The Tears We Cry

by ForTheLoveOfAngst

Stiles, fear-stricken and backed against the wall opposite his uncle, faced the man's tearful apology for the drunken "mistake" he'd made the night prior. Desperate apologies filled the room, but Stiles would never forgive the man for what he'd done, the trauma he'd caused. Ten years later, Stiles thought he was finally beginning to heal... that is until his uncle came back again.

3. Chapter 3

A/N: TW for graphic depictions of rape/non-con, suicidal thoughts, and mentions of self-harm.

Please stay safe! :(

Beta'd by the lovely Hayley757.

—

The pack, minus Stiles, made their way into the loft, taking off their shoes and making themselves comfortable on the couches and chairs strewn about the area.

Derek came out of the kitchen holding a few boxes of pizza. He placed them down on the coffee table, not even having to look around to know Stiles wasn't there — he couldn't smell him nor hear the distinct beating of his heart.

"Where's Stiles?" Peter asked as he came down the stairs, beating Derek to the punch.

"He got detention," Scott replied, sounding disappointed. "He said he'd be here around four, though."

"Why'd he get detention?" Derek inquired, interest piqued.

"It was really stupid." Erica sounded angry. The pack all nodded their heads in agreement with her statement. None of them understood why Mr. Harris hated Stiles so much, only that he did.

"What did that boy do now? He didn't pull the fire alarm again, did he?" Peter chuckled as the pack looked at him with varying degrees of annoyance. "What? I'm not wrong, am I? He's a handful." Peter said with an eye roll.

"First of all," Erica said, displeased, "He only did that to get everyone to safety. Second of all, Stiles got in trouble because he had a nightmare in this douche-ass teacher's class. He got detention for God knows what reason, other than the fact that Mr. Harris hates him."

Derek scowled at the information, "Why does he hate him?" He asked.

"Have you met the guy?" Peter chortled. He ignored the glares from various members of the pack, picking up a slice of pizza from one of the boxes.

"Guys," Isaac cut in before it could escalate into a petty argument. "Before we start talking about stupid shit, there's something else we need to discuss." He muttered, catching everyone's attention. "I don't want to accuse Stiles of anything, but I think we need to, uh, check his arms." Isaac looked around, nervousness written all over his face.

"'Check his arms'?" Jackson echoed, confused, "Why?" He didn't miss the way Lydia shot him a glare from the corner of his eye.

"Me and Isaac were talking during lunch," Lydia informed them. "We don't know anything for certain, so please, for the love of God, stay calm after we tell you what we think is going on." She glanced pointedly at Scott, who gulped nervously, then Derek, who only furrowed his eyebrows.

"I- I don't know if I should be telling you guys this… but when I grabbed Stiles earlier," Isaac started, glancing at Lydia. The girl nodded her head for him to continue. "He sounded like he was in pain, and I could smell that he was in pain, too." Isaac glanced to the floor, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, so? He probably just bumped into something and hurt his arm. We all know Stilinski is clumsy as hell," Jackson said, not unkindly. He was merely stating a fact.

"Well, that coupled with the fact that he always smells like peroxide…" Isaac mumbled, not feeling comfortable admitting what he thought Stiles was doing to himself in front of the whole pack.

"You think that- that he's…" Derek stuttered as realization dawned on him. "That he's cutting himself?" He asked, clearly horrified.

"Possibly, yes," Lydia sighed. The entire pack, even Peter, looked taken aback. Especially Jackson, who had made a clearly insensitive comment if that happened to be the case.

"Okay…" Erica gulped. "Then what do we do about it?" She asked cautiously, as if approaching the subject were a dangerous thing. "Do we just… pull down his sleeves or something?"

"Don't you think that's a little insensitive?" Scott asked incredulously.

"Well, what else are we supposed to do? You think he'd just tell us?" Erica quipped.

Scott gave her a hard glare. If looks could kill. "I don't know! We don't just pull down his sleeves out of the blue, though!" Scott shot back, face alight with anger.

"Okay, okay. Enough, you two." Derek scolded the pair, who continued to glare at one another.

God, why are teenagers so angry all the time? Derek thought. Then he realized that he had no right to complain, as he'd been an angry teenager at one point too.

"Have you forgotten that we can detect when people are lying?" Derek questioned, eyebrows still furrowed.

But there's no way Stiles is cutting himself anyway, right? He can't be… But with the way Stiles had been acting lately, it wasn't so far out of line to think that he could be.

Before they could form a plan, however, there was the sound of a large vehicle pulling up outside. The pack all got up to look out the window, making sure it wasn't a threat, before spotting Stiles' Jeep parked in the driveway. Said boy hopped out a moment later. They watched him stagger a few feet forward before he regained his footing and made his way inside the building.

"So what the fuck are we doing?" Erica asked, panicked.

"We wait," Lydia said calmly.

Erica let out a frustrated sound. "There's no way I'm waiting to ask him something so big," Erica said, and a few of the other pack members nodded their heads in agreement.

"This has nothing to do with you. As his best friend, I say we listen to Lydia. She's the smartest one here," Scott hissed, unfettered as Erica glared at him angrily.

The wolves could hear Stiles making his way farther up the stairs, getting closer and closer to the door of Derek's loft.

"I don't care if you're his best friend or the queen of England, you don't get to just choose whether or not we stop this, right here, right now. He could do something irreversible if he really is cutting himself!" Erica whispered as the footsteps got closer.

"Guys, stop arguing. It's not your place to-" Derek began, but promptly shut up when the loft door opened.

Stiles entered, taking in the tension that hung heavy in the air with a bemused expression on his face.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?" Stiles asked, just as Erica began marching over to him. Scott paled, shouting at her to stop. Erica came up to Stiles, who looked terrified, and grabbed his left arm.

"What are you doing?" Stiles struggled in her iron grip just as Erica pulled the sleeve of his shirt up. No one else could see Stiles' arm, as Erica was blocking it from view, but if the way the scent of panic and fear spread throughout the room was anything to go by, it wasn't good.

Erica seemed to visibly relax, but there was still tension in her shoulders as she asked, "What the hell happened to your arm?"

Stiles' face paled considerably at her words, the pack approaching the pair nervously. Erica still held his arm firmly, staring down and inspecting it.

Stiles' arm was raw and red, a large area of the topmost layer of skin missing.

The pack stared at his arm in confusion, not understanding what could have caused an injury like this.

"Stiles?" Erica said, "I asked you a question. What the hell happened?"

Stiles tried to rip his arm free of Erica's hold once more, but her grip on his wrist was firm.

"None of your fucking business," Stiles spat, trying to pry her hand away from his arm with his free hand. Thankfully, Erica let go, only to grab hold of his other arm and push that sleeve up as well. Her eyebrows shot up in confusion at the similar state of his other arm.

"Stiles, what the fuck happened?" Jackson asked, concerned.

"I said it's none of your business." Stiles managed to finally rip free of Erica's grasp, pulling both sleeves down and staring at the floor.

"Stiles…" Derek said, distressed at seeing his mate in pain.

"Listen, I just- I'm really dirty and had to scrub my skin hard in the shower this morning, okay? The skin came off because the water was so warm, along with the friction and all that…" He chuckled weakly in an attempt to hide his discomfort with the situation.

It wasn't a lie. He just hoped they missed the way he'd said 'I'm really dirty' instead of 'I was really dirty.' It could be explained as a simple slip of the tongue.

The pack looked at him doubtfully, but the way his heart stayed steady the entire time had them conceding.

Before the pack could push for more information, like why he was 'dirty' in the first place, he asked, "How did you know there was something wrong with my arms, anyway?"

Isaac looked away bashfully, feeling bad for making everyone think Stiles had been cutting himself when he clearly wasn't. "I- uh, well, you kind of smelled like pain when I grabbed your arm earlier," Isaac said, though he would not admit to what he thought the real cause behind his pain was.

"Oh," Stiles gulped. He kind of had a feeling why Erica had stomped up to him the way she had. They'd probably been talking about him before he got there, making theories as to what could have been wrong…

Just how close to uncovering his secret had they been?

Stiles just thanked the heavens he'd decided to cut his legs, it was for this exact reason.

"So, why are you out of detention so early?" Boyd asked, curious.

Stiles took a seat on one of the couches before explaining, the pack following suit. "Ah, well, apparently someone went to Coach Finstock about Mr. Harris' reason for giving me detention. Coach went and talked to Mr. Harris about it, who decided it was a losing battle after Coach threatened to go to the principal," Stiles informed them. "I saw Coach Finstock in the hallway and he told me. I swear, if I hadn't run into him I'd be in detention right now," Stiles said, laughing humorlessly.

God, he hated Mr. Harris so much. If only the man would just keel over already.

"Well, we've got about an hour and a half to kill, so let's make some sort of plan for if this goes wrong," Derek said.

"Let's just watch a movie or something. It's not going to go wrong, right Lyds?" Jackson asked, slinging an arm around Lydia's shoulder.

"I doubt it will," Lydia replied, looking confident.

—

Lo and behold, an hour later, Lydia's plan immediately went wrong.

"Fucking pixies!" Scott hollered, running with the rest of the pack from the hoard of tiny bodies chasing them through the preserve. A few of the pixies were successful in their chase, latching onto the soft flesh of the pack's ankles and arms. It brought a whole new meaning to the term 'ankle biters.'

And fuck did it hurt like a bitch.

"I knew it! I knew this wouldn't work!" Jackson shouted over the dozens of Pixies screeching at the top of their little lungs.

"You totally thought this would work!" Allison shot back, flinging a pixie from her finger.

"Lydia, This is all your fault! I blame you!" Scott didn't even try to keep the acid out of his tone as he continued running at the slow pace of a human. And damn was that hard in this situation.

"How the hell was I supposed to know they don't speak classical Latin!" Lydia snarled back. She nearly tripped as a pixie lifted a tree root out of the ground and towards her foot, but she jumped over it at the last second.

Pixies don't have much magic, which comes from the dust they secrete from their pores and wings, but it's enough to be troublesome.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Isaac whimpered, multiple medium-sized pixies biting and clawing at his arms. The pixies weren't very big, they were the size of your average garden gnome, possibly a bit bigger. The problem was the fact that they had teeth and claws sharper than steak knives. They were a sickly greenish-grey colour, and they were as naked as the day they were born.

"They- Jesus Christ!" Stiles cried out as a particularly nasty-looking pixie bit into his arm. "They hate natural light! If we could- Stop, for God's sake!" He yelled, flailing his arms in an attempt to get the pixie to let go. Needless to say, the attempt was unsuccessful. "If we can get out of the preserve and into a space without trees blocking the light, we can get them to back off!"

"Where exactly do you think we're headed, dumbass!" Jackson snarled, swinging his arms around violently at the small swarm around him.

"I'm just saying!" Stiles yelled, gritting his teeth. "I know we're headed towards the car, but I just thought you should know it will be over by then!"

"Good to know," Jackson laughed, his tone sarcastic. Stiles huffed, the pain in his arm — which he was swinging around with vigour — was beginning to go numb as the adrenalin kicked in. Jackson shot him a look when he whined, and it wasn't pretty.

When Jackson was in any kind of stressful situation, he tended to become the asshole Stiles once knew him to be.

"He's just trying to help!" Derek shouted over the dozens of ear-piercing shrieks. Stiles felt bad for the wolves. He knew their ears would be ringing long after this whole ordeal was over and done with.

"Yeah, well he can join the fucking club with Lydia as their leader!" Erica said, pointing at said girl. She lowered her hand when she realized Lydia wouldn't be turning around to see it any time soon.

"Hey!" She cried, wishing she could glare at Erica. With the wolves behind the humans and the banshee, though, that looked to be impossible, lest she trip and fall victim to these ugly motherfucking pixies.

Boyd shook his head. "Can you all shut up?" He growled. "Stiles, what other weaknesses do they have?" He asked, and it was Stiles' turn to shake his head.

"Pretty much anything we humans are weak to, but that's useless with these numbers! So, basically, magic! Fire magic to be precise!" Stiles shouted over the sound of the pixies, the pack groaning at his statement.

"Great!" Peter grunted, "That means only an Elementalist or a very powerful mage can help us!" He bellowed as they neared the car park. Just a few more seconds and they are free of this.

"Goddammit!" Isaac fumed when finally, after what must have been a full ten minutes sprinting full tilt at human speed, they reached the opening in the trees. The pixies shrieked and pulled away, the teeth and claws that were jabbing into the pack suddenly coming out as they reached the clearing,

"Thank you, God, oh, thank you!" Scott began praising, arms spread wide. Stiles swayed on the spot for a moment, his vision blackening and spotty. He was woozy from the lack of food and then running what might as well have been a marathon at the speed they were going.

He had multiple cuts, scrapes, and bite marks littering his body to add to his previous injuries, and an especially bad one on his arm. The little bitch had twisted its teeth like an electric screwdriver into his flesh. He knew they could do it, but he did not know how fucking badly it hurt.

In the next instant, Stiles collapsed into a heap on the ground. Most of the pack called something when he fell, everyone minus Allison and Lydia — who were in front of him — and Peter, who stood on the sidelines watching carefully.

Both Lydia and Allison turned around at the sound of their pack mates' distressed cries. "Are you okay?" Allison asked, bending down to meet his gaze.

"Fine," Stiles grimaced, trying (and failing) to get back up on his unsteady, weak legs.

"Dude, you're clearly not," Isaac said, and Stiles just continued to try and get up. Since when did his body feel so weighed down?

"I'm fine," He repeated, finally managing to stand, albeit unsteadily. The pack shared worried glances. Even those without advanced hearing could easily pick up on the lie, heartbeat or not.

They're bound to start asking questions sooner or later if you keep this up, dumbass.

"Okay, man. Whatever you say," Isaac sighed as Stiles began limping toward his Jeep. He'd been limping a lot lately, so much so that no one in the pack had noticed until that moment his limp was worse than it had been yesterday. Though that could be due to the pixies.

"Did you hurt your leg?" Scott asked, and Stiles froze.

"It might have gotten scratched, I dunno," He said, his voice shaking with exertion and nervousness. It wasn't necessarily a lie, his leg could have gotten scratched without him noticing. Hell, he could barely feel anything in those last few minutes, including the once burning, bleeding mouth imprint on his arm.

"Well, all non-enhanced-healing members of the pack are to go with Stiles to Scotts so Melissa can patch you up," Derek said. "And Stiles, make sure Melissa looks at both your arm and leg, okay? Injuries both old and new," He said gently.

"Yessir." Stiles lifted his good arm, putting a flattened hand to his forehead in a mock salute.

Sure, he'd go to Scott's; though there was not a chance in hell Melissa was 'patching up' anything below the waist.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly behind Stiles' back, shaking his head and making his way to his Camaro.

"Alright, some of the wolves are coming with me, the rest go with Jackson. Pick who you want to go with, I couldn't care less," Derek said, motioning to the two cars. "But in two hours we're meeting back up at the loft to discuss what we need to do about this problem," He muttered darkly, making his way to his car. He cast a glance in Stiles' direction to make sure he was okay. He looked a little shaky but otherwise fine.

"Jesus, will this ever end?" Erica mumbled, following after Boyd and Scott to Derek's car, while Isaac and Peter made their way to Jackson's.

Peter would take the drive with Derek, but it was just a little too crowded in the Camero with all those people.

"Stiles," Allison urged when he opened the creaky Jeep's driver-side door.

"Yeah?" Stiles inquired, turning around to face her.

"There's no way you're driving in the state you're in," She told him firmly from in front of him.

Stiles just shook his head in exasperation. "If you're concerned about your safety, get one of the wolves to drive you," Stiles replied. Allison looked at him like she couldn't believe what she was hearing, her eyebrows furrowing and her eyes squinting. The way she was looking at Stiles made him groan.

"Stiles, come on… You literally just fell onto the ground, for crying out loud! And you're shaking like a leaf," Lydia said. The wolves had stopped in their tracks to watch the scene unfold, waiting for Stiles to explode. They were anticipating the same rage the boy had shown last night and today.

"Guys," Stiles said calmly, sensing the many pairs of eyes on him. He wasn't angry, he never really felt anything other than sadness lately. A few bursts of rage, sure, but that was like holding a candle to the sun.

Anger was a secondary emotion though, so it was definitely possible for him to lash out if someone played the wrong card.

"I'm driving to Melissa's house. If you don't want to drive with me, fine. Go with Jackson or Derek. I don't care. I'm really not in the mood for this," he sighed. "And I'm sure you're just as banged up as me," Stiles said, turning back to his Jeep and climbing in. "No one drives this Jeep but me. So you either get in, or you don't. Make your choice."

"Fine," Allison spat bitterly, "Sorry we care about your safety." She placed her hands against the Jeep's door, shutting it with a bang. Stiles was taken aback but said nothing. "God, you've been such a fucking jerk lately, Stiles! What crawled up your ass and died, huh?" Allison laughed mirthlessly.

Huh, I wonder. Maybe my own uncle's dick? Stiles thought darkly as Allison marched angrily towards Jackson's car. Lydia gave one last offer to drive for Stiles, but the boy only shook his head exhaustedly in response. Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked to her boyfriend's car.

"You're sure you just don't want me to drive, Stiles?" Lydia asked one last time. Stiles completely ignored her, he'd given her his answer already.

God, he was sick of this dumb pack full of even dumber teenagers. He started the Jeep up and drove away uncaringly, leaving the pixies at the edge of the preserve, who had watched the argument unfold in its entirety.

Stiles felt even worse than before if that were even possible. Be it from the running or the verbal smackdown, he had no clue. He decided he'd change and patch himself up at his own house with the bandages he'd been using to wrap his cuts with. After that, all he wanted to do was sleep, but he'd be damned if he spent the night at his house after the day he'd had.

It was bad enough without his uncle adding to the pile of shit that today had been.

Luckily for him, though, his father didn't leave for the station until seven o'clock, and it was only six. That meant one sweet, precious hour of sleep before he had to continue with this shitty day.

When he got home, he carelessly dressed his fresh wounds, too concerned with getting to sleep to put too much effort into it. He was so eager to go to bed that he forgot to set his alarm.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

—

Stiles came to slowly. He peeled his bleary eyes open, squinting, before noticing it was dark out. Had he forgotten to set his alarm? He couldn't even remember…

He groaned, staring at the red, blurred numbers on his alarm clock before the world came into focus and he realized it was eleven thirty-three. Had he seriously slept for five hours? That was the longest time since before that monster came back. He felt around his nightstand for his phone and after a few seconds of searching blindly, he grabbed it and turned it on. The first thing he took notice of was the many, many messages from the pack wondering where he was, but he decided to deal with that later.

He sat up slowly, feeling pain radiating from all over his body.

"Goddamn pixies," he cursed. He put his feet against the carpeted floor and made his way over to the light switch. He flicked it upwards and looked over his room.

Everything seemed normal, at least, it looked that way. How was it that he was so out of whack, yet everything else in his life was so perfectly harmonious? His friends, his father, school… His life was fucked, yet no one seemed to care.

It's your choice not to tell anyone. Don't blame anyone but your dirty, lying self. And for once, he agreed with the voice. It was right, after all. This was nobody's fault but his own… he dug his own grave, and now he was just waiting to be buried by the people he'd manipulated.

Stiles switched off the light with a sigh. He cautiously opened his door, which creaked open slowly. Wincing, but not sensing any movement from anywhere else in the house, he continued down the stairs and into the bathroom. He relieved himself and tip-toed out, grabbing the Gatorade bottle he'd left on the counter when he first arrived home earlier. He put the bottle to his lips and drank greedily. He was so thirsty; he'd barely drank anything all day.

He swallowed down most of the now room-temperature Gatorade and made a face, pulling the bottle away from his chapped lips. There was something off about the taste. Had it gone bad from sitting out all day?

Could Gatorade even go bad in that amount of time?

He unscrewed the cap and peered into the bottle, noticing a couple of blue chunks floating atop the liquid. "What the?" He wondered aloud. He stared at it for a while, thinking maybe someone had put a laxative or something in his drink as a prank when suddenly, the realization hit him like a freight train.

"No…" Stiles pleaded quietly, now having a pretty good idea as to what it could be. He'd take laxatives, God, he'd even take poison over what he thought it was.

God, how long did he have before whatever it was his uncle put in his drink took effect? He'd already wasted precious time trying to figure out what it was.

Horror flooded through him as he realized that his body was beginning to feel heavier. His eyelids began to droop close, opening back up lazily.

"I've gotta get… outta here," Stiles mumbled, his speech slurred from the pills.

Why the fuck was it taking effect so fast? Was it because he hadn't been eating?

Fuck… this isn't happening.

It's what you fucking deserve.

He staggered towards the back door, dragging his feet the entire way. He opened the door, the cool night air blowing gently across his skin.

"Need… to get…'way," He whispered just as he fell onto the grassy lawn below him. He scrabbled on the ground, trying to drag his body away from the house and his inevitable doom.

Finally, after unsuccessfully and desperately attempting to crawl away from the house, Stiles' body began to shut down,

"No…" He muttered weakly, close to falling into a state of unconsciousness.

"Derek…" was the last thing he uttered before his eyes fluttered closed and he passed out.

—

When Stiles awoke next, he was in his bed. The sheets were draped over him, almost comfortingly. He wondered drowsily for a moment how he had gotten there, but his thoughts were so hazy he gave up on trying to decipher them.

Had he dozed off waiting for his uncle's next 'visit'?

He decided he'd give himself five more minutes just to rest his eyes. He was so tired.

He knew being awake wouldn't stop his uncle from hurting him; he was too much of a pussy to try to fight him, too much of a weakling to try to run. But it would keep him from waking up in surprise and making a mistake, like screaming or hitting Szymon in his sleep-addled state.

Szymon would fucking murder him if Stiles did that.

Wouldn't that be a good thing, though?

No, because if he murders me, he'll murder my dad, Stiles replied. The voices in his head were slow, like his thoughts would finish before he could even say them in his head.

Weird… Stiles thought, vaguely aware that something was wrong, but not knowing exactly what.

"Stiles…" A voice then whispered in the darkness, startling him. He tried to open his eyes, but he was so exhausted that his eyes would briefly flutter open for a second before languidly closing again.

"Hello?" He slurred, his mind sluggish and foggy.

What the fuck is going on…? Have I been drugged…?

"Oh, Stiles. You thought you could get away, did you?" The voice cooed and suddenly a set of hands were all over his body. They touched and groped him as a body draped itself over him.

"Please… don't…" he groaned, trying in vain to get away. His mind was so muddled he could hardly do anything aside from begging not to be touched.

He'd had Déjà vu of this moment, he thinks.

And then suddenly the memories rushed back to him. He tensed at the realization that he'd already lived this exact moment. This was exactly like that dream… was it even a 'dream' if it happened…? What were those things called again?

God, I'm so fucked right now…

The hands had come off of him, giving him momentary peace to think, however disoriented his thoughts were.

Visions, His mind eventually supplied. He let out a huff of air. What did that mean for him? Was he a seer?

He belatedly realized the situation he was in as his thoughts were cut off by large hands flipping him onto his stomach. The hands pulled up his hips and fingers began to press inside of him.

"Stop…!" He cried with all he could manage, but it was pathetic.

You'repathetic.

"Oh, Stiles, you drive me nuts, you know that? You're such a fucking tease. Pretending you don't like it… but come on, you're a filthy little cum-dumpster slut. I know you fucking love it." Stiles recalled identifying the person around this point in his 'vision,' but because he had already foreseen how the scene played out earlier, he already knew.

It was Szymon.

It was always Szymon.

Why did his uncle continue to do this to him?

Why…?

Why, why, why?

…Why?

He could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes, his face smushed into his pillow, collecting them. Something big and hard slammed into him from behind, and he screamed, raw and desperate.

But this time, there was no chair to fall out of. Instead, he's just trapped in this sick reality until it's over.

He cried out brokenly as the thrusting began, and he could already feel the bugs crawling under his skin as his uncle fucked into him. He can feel the sick, twisting sensation in his gut and his racing heart, which he wished would just give out already.

Just get this miserable existence over with.

Szymon moaned in pleasure as sobs wreck through Stiles' body. He was so weak and pathetic he couldn't do jack shit about this recurring situation. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut firmly at the feral sounds coming from his uncle. Szymon sounded like an animal in heat.

The whole room shook with the power of Szymon's thrusts, the bed scratching the floor with its legs as it rocked back and forth, back and forth, with Stiles underneath him. Stiles focused on the numbers of his alarm clock, twelve thirteen. He stared at the numbers which slowly ticked up, and it was like he wasn't even in his body anymore. The screeching of his bed's legs against the floor was distant, the feeling of his uncle on top of him barely there. He'd stopped crying, instead just staring blankly ahead.

It was concerning how often this happened, but he didn't think about that right then. He didn't think of anything at all.

Finally, the thrusting slowed and his uncle let out a long, pleasured moan.

Szymon shot his load into Stiles' backside, but Stiles wasn't there. He was anywhere and everywhere, but not there.

A warm, sticky substance dripped down his leg as Szymon pulled out. Stiles didn't move, just continued to lie there silently.

"This again, boy?" Szymon asked nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just hurt Stiles in the worst way imaginable.

Szymon sighed when he got no response from the boy. He grumbled something about Stiles being 'ungrateful' and tapped Stiles' cheek, but still, the boy didn't move.

"You'll answer me when I talk to you, boy," Szymon barked, grabbing Stiles by the wrist and hauling him out of the bed. Stiles came back to awareness slowly, listening to his uncle rant about 'the gift I'm giving you,' and 'show some respect.'

"Fuck you…" Stiles mumbled, gasping as his uncle roughly grabbed him and hauled him onto the bed once more.

"What was that, boy?" Szymon growled. It was nothing compared to one of the wolves, yet still, the sound sent a shudder down Stiles' very being.

Stiles didn't respond, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor.

"Oh." Szymon let out a humourless laugh. "I'm sorry. Did I forget about you?" He grunted, shoving Stiles down and grabbing at Stiles' flaccid penis. Szymon began stroking it up and down as his body reacted to the external stimuli. Stiles struggled weakly as fresh tears filled his eyes, but he still wasn't fully there, and he'd been drugged up with God knew what. He wasn't in his right mind, to say the least.

"Please," Came the disoriented, broken whisper. Stiles tried to bat Szymon's hand away weakly, but he failed miserably.

"I love it when you beg, Stiles," Szymon laughed. "Say, please, please don't jerk me off, Szymi…" A wistful look took over his expression then. " Ah, 'Szymi'," He said fondly, "That's what your mother used to call me when she was a little girl," He grinned joyously at the memory, something even in the dark light of his room Stiles could tell was loving. Though it was gone as soon as it came.

Then Szymon lowered his face down to Stiles' cock. "Do you want to call me that, too?" He asked, taking Stiles' length into his mouth.

"I… hate you…" Stiles said slowly, not understanding what he was saying in his current state. Szymon pulled away from Stiles' penis just as quickly as he'd put it in his mouth, looking at the teen angrily.

"How about you shut the fuck up and just take this blowjob like a good boy?"

"I fucking… hate you…" Stiles slurred.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Szymon growled before flinging Stiles to the floor.

The crack of Stiles' head against his desk brought him fully back into awareness, though his mind was still hazy with the effects of the drug.

"Oh, wait," He said lowly . "You can't, because you fucking killed her!" Stiles raised his hands to his head as Szymon stomped over to him.

Where this anger was coming from, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was in for the beating of his life.

Szymon started by kicking him in the stomach. Stiles gasped and curled in on himself, only for another kick to land on his thigh. He gasped in pain, feeling his wounds reopen. "You fucking killed her!" Szymon bellowed with another hard kick to his stomach. The force of the blow sent Stiles back a good few feet. Szymon waltzed over to him, kicking him onto his back forcefully before he carefully, almost gently, put his grimy, socked foot on the tip of Stiles' erect penis. "You little bastard, it's all your fucking fault! She's dead because of you!" Szymon screamed. Stiles let out a muffled wail as his uncle put weight onto his cock.

"Stop! Fuck, please stop!" He begged, but his uncle refused to pull his foot away. Stiles screamed until his throat was raw. He was sure the neighbours must have heard him. It wasn't until his voice gave out that his uncle pulled his foot away. When he did, Stiles immediately curled away from him, earning a kick to the back of the head. His vision blurred and his already muddled mind became even more confusing.

"Get up," Szymon fumed, kicking him in the side. Stiles tried to comply, but no matter how hard he tried to pull himself up, his body fell back onto the carpeted floor like he was a dead weight.

His uncle got fed up after watching him struggle for about a minute, grabbing him around the middle and thrusting him back onto the mattress.

"You're a fucking piece of shit whore," Szymon said, his voice prickling Stiles' ears as he went back to squeezing Stiles' cock, this time much harder than before. He jerked him off harshly, waiting until a white liquid streaked with an orange fluid — blood — shot out of Stiles' penis.

He threw the cover back over the teen unceremoniously and put his clothes back on. He then exited the room like nothing happened, leaving Stiles to stew in his grief and agony.

Stiles lay there in his bed for the rest of the night, unmoving, uncrying, as he stared up at his ceiling. He couldn't sleep, and the heaviness in his limbs made his body feel like lead. He didn't remember what he'd done to make his uncle so upset, but nothing he could think of doing would ever warrant that kind of reaction from anyone. He was in complete shock by the turn of events.

The Bugs…

Crawling under my skin…

Belatedly, and about two hours after his uncle had left, he realized Szymon had seen him in full nude, and that he'd probably seen the now bloody gauze wrapped around various injuries on his body. Why he hadn't said anything was a mystery to Stiles. Was he too drunk to notice? It wouldn't surprise Stiles if that were the case.

But he'd also had gauze wrapped around his thighs for the entirety of his uncle's stay… it was more likely that Szymon knew what Stiles was doing and just didn't care.

As time trickled by slowly, Stiles was left to ponder his measly existence while the drug wore off. Every nasty thought he'd ever had about himself was dredged up, and yet again, the voice in the back of his mind came back telling him to 'get it over with and kill yourself already.'

He thought about how much better off the pack would be without him. Without the weak liability dragging them down. What his father would do without the spastic ADHD son he probably never wanted. The same worthless son who was taking his money and living rent-free in his house. He thought about how much easier everyone's lives would be if he were just… gone.

Sure, they'd miss him, especially his father and Scott, but they'd get over him.

Stiles couldn't stand who he was, and he couldn't imagine anyone else could either. He was a failure. He couldn't do anything right. All he seemed to do was fuck things up, and he was useless. His friends could see it, his father could see it, and his uncle could see it, too.

Maybe that's why he continued to do this to Stiles. Because Szymon knew he deserved to suffer for being such a disgusting, worthless human being.

God, Stiles hated himself so much it was unreal.

He wanted to die, so, so badly.

But then he'd remember his father, how he nearly drank himself to death after Claudia died, how he would have done so if Stiles hadn't been there. But that was different, wasn't it? Claudia was the love of Noah's life, her death wouldn't be the same as his good-for-nothing son, who only ever took from him and made his life miserable.

Eventually, he scrapped the idea and just went back to staring blankly at the ceiling. The sun had slowly risen above the horizon and its warm light began peeking through the closed curtains.

At seven AM, he finally sensed that his body was at full functioning capacity. Despite managing on very little sleep, treasuring every moment of rest, the five hours he had slept the night before seemed like an eternity ago. He was utterly exhausted.

He pushed himself up carefully with a wince, testing out his limbs by swaying his arm from side to side and his legs up and down. He sighed when he saw the bruises all over his skin, mainly the black and blue of his swollen privates. He knew the pack would be able to smell his pain, but he could pass that off as the aftermath of their encounter with the pixies, so he wasn't worried.

What Stiles was worried about was the fact that he'd blown them off last night. He knew he wouldn't be hearing the end of it for a while to come.

Stiles put both feet on the floor and pushed himself off the bed, groaning at the pain pulsing throughout his body. He stumbled a bit before he managed to make it to the door and out into the hallway. He could hear his uncle snoring in the room near the end of the hall, the one right next to his father's.

Well, it was nice to know his uncle could do what he'd done to Stiles and then sleep like a baby right afterwards.

And why wouldn't he? He's just giving you what you deserve, The voice snickered.

Stiles shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He limped down the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle his injuries as he went. Szymon had been especially brutal last night. His uncle, God, he'd really crossed a line. What reason was there to drug Stiles? Surely he knew Stiles wouldn't fight back regardless. He never had before.

Maybe that's just his idea of fun. The thought sickened Stiles, but he knew his uncle wasn't right in the head. It probably was just Szymon's idea of fun.

But Stiles was beyond the point of trying to understand what went on in Szymon's head, why he did half the shit he did. He still remembered the day after the first time it happened, the promise he made.

Stiles had gotten up after hours of lying in bed asking himself many of the questions he had last night; Why him? What had he done to deserve this? What the fuck was wrong with his uncle? What the fuck was wrong with him?

At the time, he hadn't been fully cognizant of what had happened. Szymon had told him what he did was normal as Stiles' small hand stroked Szymon's cock up and down, but the sick feeling churning in his insides said otherwise.

It was early in the morning, his father was working a double shift. It seemed as though Noah was trying his best to avoid Stiles as much as possible. When his father was home, all he did was sit in front of the television, a bottle of whiskey in his hands and a look of pure desolation on his face. He didn't even speak to Stiles on a good day, saying Stiles 'reminded him too much of her.' Work was the only place he could get away from it all, the house, the son he couldn't stand to look at, and the pain of losing his only love. Work was a welcome distraction for him.

But where was Stiles' distraction? Sure, he had school, but on the weekends the pain would fester inside of him like an infected wound, and the only person he'd have to welcome him home would be his uncle's sinful presence.

That morning, Stiles padded out of his room, shaky on his feet and afraid to face the man he knew was downstairs with his father nowhere to be found.

He'd gone to bed without dinner last night, though, so he was hungry. Stiles stumbled out of his room regardless of the fear holding him there. He knew he'd have to face his uncle again at some point sooner or later.

"Stiles…" Szymon croaked as Stiles entered the living room. He paused and registered his uncle with fear in his eyes, not knowing what to do. "God, I'm so sorry," He said as he got up from the couch and made his way slowly over to Stiles. The boy backed up so far he hit the wall, terrified of the man before him.

Yesterday, he and his uncle were the best of pals, today, Stiles felt like vomiting at the mere sight of him.

"S- Stay away," Stiles said, his voice breaking. He had tried to sound like anything but the scared little boy he was, but with his voice raw and hoarse from crying half the night, he wasn't sure how well he'd done.

His uncle stopped in his tracks, just a few feet away from him now. Stiles could smell the alcohol on him, even this early in the morning. The scent of it made him want to gag. It was the same smell he'd had when he came into his room the night prior.

"Stiles, I was drunk… I- I didn't know what I was doing. I just… I've always had this sickness inside of me, and- I just- you're so cute and nice to me, you know? You're such a good kid, I just couldn't contain myself any longer," Szymon said, tears streaming down his round cheeks as he spoke. "Please, forgive me. I swear it'll never happen again." He finished by burying his face in his hands, but Stiles refused to look at the pathetic display.

He'd never look at his uncle again if he could help it.

Stiles gulped. "What… What did you do to me last night?" He asked cautiously, still backed into the wall. He felt cornered and trapped, like he had nowhere to run.

His uncle let out a sob. "You'll understand when you're older, Stiles. Maybe I'll even be the one to tell you, but… you can't tell anyone what happened, alright?" He pleaded. Stiles only gulped again.

"O- Okay… I won't tell anyone, as long as you never do it again," Stiles explained, not wanting to feel so… utterly disgusting again. It was then that Szymon sank to the ground with relief.

"Thank you, Stiles. God, thank you." Stiles scooted around him slowly, his uncle still on the ground blubbering like a child when he came into the living room a few moments later with toast.

He found he didn't have the stomach to eat it, anyway.

For whatever reason, be it Stiles' trust in his family, his age, or even his gullibility, Stiles believed Szymon when he said it wouldn't happen again.

It was three nights later that he woke groggily up to the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. He was fully awake by the time his uncle was rutting against him while he lay there helpless and rigid.

Stiles never trusted people the same way again, especially after Szymon had threatened to harm his father if he ever told anyone. He promised whatever he'd do to him would be painful, and that he'd make it look like a result of his work as a deputy.

Slowly, over time, Szymon's apologies came less and less often. The abuse only escalated until the night he took it all the way, the night Stiles lost his virginity at eight years old.

Stiles shivered at the memory, which was etched in his brain as an indelible scar on the canvas of his mind. He was just getting out of the bathroom, and he realized he'd probably be sitting to do his business for a while to come. He also realized he'd be in massive amounts of pain just peeing.

He made his way into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cupboard and a carton of orange juice from the fridge. He was about to pour the juice into the glass when he froze, remembering what had happened last night. He lifted the orange juice to his eye and peered inside, but couldn't make anything out. He sniffed at it, as if that would help, wishing for what must have been the hundredth time that he was a werewolf, able to tell for sure if it was laced with something by smell alone.

Who knew what else his uncle had put drugs in? Though he doubted he'd do anything to something Noah could also drink out of, Stiles didn't want to risk it.

Putting the juice back in the fridge, he sighed and filled his cup up with tap water. Then he walked over to the cupboard where the breakfast foods were kept and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He would have filled it with milk, but that brought about the same fear he'd had with the juice, so instead he ate the cereal dry.

Stiles groaned in frustration, realizing he probably wouldn't be drinking anything other than tap water for a while now. He sat down at the table and began eating his Cheerios, one piece at a time.

When he was a third of the way through the chalky, bland bowl of food, he shoved the bowl away from him. Then he remembered Jenna's words from the diner 'You've also lost weight since the last time I saw you.' and he cringed, picking the bowl back up. He wanted to eat the entirety of the small bowl, but with every swallow a challenge, he settled for half.

Once he'd managed to choke what he could down, he poured the uneaten cereal back into the box and cleaned his bowl in the sink. He then made his way up the stairs, already knowing that going up would be much more of a challenge than going down.

Especially after last night.

As he struggled to get to the last step, huffing a bit as he did so, he reflected on how fucked up last night had truly been.

Grabbing a fresh set of clothes, he went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and got in the shower. He didn't bother saying hello to his father, who had just come into the house. He unwound the gauze around his arms and legs and turned on the water before stepping in. He only cried for a moment while he cleaned his private areas, which must have been a new record for him.

He cleaned the rest of his body, not having the energy to make himself bleed today. He was so, so tired.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

When he got out of the shower, his father was at the dining table eating a bowl of the same cereal Stiles had been having trouble getting down.

"Hello, son," Noah said from his spot at the table as he read the newspaper. He glanced over to him, giving a wan smile. "How are you feeling today?" He asked, trying to mask his concern with curiosity.

"Just fine, daddio," Stiles said, not actually having the energy to act it. God, he just wanted one night where he could sleep without fear of being awoken by that fucking monster pretending to be the 'good' uncle.

"Right…" Noah said skeptically, putting his spoon down in his bowl. "Listen, son, I think you and I should have a talk. I've been really worried about you recently, and it's obvious you're struggling," He conveyed, his voice filled with concern. "One of your teachers called me and told me what happened yesterday. I wanted to talk to you about it last night, but you went straight to bed. Not to mention the fact that you got back a mere hour before I had to leave…" Noah said, and Stiles shot a small breath through his nose.

"Listen, I don't have much time before I have to go to school, so can we just like… not do this right now?" Stiles asked as his father turned his gaze to the floor.

"Sure, son… We can talk after you get out of school," Noah said in a small voice.

Stile felt a small shiver of fear, but his father just wanted to talk. It wasn't the end of the world.

It is if he finds out the real reason you've been acting strange, that ghoulish voice informed him.

"Okay," Stiles mumbled, trying his hardest to sound cheerier, but it wasn't much better than it had been previously. "Well, I'm gonna get going."

"Okay, son. Be safe," Noah told him, picking his spoon up once more and going back to eating his cereal.

"Yeah…" Stiles responded, picking up the Jeep keys and his bag as he exited the house.

—

By the time he got to school, the entirety of the pack — minus Derek and Peter, of course — were standing at the entrance waiting for him.

He cursed his conspicuous vehicle, as he may have been able to find a way to slip past them without it.

"Shit," He cursed as he made his way to them. Some of them narrowed their eyes at him as he approached. "Uh, hey, guys. What's up?" He chuckled nervously.

"You never went to Melissa's last night," Erica said while Stiles glared at the human members of the pack who must have ratted him out. Lydia smiled apologetically at him while Allison only huffed and turned away.

"And you never went to the pack meeting, either," Isaac followed up.

"I- '' Stiles began as a breeze blew by and he shivered. "I meant to, I was just really tired. When I got home I kinda fell asleep and slept through-..." Stiles paused as Scott began sniffing him out in the open for everyone to see. "Dude, stop," he snapped, backing away from Scott. "What's your problem?"

"You smell… off," Scott informed him. Stiles only scoffed in an irritated fashion, but internally he was freaking out. Had he not cleaned himself well enough in the shower? Could they smell his pain? Surely they heard his heart pounding rapidly in his chest.

The other wolves stepped closer to Stiles, whose face had gone a brilliant shade of red.

What did they smell?

Please just go back to being mad about the missed pack meeting, He whined in his head. "What the hell are you talking about? Back- back off, you guys." But the wolves didn't stop, in fact, they only came closer. "Guys, do you know how weird this looks? Stop!" Stiles muttered, looking around at all the students who were staring at them in confusion as they passed. Or worse, the students who had completely stopped in their paths altogether.

This was not helping his already weak reputation.

"Guys!" He repeated, and Isaac, Scott, Boyd, and Jackson all backed off, but Erica remained rooted to the spot.

"There's definitely pain, but there's also something else… though I can't put my finger on it," She mumbled as she inhaled deeply. "It smells like some sort of drug, and not the adderall," She asked, leaning in farther, if that were even possible. Her nose was now touching the fabric of Stiles' shirt, but she didn't seem to be even the slightest bit embarrassed.

Meanwhile, Stiles was freaking out internally. "Are you on a new medication, Stiles?" Boyd asked, and Stiles gulped.

"N- No… I um, it's…" The pack was looking at him like he was unhinged as he tried to come up with an excuse. There were less people around the school's property than he would have liked, and he wasn't sure if there were enough people to hide the uptick of his heartbeat by burying it with their own. He didn't even know if the wolves could single his heart beat out of a crowd, anyway. Sweating, he came up with a white lie. "I… don't exactly know what it was, but my uncle gave it to me. It kind of helped with the pain," Stiles said. The pack looked at him with expressions of disbelief written all over their faces, but he didn't know if that was due to his heartbeat or his delivery.

Maybe it was the scent of fear they no doubt could smell coming off of him?

It definitely wasn't a lie, his uncle had indeed 'given' him something (most likely roofies, but he wasn't sure), and it had helped him forget about the pain, so…

"Your uncle's back in town?" Scott asked excitedly, ignoring everyone else's disbelief.

Suddenly Stiles felt very ill. Just before his mother died, before the abuse had started, he used to bring Scott to his house to visit his uncle all the time. They used to play, laugh, and watch movies together.

That abruptly stopped one day though, and the reason still remains unknown to Scott to this day.

It wasn't only the fact that Stiles was deathly afraid of him by that point, but also because Stiles didn't want his sick fuck of an uncle to do anything to Scott, and refused to give Szymon that opportunity. He had told Scott that his uncle was going through a rough time due to his mother's death.

It was the same lie he fed to himself.

The same lie he stuck with up until his uncle came back and took advantage of him again.

"Yeah, he's back…" Stiles grimaced.

"Dude, that's awesome! He was like, the best uncle ever!" Scott beamed. Stiles didn't miss the way the wolves' noses wrinkled at Scott's words. If they could smell the hurt rolling off of Stiles in waves, they didn't say anything about it. Scott only looked at Stiles confusedly while Stiles glared at the ground.

"So, are you going to chew me out about missing the pack meeting, or what?" Stiles grumbled, refusing to look at any of them. He just wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"I think we can leave that to Derek," Lydia said, the pack turning to her. "What? None of you are the alpha, are you? Therefore, the responsibility belongs to none of you. That burden lies with Derek. Leave it be for now," Lydia spoke with an air of authority as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. She glared at the rest of the pack as if daring any of them to disagree. "Great, I'm glad that's settled. Moving on, Stiles, how are you?" She asked and Stiles finally peeled his eyes away from the ground to look at her. He was confused as to why she was sticking up for him, but wasn't going to say anything about it, regardless.

"Um, I'm good," He said, and immediately realized his mistake. The pack all looked hurt at his words. "Oh right, human lie detectors." Stiles tried to laugh, but it sounded forced even to his own ears. He cleared his throat, "I've been better," He answered more truthfully.

In all honesty, he didn't think he'd ever been worse. There was the whole 'starvation-because-I-can't-stomach-anything' issue, the 'my-uncle-has-fucked-me-three-times-in-the-last-week' issue, and the 'I'm-tearing-open-my-own-flesh-on-a-daily-basis' issue. He wasn't even going to think about the part where he'd wondered if killing himself would end this torture on a near daily basis.

He knew it would end eventually, of course. Though he'd never really recovered from the abuse when he was eight, it was still better than being dead… maybe.

But he knew that if heaven and hell were real, he was going straight to hell. Especially if he killed himself. And of course, who could forget about the incest?

He sighed and pushed his bag farther up his shoulders. "Anyway," He said in a tired voice as he began to walk past the group. "I've got a class to attend, so…" He was just passing Boyd when the bigger teen grabbed him by the wrist.

"Hold up, there," He said as he gripped Stiles' wrist tightly. He was only using a fraction of his strength, Stiles knew, but he still winced in pain. Boyd recognized the look of pain on his face and loosened his hold, but still didn't let him go.

"What?"

"You can't just say, 'I've been better' and then not tell us what's going on," He grumbled, causing Stiles to roll his eyes.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a million times. It's none of your business," Stiles responded, trying to rip free of Boyd's firm grasp. He was having Déjà vu of yesterday, and he was so not in the mood for a repeat. He just wanted to get to class before the bell rang.

"Seriously? Because last time I checked, we're a pack, and a pack helps their members. A pack talks about what's wrong with the rest of the pack. So just tell us what's going on, we can help you, you know." Scott pushed his way through everyone to come to his best friend's side. Stiles was seriously considering bashing his skull off of the brick wall of the school.

"I don't want your help," Stiles grumbled. "Boyd, let go. Now," He said as he twisted his arm around in Boyd's grasp. Boyd sighed and released his fingers from the smaller boy's wrist. "And just so you're all aware, I'm doing just fine without your help," He muttered darkly, glancing at each and every member of the pack. "I've been dealing with this for years, thank you very much. I don't need you butting in and making a mess of everything. That goes for each and every one of you. Even Derek," Stiles snarked before turning around and stomping off.

When he was out of sight, the pack allowed themselves to slump.

"Years?" Scott muttered, and the smell of Jackson's shame filled the air, filling the wolves' nostrils. They all turned to him, bemused.

"He's probably referring to me," He said, looking troubled. "I mean, he's probably being bullied, right?" Jackson asked. The pack nodded their confirmation. "Then he's referring to me. I used to pick on him all the damn time, remember? You too, Scott," Jackson muttered despairingly. "Something about being a wolf, having real friends, it changed me. Before, I used to look down on everyone, even myself. I was a shitty person, and I can see that now… But I've changed… or at least, I'd like to think I have." He looked to the ground with his eyebrows furrowed. "That doesn't make the way I treated everyone before okay, though."

Lydia wrapped an arm around his shoulder lovingly. "Yes, you were an asshole before. But that doesn't erase all the work you've done to change yourself, Jacks. I know it's hard to see that, but it's true. You're a good guy." She smiled up at him then. "And I'm sure Stiles forgives you, I mean, we don't even know if that is what he was talking about. Don't put yourself down. You're different, you've changed for the better and we're all proud of that," She said, looking him in the eye with care.

"I think we've all changed for the better," Allison said, smiling gently.

"Except for me," Erica snorted, trying to lighten the mood.

Judging by the grins on everyone's faces, she had succeeded.

"Yeah, everyone here is a good person except for Erica," Isaac chuckled.

"Hey! I wouldn't go that far," Erica said, laughing.

The pack shared smiles at one another before making their way into the school. They settled into their seats in their different classes, and when the bell rang there was one thing on everyone's mind: Stiles.

—

The day went by slowly, as it always did when Stiles was in school. He could feel the pack's eyes on him almost everywhere he went, and he kept catching them watching him out of the corner of their eyes. Some of them, such as Lydia and Erica, stared directly at him straight on. By the time lunch rolled around Stiles was feeling just the slightest bit miffed about it.

He grabbed his backpack and exited the classroom swiftly to avoid the inevitable pack 'talk' that was sure to come, speeding through the hallways and using his lithe frame to squeeze through the crowds of people in the halls.

"Stiles!" A voice called out, and Stiles fought the urge to face palm. Turning around, he glared in the direction of the voice. He internally grumbled as he saw the entirety of the pack making their way towards him.

Just one moment of peace and quiet, is that too much to ask for? He wondered.

"What do you want?" He asked tiredly. He simply didn't have the energy to deal with them.

"Someone's grouchy," Scott smiled as the pack approached.

Stiles could tell he was trying to ease some of the tension in the air, not that it was working.

"Huh, I wonder why." It wasn't a question.

"Oh, you're not still mad about this morning, are you?" Isaac asked, though his question also felt rhetorical.

"Even if I wasn't, which I am, you lot staring at me all morning certainly didn't help the matter," Stiles said, turning around and limping in the opposite direction of the pack.

"Oh, come on, Stiles. Quit being such a baby," Allison said. Stiles was just thankful for the loud chatter in the halls, as it gave him the opportunity to pretend he hadn't heard her, even though he had.

Continuing to walk, the pack followed after him, each saying something he refused to listen to. He huffed in annoyance and said nothing in reply.

"Stiles," Lydia eventually snapped as she grasped his arm. Nobody missed the full-body flinch that the action caused, but no one said anything. They were used to it by this point. "We can't help you if we don't know what's wrong," She said as Stiles' face began to heat up.

"Were you even listening to a single word I said earlier? Back when you guys decided it would be a good idea to ambush me in front of the entire school, again?" He questioned, his feet stopping as he stood in the middle of the hall. It was empty now aside from the pack, who all stopped as soon as he had.

"I know, I know. You don't want help. But… if you're being bullied, you should really allow someone to assist you. If not us then at least a teacher," Lydia voiced, and Stiles frowned deeply at her.

He turned to face the pack, a bemused expression on his face. "You think I'm… being bullied?" Stiles asked, confusion clear on his face.

"Shit," Jackson cursed, clearly not picking up on Stiles' confusion. "You weren't supposed to tell him we knew," He groaned.

"Sorry," She apologized, though she didn't sound the least bit apologetic. Stiles just continued looking at them like they'd lost their minds. "...That is what's going on, correct?" She questioned.

"I'm not…" Stiles paused and thought for a moment. They seriously thought he was being bullied? He didn't know what brought it on, but if that's what they wanted to think, he wasn't going to be the one to correct them. It was better than them knowing the truth — what his uncle, a person he used to view as his own damn family — continued to subject him to.

"I don't want to talk about it." And he didn't. He didn't want them to think anything else. If they wanted to assume he was getting bullied, fine, let them.

He noticed the sympathetic looks he was receiving from his friends, but he refused to acknowledge them.

"Okay, buddy, but just know we're here for you." Scott smiled sadly at him. He went to put a hand on Stiles' shoulder but withdrew at the last second because of the way Stiles had recoiled from him. Scott's easy smile turned to a frown, though he didn't say anything. None of them did.

"Alright, but I'm still mad at you," Stiles spoke, giving the group a slightly peeved glare.

"We're sorry, Batman. We don't have to talk about it," Erica said gloomily. The tension in Stiles' shoulders melted away in an instant at the nickname.

"It's fine, Catwoman," Stiles expressed with a huff. There was no way he could stay mad at her, not when she looked the way she had.

God damn him and his inability to hold a grudge.

"Well that's great," Jackson beamed. "Can we go to the cafeteria now? I'm starving," he pleaded. Stiles groaned internally. He was not looking forward to having the pack try to shove food down his throat like they had been the past couple of weeks.

Then an idea struck him. "Uh, actually, I was kind of planning on going to that diner a few streets down to eat," Stiles said, not missing the disbelieving expressions on the wolves' faces. He cursed himself internally for his word choice. "Alright, fine. I wasn't exactly 'planning' on going there, but I want to now." Stiles let out a small, forced chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Then I'm coming with you," Scott said, bouncing over to Stiles' side.

"Yeah, about that. My car is kind of a mess right now," He sighed. He hadn't cleaned it in a few weeks. Of course, he had planned on doing it last week, but that idea went out the window when his uncle decided to show up and ruin everything. He hadn't had the energy since.

"Dude, I was in your car yesterday, remember?" Scott laughed good-naturedly. "I don't mind a bit of a mess, anyway."

"Yeah, well… I also kind of wanted to be alone for a while." Stiles ran a hand through his hair as he spoke. Scott gave him his best puppy-dog eyes, causing Stiles to falter for the slightest second, though he continued to stand his ground and stare blank-faced into Scott's eyes.

"Oh, come on, man!" Scott practically begged. Stiles glared at him with an unimpressed look on his face as Scott went back to the puppy-dog eyes.

"Gah! Fine," Stiles all but yelled. Good thing the halls were empty.

"Yes!" Scott bubbled happily, grabbing Stiles by the wrist — which caused only a minor flinch — and dragging him to the exit doors. The pack watched on in amusement, none of them missing the way Stiles' limp seemed to have intensified from the day previous.

"Hmm…" Lydia hummed, and the pack all turned to her with varying degrees of exasperation written on their faces.

"What now?" Erica groaned, expecting the worst from the genius of the pack.

"Did anyone else notice the way Stiles reacted when we accused him of being bullied?" She questioned. The pack only stared at her with confused expressions.

"Yeah, what about it?" Isaac frowned.

"You know, now that you mention it, his heart didn't even speed up when you said that," Boyd chipped in.

"Exactly," Lydia said as the pack began the walk to the cafeteria. "He's so secretive about whatever's going on, and yet he didn't even attempt to make an argument against him being bullied…"

"Yeah, but if he tried to deny it we'd know for sure, anyway," Erica argued as she stared at the back of Lydia's head while they walked.

"Okay, but you must know he's smart enough to make us think otherwise, he's done it before. Plus, it sounded like he was going to deny it for a second there," Lydia mused, turning her head to look at Erica. Said girl only glared at her menacingly.

"Maybe," Isaac said as Lydia smiled proudly at Erica. Erica curled her lips and snarled as Lydia shrugged, turning away.

"Fine," Erica accepted as Lydia flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Then what do you suppose is going on?" She asked.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "I don't know, but I plan on finding out," She assured them as they reached their destination and sat at their usual table.

"It's probably just the bullying thing, Lyds," Jackson said as he opened his bag and pulled out his lunch.

"Maybe… but maybe not," Lydia said, sounding sure of her own theory.

—

"A small curly fries, please," Stiles said to the waitress taking their order as Scott scoffed from the seat across from him. "What?" He asked, glancing over at Scott with a tired expression.

"That's it?" Scott probed. Stiles only rolled his eyes.

"Got a problem with my eating habits, Scott?" Stiles challenged. The waitress beside their table just stood there, not knowing what to say.

"Well, with the way you've been looking recently, maybe I should." Scott stood his ground as Stiles glared at him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Stiles asked, glare becoming more prominent when Scott purposefully dragged his eyes up and down Stiles' body like he was Allison in a cocktail dress.

"I mean, your cheeks are hollow and your clothes hang off of your body like they're two times too big. Clothes that fit you quite well before," Scott said and Stiles scoffed.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?" Stiles once again rolled his eyes as their server looked between the two boys nervously.

"If only it were, Stiles. I honestly wish it was," Scott retorted.

Stiles decided the best thing he could do in this situation would just be to back off. "Whatever," Stiles groaned. Their waitress went back to smiling, albeit wearily, as Scott turned to her and ordered four meal items off of the menu along with a large coke.

When the waitress finally left, Stiles gave Scott a look that screamed, 'seriously?'

Scott gave a sheepish smile. "What? You know as well as anyone that werewolf metabolism is crazy," He chuckled. "In all seriousness though, are you good?" He asked, and Stiles cringed.

"I don't know Scott, what do you think? You didn't have to embarrass me in front of that waitress, for one thing," He grumbled as Scott's face twisted up.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay. Will you forgive me?" The boy pleaded and Stiles' expression softened just the slightest bit.

"Fine. It's fine," Stiles conceded with a sigh. They sat in silence while waiting for their food. When their server brought the tray stacked high with food Scott beamed happily. He immediately began to dig into his meal(s).

Stiles was still mad at Scott, but he didn't have it in him to continue being snappy with him. Scott may be an idiot sometimes, but he was still Stiles' best friend.

They ate in silence, and Stiles managed to get down five fries before he gave up. The taste was bland and the texture was mushy in his mouth. He made a face and pushed the small container away from him, causing Scott to pause in scarfing down his burger. He looked up at him with a concerned expression on his face.

If that's all he eats it's no wonder why he's losing so much weight.

"Dude, are you full?" Scott asked, and Stiles thanked the Gods that with how little he'd been eating that he was, in fact, full.

"Yeah, I already ate today,"

You don't deserve to eat at all, The voice said.

Stiles grimaced as Scott paused for a moment, then said, "You mean at breakfast?" He gave him a quizzical look. "Because it's not normal to eat breakfast and still be full at lunch."

Nothing about you is 'normal.'

"It was more than what I'm used to," Stiles muttered, not wanting to get into another fight with Scott over his eating habits. Sure, the bowl of cereal he'd had this morning was indeed more than what he was used to eating within the past couple of weeks — which was practically nothing — but it was only half a bowl.

Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew that wasn't a lot. He wished he could eat more, but everything was flavourless and the texture was too disgusting to choke down. It had been the same when his uncle first came to stay with them, and within the four months and even beyond that, Stiles had dropped enough weight to be malnourished. Back then his every meal was practically non-existent. He was taken to the hospital after passing out in the shower and his father was investigated for child neglect.

Stiles knows that's what really woke his father up and made him realize that he wasn;t the only one suffering. Even so, to this day he didn't know the real reason why. Noah thought the death of his mother was what caused his 'eating disorder,' when in all reality it was what his uncle did to him at night.

But no one can ever know that. He thought.

You mean how disgusting you are for letting this continue? The voice snickered.

"Oh." Scott once again took in Stiles' haggard, thin appearance. "You really should try to eat more, though," He said around a mouthful of food.

Stiles frowned. I wish it was that easy, Scotty. I really wish it was. Stiles thought as he eyed his fries wearily. "I guess I'll save my fries, then." Stiles didn't add 'for later,' because he had no intention of eating them. He only wanted to ease Scott's worry.

"Dude, fries are no good once you reheat them," Scott explained as if Stiles wasn't the one who had told him that.

"I don't ever reheat them, I just eat them cold."

Scott made a face at his words. "Dude, that's even worse." He rolled his eyes drastically before going back to inhaling his meal.

Stiles watched Scott eat, only feeling a slight twinge of jealousy at the fact his best friend could eat as much as he pleased without feeling nauseous. When the food was gone — aside from Stiles' curly fries — Scott looked at his watch and his eyes widened almost comically.

"Dude! We're gonna be late for class!" Scott exclaimed loudly, placing some bills on the table and quickly standing. His quick motion earned a flinch from Stiles. Scott only frowned, refusing to think too much of it. He grabbed Stiles by the wrist and dragged him out the doors, which, lucky for Stiles, had him leaving the fries behind.

"You're gonna need to speed, bro," Scott said as he climbed into the passenger seat of Stiles' Jeep. Stiles rolled his eyes and got into the Jeep as well before starting it up.

"What's the big deal?" Stiles asked, earning a dramatic huff from Scott. Stiles only shook his head at his friend's antics. "What?" Stiles asked in annoyance as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"I told you last week!" Scott yelled in exasperation. Stiles winced at his loud tone of voice but waited for him to continue. "Were you even listening?" He whined.

"I don't know. I can't remember. Remind me again."

"I've skipped too many classes with Ally… you know how the school calls home once you've missed more than five classes without explanation?" Scott asked, and Stiles would have laughed if he had the energy.

"Yeah, of course I knew that," Stiles said. Scott flailed his arms in a most Stiles-like fashion at his words. Stiles flinched and turned his gaze away from the road for a second to level Scott with a glare. Scott only glared back, though with more of a curious gaze. It was as if he were trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Stiles didn't like it.

What's not wrong with you?

"Well, guess who didn't know?" Scott asked with a long sigh and a shake of the head. Stiles managed a smile, however small, at Scott's ridiculousness.

"You?" Stiles chuckled.

"Yes, me!" Scott groaned loudly. Stiles looked over again before focusing his gaze back on the road. "My mom was pissed. She still is, actually," Scott said with another groan, this time quieter. "Anyway, she said if I miss another class I'm grounded for a week."

"Good," Stiles said.

Scott shot him an incredulous glare at his comment. "Why's that good?"

"Because your education is important, Scotty. Why else?" Stiles said.

Scott paused. He thought for a moment while they drove in silence. "Whatever," Scott muttered, and they went on to speak of other things as Stiles drove slightly over the speed limit in order to make it back to school on time.

Meanwhile, Scott only cursed the long wait at the diner.

—

"Stiles, you're coming to Derek's loft, right?" Erica asked as they walked out of their last class for the day.

"Yeah, totally. I'm so looking forward to being chewed out by an angry alpha!" Stiles cheered sarcastically and with as much false enthusiasm as he could. It still came out with low energy, though.

"Oh, come on. He's not gonna chew you out," Isaac said. Stiles only shook his head dejectedly as he, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd walked to their lockers.

"Yeah right," Stiles grumbled. "He's a total sourwolf."

Isaac only laughed at his comment. "Dude, he has a total soft spot for you. He wouldn't." Isaac grinned from beside him, and Stiles only snorted.

"Yeah, because pushing me against walls and threatening to tear my throat out with his teeth totally screams, 'soft spot,'" Stiles agonized as the three other members of the pack shared knowing looks.

If only he knew how much Derek actually loves him, Isaac thought with an eye roll.

"That's all in the past. He totally adores you now," Erica chipped in. "You know that, right?" She asked as Stiles hummed in semi-agreement.

"I guess he hasn't done any of that in a while…" He acknowledged as they reached their lockers. They all split off to their respective lockers, and once they had everything packed away they joined back up again.

"So are you coming to Derek's loft, or what?" Isaac asked. Stiles nodded his head in agreement and they made their way to the entrance to wait for the rest of the pack.

They stood by the doors until the entire pack had gathered, then made their way to the parking lot.

"Who's riding with who?" Scott asked as the pack stood by their cars.

"I'm riding with Jackson," Lydia said as she hooked an arm around Jackson's. Allison followed suit, wrapping her arm around Lydia's.

"I'm going with Stiles, obviously," Scott said.

Allison shot him a glare. "Can't you ride with me?" She asked with a pout as Stiles glared at the ground.

"Jackson it is then," He muttered.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "She steals my best friend every opportunity she gets. I'm so goddamn sick of it." Stiles thought as he continued to glare at the ground. He realized no one was talking and he looked up, seeing everyone's eyes on him, including a searing glare from Allison.

Fucking idiot. You said that out loud. God, you just can't keep from fucking up, can you?

"You're sick of me, huh?" Allison asked icily as the pack tensed. She detached herself from Lydia just as Stiles groaned and smacked a palm to his forehead lightly.

"I didn't mean to say that out loud," Stiles said. God, he was so tired that it must have just slipped out.

"Even worse!" She growled. Scott looked worriedly between his girlfriend and his best friend.

"I'm not sick of you, okay? I'm just sick of you taking Scott away from me," Stiles muttered.

Allison glared at him with a look of exasperation on her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Scott just enjoys spending time with me, I am his girlfriend, after all." Allison glared at him. Stiles glared right back.

"And he doesn't enjoy spending time with me?" Stiles hissed.

Allison let out a snort of derision. "With the way you've been acting lately? Doubtful," Allison replied. The entire pack now looked worried.

Suddenly the heavy clouds that had been gloomily hanging over Beacon Hills for the past few hours began to lightly spit rain.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Stiles glared. Allison only let out another snort.

"Oh, because you're too weak to stand up to a few bullies means you have the right to be a complete dick and treat everyone like shit? Ignore your friends and act like the most depressed abuse victim you can? Huh, I had no idea."

"I'm not being fucking bullied, you stupid, jumped-up bitch!" Stiles fumed as the rain started pouring down on them harder and faster than before.

"Guys, can we argue about this later? I don't feel like getting soaked by the rain," Jackson said nervously, trying to covertly break up the fight as the rest of the pack remained rooted to their spots in the parking lot. They all watched the argument between Stiles and Allison unfold with anxious expressions, not knowing what to do.

"Fuck off! If you're not being bullied, what the fuck is your problem!" Allison screamed angrily.

Stiles paused, but only for a few seconds. "That's none of your damn business!" He barked back. He realized that his body had begun to feel heavy, even more so when a red streak of light followed by a resounding 'boom!' crashed down around them.

A chorus of 'Holy shit!' 'Fuck!' and 'What the hell!'s erupted from the pack, including Allison, but not Stiles, as another deafening 'Clap!' boomed around them.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" Lydia shouted, wrapping her arms around Jackson's torso in fear.

"Don't worry, lightning rarely strikes the same place, or around the same place, twice," Boyd reassured her.

"Even red lightning? What the hell even is this?" Erica screamed.

"It's a natural phenomenon, don't worry," Isaac said, but even with his reassurance, he himself looked slightly worried.

"Well, I'm still getting soaked!" Lydia reasoned, rushing to Jackson's car as the pack followed suit to either Jackson's car or Stiles' Jeep.

"Allison, Stiles! Come on!" Scott yelled, but each of the pair refused to back down from the other. Scott growled in frustration and ran back from Jackson's car and got in the middle of his girlfriend and best friend. "Guys!" He yelled, looking from side to side at the two of them. Allison looked just about ready to snap Stiles' neck, while Stiles looked just as pissed, but was swaying on his feet.

Neither of them looked ready to put the matter to rest.

"Guys! Please, let's just go! You can get in separate cars and drive to Derek's loft. We can settle the matter there!"

"I'm not going to the same place as him!"

"Yeah fucking right!" They both yelled in unison over one another.

"You two, get going! I'm not going to ask again. Consider this your 'nice' warning before things get ugly," Boyd said loudly from beside Stiles' Jeep while both Erica and Isaac waited inside.

"Does it look like I'm done with this dick? I'm going to fucking skin him alive!" Allison shouted back in a snappy tone of voice. She marched her way over to Stiles as the boy in question stood unsteadily, glaring at her as she approached. She got in Stiles' face and glared up at him.

"Fuck off, Allison. I'm not scared of you," Stiles told her with an eye roll while Taking a step forward.

"We'll see about that," She said as she pulled the knife she kept strapped to her ankle under her boot.

She smiled ferally at him. No, she didn't intend to actually use the knife, instead simply wanting to scare the boy. She got even more angry when Stiles didn't seem to tremble with anything other than a bone-deep fatigue.

"I'm still not afraid," Stiles grumbled while glaring down his nose at her.

"Oh? You don't fear death? How very brave of you," She laughed with fake mirth, "I didn't know you were so careless with your worthless existence."

And ain't that the truth? The voice sniggered in his head. You should just let her kill you, It laughed.

It was then that more lightning struck down around them. Four bright red bolts seared the ground just as the pack was getting ready to restrain Allison. The pack shrieked with fear and surprise as four resounding 'boom!'s crashed down upon the pavement.

"What the fuck is going on?" Erica screamed.

The voices were muffled to Stiles ears as the pack stood stalk-still, too afraid to move.

Allison had backed up a few paces and Stared up at the sky, as did most of the pack.

No one looked back down until there was the sound of something hitting the concrete hard.

They all looked around nervously before noticing Stiles' prone figure lying in a puddle on the ground.

"Stiles!" The pack called out in unison, rushing to their fallen pack mate. But Stiles only continued to lay there, unmoving and unresponsive.

"What the fuck just happened?"