everything is fine for us. I-I don't know why Stiles is—"

"That's because I closed your doors." Stiles says, his words hollow. He's making his way through the house like a passing ghost, his feet dragging. He's not quite sure how he's still standing upright. The voices settle. "I closed your doors that day. You get to be normal. I don't get to be normal."

Stiles turns his head. "I get to die."

"Stiles—" Someone says, but he doesn't stay.

He continues to walk through the house. His mind is screaming at him to stop, maybe ask someone to knock him out, but his feet lead him further. His skin feels like he's just emerged from the pools of ice; cold, harsh, and painful. The darkness is wrapping its way around his mind.

It's like he's back in the tub, except this time, he can't break free of the surface. He's drowning, desperately pushing against the surface of the water, but he can't escape. He can't break free. His body is cold and dark.

Stiles makes his way to the kitchen, leading himself to the drawer by the refrigerator. His mind is full. His thoughts are dark.

His existence is useless.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" His dad asks when the pack of them burst into the kitchen.

Stiles reaches for something, a humorless smirk on his face when his fingers wrap around the cold metal. He pulls it out of the drawer, releasing the safety.

"Oh my God," Someone breathes.

Stiles looks at the gun, his mind blank. "I'm doing you all a favor." He says hollowly, placing the barrel at his temple. "You all will be better. You will be better when it's done."

"Stiles, listen to me," Mr. Stilinsky says, taking a step forward. He puts his hand out, but Stiles presses it harder against the side of his head, so he recoils. "Listen to me, you need to put that down."

Stiles takes a step back. "No," he whispers. "I'm doing this to help you, Dad." He hears a sob. They're all blurring. They would be better off without you. "I know what you think. I know that when she was dying, you were panicking. You didn't know how you were going to deal with a stupid kid all on your own. A hyperactive little bastard that is hell bent on ruining your life."

"Stiles—"

"You think I killed her." Stiles says, drawing still. "Maybe I did. But that's not all, isn't it. It's that I'm killing you. I'm killing you and I need to stop. I'm killing everyone. I need to stop killing everyone."

"Stiles, listen, this isn't you." Scott says, moving closer, but Stiles backs closer to the back door. "This is just the darkness. This isn't you."

A tear falls down Stiles cheek. "You will be a better Alpha." He says. "I'm just holding you back. I'm holding everyone back."

"They would be better off without you."

It takes Stiles a moment to realize he said it out loud. His finger is caressing the trigger. For a brief, shining moment, Stiles breaks free of the darkness and the sedative and wants to throw the gun down, but his arms won't let him. It comes back as quickly as it came.

"You know what you do to an animal that is too far gone?" He says. "An animal that is so lost, nothing can improve its quality of life?"

Stiles cocks the gun back.

"You put it down."

There's an explosion.

Someone tackles him.

Stiles is brought to the ground, the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears. His entire body freezes as the darkness circling his mind retreats, causing his limbs to tremble. "Wha—" He chokes, clutching his chest. He touches his head and his fingers are covered in blood. "Holy shit, I shot myself."

"Barely," Isaac groans as he pushes Stiles off of him, nudging the gun away from Stiles' reach. Not that he wanted to be anywhere near it. "Good thing you've never been exceptional at follow through.

Mr. Stilinski sprints over, grabbing Stiles' face in his hands. "What were you thinking!" He shouts, angry tears welling in his eyes. "Why would you do that? Why would you ever do that? What makes you think you can do that to me?"

All Stiles can do is stare at the figures surrounding him.

There's a pang in his chest. He has a notion. He has a notion that this is it. This may be the last time. One of his last moments of clarity.

He feels this way because everything is a little brighter. He can feel the emotions rolling over him like a tidal wave. He can see Ms. McCall's tears and hear Scott's palpitating heart. He can hear Isaac's labored breathing as he scrambles to his feet after shocking him into calamity for the second time in two days.

But all Stiles can do is manage out one sentence.

"Please don't ever sedate me again."

XXX

A car rolls up to the Hale house. The figure slams the door to his car, cursing when he stares at the house. He can't believe he's back so soon.

Derek opens the door to his house and sighs when everything is the same. Not that he expected anything to be different, but he felt different. The house should reflect that. It should reflect Cora's absence.

He places his bag in the hallway, noting that he'll put it together later. He just wants to sit down.

Derek freezes when he gets in the living room. Papers are scatter everywhere; taped to the walls, shuffled in piles, and scattered over the couch. On the walls there are three sections: Real, Not Real, and Not Sure.

Some of the words don't even make sense. He's not even sure if it's a real language. They're just a jumble of letters.

He may not know what some of it says, but he recognizes the handwriting instantly and gives a low snarl. Of course there would be a trespasser when he was gone.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

A/N: What do you think?! Side note, I know I'm terrible, but HOW HORRIFYING WOULD IT BE TO WAKE UP IN A CAT MACHINE!? It's so tight and closed, with lights everywhere? NO THANK YOU.

If you have time to leave a note, I would so much appreciate it! We're ALMOST at the POV switch, thanks to a certain McCall father…