Oh my gosh, you guys! I want to snergle you all! You're making my heart feel warm.
I was actually a little nervous going into Monday, because I have this weird tendency that when I start a fic, and then the canon catches up, I find it difficult to continue with that train of thought. But not this time! AND, I got more StilesxIssac interaction! Seriously – I want them to be BFFs so bad, just snarking each other all day.
Here we go!
Chapter 5
What Can You Catch, But Not Throw?
"Should we be putting him on suicide watch?"
"Technically he didn't mean to try to kill himself."
"I don't care about stupid technicalities! My son put my gun to his head and threatened to pull the trigger. Hell – he did pull the trigger! He's lucky Isaac had sense enough to run to the back door! My son almost died today due to this supernatural bullshit! I need a plan! I need a plan right now!"
No one responds to that, only sending Mr. Stilinski into a flurry of more swearing and panic.
Stiles listens from behind the door of his room. He's lying on his bed, blinking tears away. This is worse than the darkness. Listening to his father lose it because he's losing his mind? He'd rather be back in the hospital, being dragged back to his mother's room. At least then he could tell himself it wasn't real. There's no convincing him of that here.
"Mr. Stilinski, I think we need to talk to Deaton." Scott's calm voice said, quelling the sheriff's shouts, which had been progressively getting more frantic. "Deaton was the one who came up with the original plan, maybe he could help Stiles. Maybe he could…" Scott doesn't finish the sentence, but Stiles thinks he hears a catch in his throat.
"It's our fault."
"Allison," Isaac starts, but she speaks again.
"Stop, Isaac. We're all thinking it but I'm the only one who has the balls to say it. It's our fault. We couldn't even get to our doors, Scott. Not only did we not get to our doors, but we couldn't even tell he was lying about his. Because we have been feeling better." Allison takes a breath and doesn't start for a moment. A part of Stiles wishes he couldn't hear this conversation, but then again, it's of small comfort to him. They're all out there fighting for him, even if he can't fight for himself much longer. "Because, I don't know about you Scott, but I noticed it days ago. No more nightmares, no more fear. Just a tiny feeling of darkness. I didn't think to say anything. I was just so happy that nightmare was over, I didn't even pay attention."
"It doesn't mean it's your fault, Allison." Ms. McCall cuts in. "Just because it happened to all three of you does not link you to each other's pain. Stiles made a decision. A valiant, selfless, and obviously very reckless and haphazard decision—"
Stiles can't help but grin at that.
"—but he made a decision nonetheless. Placing blame isn't going to help anyone, especially the boy sleeping in that room. What we need is a plan. You kids always have a plan, right? That's how miraculously all of you are still alive, even though you didn't choose to tell your parents about the super important supernatural bits?"
"Really, mom? Are you still focused on that?"
"I'm still very upset you didn't tell me straight away."
"What was I supposed to do? 'Hey Mom, I was bitten by a werewolf and now I'm one too! Let's open up a dialogue!'"
"That tone is not helping, mister."
"Can we get back on topic, please?" Lydia's desperate plea breaks the argument. Stiles couldn't help but be disappointed when the petty argument quiets. It felt nice.
It felt… normal.
"Yes, I want to know what we're going to do to help my son!" Mr. Stilinski roars. "My kid in there, who just had a gun to his head. I want an answer and I want one now!"
"…we can't." Isaac says softly.
"Why the hell not?" Mr. Stilinski bellows.
"Stiles is always the one who comes up with the plan." Lydia answers. "He's the one who figures things out. It's always been that way. He figures it out."
Stiles can feel the tension from behind his door. Actually, he's curious. He wants a plan. He wants a plan to relieve his weak heart. He wants a plan to eradicate the darkness. He needs a plan to eradicate the darkness from his mind. Because right now, the darkness is telling him that there is a pair of scissors in his desk drawer.
The darkness is telling him to use them.
Stiles clutches the side of his bed, giving his fingers something to do. "Don't let them in," he whispers to himself, ignoring as his fingers tremble. He tells himself it'll stop soon. The darkness tells him he can make it stop forever. "Goddamn bastard sons of bitches." He whispers to no one in particular, but grins. He may not be able to do anything about his darkness, but he'll paralyze it with his rhetoric.
Theoretically.
"I'm sorry, kids, but we need to figure it out." Ms. McCall states. "We have to accept the fact that Stiles is not the most stable source right now. And even if he could come up with a plan, we wouldn't be able to trust it."
Stiles winces. Maybe he should tell everyone that he can hear them, because ouch.
"Don't give me that look, Scott," Ms. McCall snaps. "Whatever you kids did, whatever 'darkness' you say is taking him? It just convinced him that he should die. It convinced him that everyone in his life would be better off without him. Is that something you trust? Do you trust what comes out of his mouth right now? What reality he believes to be true?"
Stiles raises his eyes to the ceiling, ignoring the tears rolling down as he does so.
"My son was convinced I didn't want him around," Mr. Stilinski seethes. "I sure as hell do not trust whatever's got a hold on him."
Nobody says anything for a while. A few people shift and he hears his father cough.
"You're right," Ms. McCall states. "I'm gonna drive Lydia and Allison home. You let me know if anything else happens, okay? I don't care if it's just Stiles waking up from a nightmare – you call me."
"Of course, Melissa." Mr. Stilinski says quietly. "Of course."
Ms. McCall sighs. "That boy, right? I always knew he'd be trouble." That gets a weak laugh from the sheriff. "I always knew he'd be great, too. Obviously, I'm never wrong."
Mr. Stilinski coughs. "You have first rate investigative instincts, unlike your ex-husband. I'm just gonna check on him. Make sure… well, I know he's sleeping, but…"
"It's fine. Check on him. Call me if you need anything."
Stiles feels like he should close his eyes, but he's too afraid to. He should be able to black out the darkness to make sure his father isn't burdened with the fact that he's been listening. But he can't. His eyes are open.
He's too afraid.
"I should've known," Mr. Stilinski chuckles, closing the door behind him. "When are you ever sleeping when you should be?"
Stiles sits up. "I can't go to sleep, Dad."
"Why is that?"
"I'm afraid."
Mr. Stilinski groans as he sits down on the bed. "I guess that makes sense. But, you know, I'm here. Always here. You can count on me."
Stiles hangs his head. "I know. I know that I can trust you and you have my back." Stiles looks at his father, the lines in his face and the weariness that comes from being related to him. He wishes he can take it back, but that's the problem. There's only two Stilinksi's left.
Soon there will only be one.
"I want to be here, Dad." Stiles insists, ignoring the urge in the back of his mind to grab the pair of scissors in the drawers of his desk. "I need you to know that. I need you to know that I'd never – I would never—"
"I know." Mr. Stilinski says. "If anything, for me." He shrugs. "You look out for me, I look out for you. If you died, I'd have to rely on myself. And I know that you do not trust me enough to take care of myself."
"That's the truth," Stiles snorts. The darkness is getting too strong. Thoughts of despair and despondency were fighting with him again and he has to blink a few times to remain here. "You guys will be fine, right?"
Mr. Stilinski frowns. "What do you mean?"
"If I die?" Stiles says. "I know it'll be sad, at least I hope it'll be sad, but you'll be fine. People die every day. They die because they've got in a car crash or they got mauled by a bear. They die for no reason at all sometimes. People die. Life goes on."
Mr. Stilinski huffs. "You're right Stiles, people die. And life will go on, that's probably true too. But fine? Do you think that everyone will be fine if you die? Everyone will just go on like it's nothing if you die? If you believe that, if you truly believe this to be the case, you clearly have not been paying attention. And that's not the son I raised."
Stiles hangs his head. "I need to know, though. I need to know that you'll be okay?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you!" Stiles exclaims. "Scott has his Mom and Allison and Isaac, Lydia has Allison, everyone has someone! Everyone needs someone! You need to tell me you'll be okay. I need to know that you'll be okay."
Mr. Stilinski looks to his hands, his posture making him seem much older than he really is. "Of course I will not be okay, Stiles. I will have lost everyone I loved."
Stiles can't face his dad for a few minutes. When he does, his heart palpitates. He groans, slapping himself in the head. "It's getting worse. I mean, I'm barely paying attention anymore. This is getting good."
Mr. Stilinski looks confused. "What are you talking about?"
Stiles takes his father's wrist and points to his hand. "One, two, three, four, five, and… six."
Six fingers.
"This isn't real." He states.
"No," Mr. Stilinski shakes his head. "But wouldn't it be great if it was?"
XXX
"Stop! Stop it, Stiles! Stop, please! Please stop!"
Stiles blinks, leaping back. Something clatters to the ground.
Someone's choking. The world is still tilting, but he notices someone pinned to the ground by him. Stiles releases the vice-grip he had on the person's collar. "Dude, you are really starting to piss me off." Isaac groans, holding his hand to his neck. Blood seeps through his fingers when he does so.
"What the hell!" Stiles exclaims, jumping away from him and rushing to the corner. He barely notes the blade on the floor next to Isaac. He looks at his hands and sees blood on them, dripping down his wrists.
"What happened?"
People burst into the living room. Stiles clutches his hands close to his chest, his chest shuddering. He coughs a few time, unable to slow his heart rate down.
"Isaac, are you okay?" Lydia asks shakily, glancing over at Stiles with fear in her eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm already healed." Isaac groans, casting a sour look at Stiles. "All he had was a butter knife. It's not like I was up against Allison or something."
Even after Stiles almost murders him, Isaac still manages to hurl an insult his way. "Stiles, what were you thinking?" Mr. Stilinski cries, but Stiles winces when he takes a step closer.
"Stop!" Stiles cries, wiping the drops of Isaac's blood on his shirt. "Please, just stay back. Give me a minute."
No one moves. Stiles continues to cough, feeling like his chest is being shredded as he does so. He leans his head against the wall, listening to his heart slow.
"Someone tell me what's going on," Ms. McCall says slowly, careful not to make any motion toward Stiles.
"I couldn't get Stiles to respond to me," Isaac says. "Then he came after me. Lydia was trying to calm him down, but it was like he wasn't there." Isaac mentions wistfully. "Actually, it kinda reminded me of Allison when she was hallucinating about Kate."
Scott gapes. "How did he hold you down? I mean it's Stiles!"
That gets Stiles to snap out of it. "Dude!" He exclaims.
"Sorry, buddy, but he's a werewolf."
Isaac shakes his head. "He wasn't normal Stiles. He felt like a werewolf. He felt like…" Isaac trails off, refusing to make eye contact with everyone.
"…Scott." Stiles finishes. He groans, knocking his head against the back wall. "Oh shit."
"What?" Scott exclaims. "What's going on?"
Lydia takes a cautious step toward Stiles, who flinches. She doesn't stop though. "It means that he has the darkness of all three of you." Lydia finishes. "The violent nightmares of Allison, the uncontrolled power of you, and the fact that he's…"
"…losing his damn mind." Stiles finishes. He closes his eyes, a part of him wishing this was a dream. He actually attacked someone. "I'm sorry, Isaac. I know I condone death almost every day, but, man…"
"It's alright."
"No, it's not." Stiles groans, slamming his head against the wall a few more time. "It's so not."
When he opens his eyes, Lydia's right before his face. Stiles wants to push her away, but there's something that stops him. Something that makes his chest feel a little lighter. And who is he to push away anything that feels light?
Lydia strokes her fingers against his hand, peering at the blood staining the tips. "Um, show your concern over here," Isaac states, waving his hand. "I'm the one he actually stabbed."
"Shut up, you healed." Lydia states.
"It's fine." Stiles says, taking his hands back. "Isaac's right, it's all his blood."
Lydia brings her fingers up to his lips, brushing them gently against the corner. Stiles has to do everything in his power to remain still and normal – two things he's never been good at being. Lydia peers at her fingers. Blood stains them, a drop rolling down.
"Not all of it."
XXX
"We need to figure something out. I mean, Allison never actually shot anyone, she just pretended to shoot people."
"Technically, she would've killed Lydia if I hadn't been there."
"Isaac, please!"
"I'm just saying."
"But I'm alive and well and that's an important distinction."
"And I'm alive and well, but it doesn't erase the face that Stiles tried to slit my throat last night after putting a gun to his own head."
"Isaac!"
"Do none of you ever want to hear the big picture? Sure, it's all butterflies and rainbows until someone gets their head blown off by an unstable adolescent with an impenetrable darkness haunting his thoughts that has, oh, triple in intensity in the past five days!"
"Seriously!" Stiles shouts, whirling around. "I am right here! You guys need to stop talking about my imminent death, thinking I won't here you but spoiler alert! I have ears. And just because sometimes I have trouble discerning what's real or not, doesn't impede my ability to hear."
Isaac tilts his head. "I think you've passed the 'sometimes having trouble' bar a long time ago."
"I swear to God, I will take that scarf and choke you to death with it."
"Stiles, enough with the scarf," Scott sighs, shaking his head. "We're just worried."
"Oh, you're worried?" Stiles asks, nodding his head. "That's funny, I've never heard of this emotion of worried. I don't know what it feels like. Would someone mind explaining it to me?"
"Stiles—"
"You're worried? I'm losing my damn mind and somehow I only seem to be sane for the horrible parts where, I don't know, have my hands covered in Isaac's blood or I get to see how crushed my dad will be if I shot myself in the skull." Stiles says with a shrug. "Because you're worried? I'm terrified. And it's not helping that all my friends are treating me like I should be institutionalized. So if you're going to say something, say it to my face. There's a good chance I may not be mentally coherent for it, but say it to my face. Don't whisper behind my back."
"Okay Stiles," Lydia says. "You've proven your point. Calm down."
That's when Stiles realizes he's not breathing.
He's not moving either. He's weirdly stoic, not in a perpetual fit of motion like usual.
Like a dead body.
He glances down at his shadow and it grows. It grows like it's going to overtake the entire school, enveloping the shadows of everyone around him. Stiles lets out a small whimper, a 'not now, please not now' cry, but all he can do is wait.
Waiting to lose his mind. Waiting to die? Waiting for the shadows to leave.
"Stiles?" He hears Scott say, and a few figures approach him. "Guys, I think he's about to have a panic attack. We need to get him to the locker room before it gets worse. Isaac, grab his other arm."
Stiles feels his arms lift, but he isn't sure how. They feel so heavy and he's oh, so tired. Everything is heavy.
"Stiles, you're gonna be fine. You'll be fine. We're just going to get you in the locker room and we'll calm you down."
Stiles feels like he's underwater. He needs someone to hold him up. Everything is too heavy.
"Guys, it's not… I'm not panicking—" he chokes, but it takes away too much of his breath. But his feet are too heavy, he can't keep moving them. This isn't like a normal panic attack. He feels slower, quieter…
Dead.
"Just a little further, Stiles, just a little – oh shit."
"Do you really think using that kind of language is conducive with speaking to your parent?"
Scott growls. "You should really look in the mirror before calling yourself that."
"Ah, Stilinski. What's wrong with him?"
Stiles lifts his head up. It takes him a while, but the man comes into focus. Stiles groans. "Mr. McCall."
"Mr. Stilinski. Having trouble focusing, are we? I see not much has changed."
Now would be an excellent time not to have a darkness attack. Stiles tells himself to get it together, but it's not working. He blinks again and again, but nothing stays in focus.
Isaac clears his throat. "As you can see, Stiles needs to go to the nurses office. So if you'll excuse us—"
"Wait a second," Mr. McCall grabs Stiles' head, keeping it still. He places a finger in front of his face. "Follow my finger."
Stiles tries and tries, but between the growing pain in his chest and the blurred world before him, he knows he's failed.
"Yes, what I thought. What did you take, Stiles?"
"Dad, now's not the time—"
"Scott, stop trying to protect your friend. I've seen this symptom countless times."
"He's having a panic attack, we need to take him to the nurse's office!"
"I've seen panic attacks – hell, I've seen Stiles have panic attacks when he was little – and this is not it. Scott, this is what someone looks like when something is affecting their brain. I've seen junkies like this all the time. Their mental congruence is turned off. They have a hard time accepting reality."
Stiles can't help but chuckle. Sounds about right.
"Mr. Stilinski, I think you better come with me."
Stiles wants to fight, but when Mr. McCall takes him away from Scott and Isaac, all he can do is stumble forward. Scott and Isaac call out, but something prevents them from following. Stiles can't tell. All he know is that he's being pushed forward when his body feels like lead. "Calm down, Stiles. It's just one blood test. You aren't still afraid of needles, are you?"
This is just a dream. It has to be a dream. Stiles looks down. Twelve fingers.
But why does this feel so real? Maybe it is. Maybe the lines are blurred too far. Maybe he's too deep into the darkness to see the light anymore.
Maybe it's real and not real.
A/N: I'm horrible, I know! I always thought Agent McCall would end up thinking all this supernatural craziness would be drugs, etc. so I wanted to add that. Also, next chapter will be the… tada! POV switch! Poor Stiles can't really tell the difference anymore…
Please leave a review if you have time! I love reading them and it makes my heart all a twit