When the pack stopped telling him about meetings, Stiles laughed. It wasn't surprising that they forgot to update his number when their phones kept getting destroyed by the monster of the week...right? They just forgot. That happened. All the time! Too often. When the pack stopped giving excuses for forgetting, a deserving prickle of fear and trepidation etched its way into his heart, making his usually cocky and brave smile falter and leave. Only when they weren't watching. When they went out of their way to stop him going to meetings, he stopped smiling altogether. Only where they couldn't see. But it's fine, right? He was part of a family that loved him and just wanted to keep him safe...right?
But when Derek used the door instead of the window to get into Stile's house, as small and insignificant a fact that may be, he accepted that something was wrong. He couldn't hide his feeling then, but no one saw. Becuase no one wanted to.
The knock on the door of the Stillinski household brought Stiles abruptly back from his pensiveness, forcing him to stand up, his too-young bones creaking in protest after a period of time spent in deep thought. He was dreaming. But it was a nightmare.
He cracked the door open and with a jolt of surprise realised it was Derek Hale, in other words: the alpha of his pack. The rugged werewolf stood hulked over in the doorway, seemingly uncomfortable, his default position in the face of any and all company. His muscle-bound figure was dressed in a henley, as usual, despite the cold, and he wore thick boots, only for show. He was a wolf, and he doesn't need human clothes. His hair was dishevelled, unusual but more common now that he was in charge of the pack. Leadership didn't suit him. What did? His hazel, green eyes darted warily to Stiles and made him seem nervous. But that couldn't be true. This was Derek Hale!
"Hey, Sourwolf!" He said seemingly cheerily, but he had no doubt that Derek could hear his increased heartbeat, the scent of sadness emanating from his shaking frame and the pale pallor on his gaunt face. He felt a sense of shame flare up, creeping up to his then flushed cheeks as he averted his gaze from the brooding man in front of him. Submitting was never his strong suit, but Stiles was changing. Derek glared, his usual stony face intensified to a seemingly enraged expression. As hard and vague as Stiles guesswork was, he could work out that something was different. And Stiles was scared of different, so, so scared.
"Cat got your tongue?" Stiles quipped, then chuckled nervously at his unintended joke. Jokes weren't funny to a man of stone, and although no one would ever know it, it made embarrassment and fear become a familiar face to Stiles. But changing wasn't an option. He wouldn't let Derek see his feelings."Sit." growled Derek, and proceeded to push an indignant Stiles past the open door and into the living room. "Hey- I've said countless times you can't just-"
"You're out." Thundered Derek. Stiles gulped and sputtered angrily "You can't just come in and moan about my sexuality!" He wrung his hands and sat back with an agitated huff. His lighthearted joking was rapidly giving way to ripe fear, and primarily: terror. "God! I'm not gonna-"
"NO!" Roared an agitated Derek, making Stiles flinch, and the house seemed to shake, the wolf at its doorstep casting a shadow on the occupant and all of the memories within. Stiles' heart beat a shocked rhythm...he didn't understand! He was sure he was trembling now, he could hear a quickened pounding in his ears, and he realised it was his heart beating, trying to run away from the conversation. "You're not in the pack. Don't ask why and don't talk to any of us. Go. Away." ending in a barely contained snarl.
Derek's voice rumbled and resonated through Stiles' head. He gasped, the breath in his throat catching, he began to shake. Derek turned but Stiles rasped a terrified breath and tried fruitlessly to grab onto his sleeve. But he was gone. He rapidly strode away towards the dark abyss of the forest, until it swallowed him whole, both taking him away and providing him with the closure he sought from the fragile boy behind him. Stiles was lost.
"COME BACK DEREK! For fuck's sake..." He trembled until he caught sight of his reflection in the dusty mirror. Stricken and dependant. Hands shrouded in secrecy and pain reached out, unwillingly looking for the innocence of the old Stiles. But it couldn't be found. It was long gone.
His bottom lip began to wobble until fat tears rolled down his sunken cheeks and unaborted sobs forced their way out of him in ugly hacks. "Oh my god oh my g-god, o-o my fucking god" He whispered and sank to the floor in a defeated shrunken heap. Stiles sobbed, raw emotions coursing through him and breaking every nerve and shredding any sense of trust or happiness he had left, and mourned, once again, for the loss of the people who meant so much to him. But he knew that to them, he was nothing at all.
He lay there crying 'till the Sheriff nearly tripped over the shaking heap. He blinked, peered through the dusky light and swiftly picked up his son and lay him on his bed and continued to stroke him, muttering unsure words of reassurance. "Come on kid, it's gonna be alright..." But he worried for his son...what was he crying about? What could possibly make him sob this hard? Scott? The assumption made him clench weathered hands and stand up to turn the light off and tuck the blanket around the quivering body of his son. What happened, he didn't know, but he would stand with his son against it.
Stiles lay shaking, drifting in and out of sleep for the next five hours. Shell-shocked and lost, he blindly pushed the twisted pile of sheets off of his defeated frame and stumbled through the dark room and turned the switch. The light blinded him and he belatedly rubbed his tired eyes and glanced out of the ajar window; the source of his awakening. A breeze slipped into his room, and his spine stiffened as a pair of seemingly red, glowing eyes gazed unblinkingly back at him. He started and made to move towards the open window. But they were gone.
"Derek?" His cracked, unused voice wavered through the midnight air, but no one answered. He gazed into the empty, dark street below his window and his head filled with unanswered questions...did Derek want him back? Was that really who the person outside his window was? Had he dreamt the glowing eyes? Fear sliced into his numb brain and woke him up. A life overshadowed by grief and the supernatural told him that this wasn't something to be looked over. Shaking hands grappled on the cold doorknob 'till he managed to exit his room and lope down the stairs to frantically scrabble for his phone and call the pack. It was there, sitting at the kitchen table in a darkened room that Stiles realised that he was stranded. The pack didn't want him. "Oh god..." He mumbled, stinging eyes gave way to a stream of pained tears.
They didn't realise, they didn't know the amount of time he spent, the unaccountable hours of his life he spent slaving after that pack! First, it was Scott. Stiles was there, eternally there. The second and somewhat smaller half of "Scott and Stiles". He was the afterthought, the add-on. The sympathetic invite. He was the kid who no one really wanted to know, wishes they didn't, or just plain didn't care enough to see.
Pure rage overwhelmed Stiles, and for that one moment, with The Sheriff asleep, unaware but uneasy about his son's troubles, he crumpled. He screamed. He cried. He doubted himself, he laughed, in pure disbelief. He whispered that they would be back again. He cried. He sobbed, and no one heard.
No one heard him.
Because all those raw, painful emotions were never spoken aloud. They were in his head, and though that may sound much better, it made his troubles feel all the worse. Stiles could not. Under any circumstances. Show them weakness. He couldn't show anyone weakness! He was Stiles, the somehow dumb yet smart kid, the joking, sarcastic, goofy and clumsy...human.
He was only human. Countless movies, countless songs told him that it's okay. It's okay to cry and it's okay to want help, and talking about it was good! Yet somehow, this was unbelievable. A voice, small but overpowering told him that he was worthless. None of them cared...that made sense right? Because they left him. The spark had gone out of Stiles Stillinski and his hope was gone. Questions weren't asked. Answers were just accepted and what he knew was that he was alone. Well and truly alone.
Stiles slumped into his seat in the nocturnal light of his kitchen and watched the silent, unforgiving world through glassy, broken eyes. Becuase he couldn't hear the things the wolves could because he was human. Just a human. He kept reminding himself of this, a senseless mantra running through his whirlwind of a mind until he drew his last sane breath, and gave into the darkness. He felt soft. Like his heart was on the verge of breaking, and he was about to implode.
Everything was big, too gargantuan and too much for him. He swallowed, he tried to make it leave. But this is when he realised he was tainted, his thoughts were darkened and he couldn't pretend he loved life now!
None of the pain in his life could be controlled, his mom, his train-wreck of a dad, the pack, even school! He sniffled, wiping a shaking hand across his raw, red eyes. His pale, ivory skin glinted in the moonlight, catching his eye. Stiles stared at it, a million thoughts rampaging through his ever persistent brain. One of which made his breath catch, he shakily tapped his arm with one quivering, extended finger, doubting himself, always, and made a decision. This would change his ever painful life once more. For the worse.
He caved in on himself, and at 3:06 on a gloomy Friday early morning, Stiles resigned himself to finding peace with the relieving pain of a rusty razor blade and a cold shower. He didn't think he was worth any better...