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He never bothered anyone with it. He didn’t want to be a burden like in high school.
In high school, he was only something to worry about. His human ass landed him in many vulnerable positions.
But they weren’t in high school anymore. He couldn’t call them up and say those terrifying memories from high school still burdened him. They were still dealing with hunters and life-ending things all at the same time as college.
He couldn’t add his shit into the mix. It wasn’t even good. It’s not like he was important or his problems were.
So he continued with his everyday routine in hopes that the thoughts would go away. That the feelings would disappear. He put on a smile and pushed it down.
He smiled and said he was fine the entire day, he always was. Then at night, when he was alone, he cried himself to sleep and used terrible coping mechanisms to help him keep going.
He kept it from his friends and family. They couldn’t know. If they did they’d know he was weak.
Thank god he lived a couple of hours from Beacon Hills. He could still be close enough to go see them whenever and still have the distance so they didn’t know.
He met friends through work and through college. They all liked to party and after a while of saying he didn’t… he decided one night of fun for someone’s birthday wasn’t so bad.
It spiraled after that. He went out every night, with drugs, alcohol, girls, and guys, he numbed himself with all the typical things. Then he went home and numbed himself with a couple more.
There was a mix of good and bad. He felt like this was the best his life had been but also the worst. It felt good to do all these things and he felt free of all the problems from his high school period. But…
That sadness still loomed over him. It got darker. His mental health got worse and worse. Most days he sat on the cold tile of his kitchen or bathroom floor debating whether to drink the bleach under the sink or take a knife from the drawer beside his head.
It was scary and also made him live life as if tomorrow was non-existent. All these mixed feelings confused him yet made him feel so alive.
He felt alive when he was debating suicide. He felt alive when blood dripped from the wounds he’d created on his hips and wrists.
He began to think he was worse than the monsters he and his high school friends fought. People everywhere had it worse than him so why did he have the right to want to kill himself? Why did he have the right?
Then over a span of a few months it got worse, he lost a really good internship, he saw his grades slipping, and one of his best friends up here turned on him. The only good thing was that his place of work liked him more than the other guy so they'd fired him instead of Stiles.
Once he saw his grades slipping he made a very regrettable decision. He dropped out and got a day job instead. Just a little cleaning gig one of the girls at the restaurant had, she had said she needed more cleaners so he took her up on it.
Without school, it made him even more reckless. Staying up all night partying barely getting any sleep. His hookups got rougher, he'd find people who'd hurt him. The one thing he chose not to do was heavy drugs. Weed was it for him it made him feel floaty and it helped him sleep at night.
Everything was great again for a while. Then he forgot to keep in touch with his old friends and dad. He was a bit busy trying to keep his own lights on and his own coping mechanisms in check. Fuck the lights actually, he can just use a lamp.
One night was worse than the others. The whole week had actually been pretty stressful. He had a fight with one of his good friends and people at work were taking sides even though it was none of their fucking business. He had some shitty customers two days in a row. Plus the people at his work made him feel more useless than they usually did.
So that night he fell asleep in his bathtub music playing loud the drain turning a dark red. He didn't regret this. This was just how it was meant to turn out. He'd slipped death in high school more than a few times and he wished he hadn't so he didn't have to do it himself.
—
Stiles didn’t expect to wake up. He didn’t want to. All he wanted was to be at peace. He just wanted the pain to stop because god damn it hurt so fucking much.
So when he opened his eyes to find himself in an empty hospital room he cried. He let the tears fall and openly sobbed when usually he’d do it into his pillow.
He looked down at his arms finding them bandaged and he ripped them off. He heard the heart monitor beeping but ignored it. He ripped his IV out of his arm and dragged it into the stitched-up wounds.
He didn’t pay any attention to the door slamming open or the voices yelling. He just passed out and felt hands holding him down.
“Let me go.” He whispered before his eyes fluttered closed.
He hoped he wouldn’t wake but he was in a hospital and knew there was a good chance he’d be saved. He’d be fine.
Opening his eyes again he was in the same hospital room. He looked around with drowsy eyes finding multiple people in the room. His friends were in the room. Shit.
“Sti.” He saw a figure in his vision and felt hands on his chest and shoulder.
“Alex?” He asked his vision clearing. The man was a bartender and sometimes a host at his work, he considered Alex a good friend.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Alex said moving to hug Stiles the best he could while he lay in the bed.
It made Stiles realize something. Alex and he were going to hang out the day after he tried to off himself. He must’ve found him.
“You found me?” He whispered and Alex pulled back nodding.
“I told you, you could talk to me,” Alex whispered, and yeah, Stiles remembers that conversation.
They had been in his Jeep as he took Alex home after work once. He smoked and Stiles watched him. The way his lips curled around the cigarette, the way smoke left his lips as he spoke about how shit his upbringing was, the way he’d smile over at Stiles when he was done.
Stiles thinks that was the moment he started to fall for the other man. After that, they were close and told each other everything. One day, when Stiles got especially drunk, Alex took him to his house to wait for a cab so he didn’t have to wait alone in the line in the freezing cold of the village.
He can’t remember the trigger but Stiles remembers crying for three hours with Alex in his kitchen. He remembers telling the other man how much pain he was in, how he almost drove his car off a cliff the week before, and how he was in love with Alex.
He didn’t even know he had been at that point. He was scared of so many things he’d told Alex that night. But the other guy didn’t even flinch. Just held him close stroking his hair and told him to stay.
Stiles hasn’t slept in another man’s bed since high school with Scott. It was different this time though. He stared at Alex for hours after the other had fallen asleep. In the morning he left as quickly as he could without raising suspicion.
But Alex didn’t treat him differently. He didn’t ignore the night either. Just made sure Stiles knew that he had someone to talk to.
Stiles didn’t know if Alex liked him or not. The other man hadn’t known much about the LGBTQ+ community and Stiles had been open about his bisexuality with a few close coworkers, not the boss never the boss.
He’d been happy to educate Alex on it. Stiles told him about everything he wanted to know. That night was a late one at the bar next door to the restaurant that he and Alex frequented, other coworkers as well but Alex and him most of all.
At the end of it, Alex said he’d be willing to have sex with men but not date them. He loved women romantically and sexually though.
“Heteroromantic bisexual. If you want to label yourself. You don’t have to.” Steve said and Alex thought for a moment shifting in his seat.
“Feels right.” He smiled and Stiles had hope in his eyes. It never happened though.
So he and Alex were close. He was in love with Alex. Stiles wished he could’ve been the person that helped Alex confirm his heteroromantic bisexuality but he wasn’t. It was some other guy Stiles didn’t even know.
The reason Stiles didn’t talk to Alex was the reason he never talked to anyone about it. First, he didn’t want to be a burden. Second, he simply couldn’t.
He physically can not get the words out. The few times he tries even hinting at it he’s been shut down.
“There’s people going through worse.”
“You have a good life.”
“You’re happy. I see it. Don’t lie.”
“I’m beginning to think these jokes aren’t jokes, man.”
Everyone invalided his feelings so much more than just that. People did it to him his whole life so he began to think that he needed to keep it to himself.
He never spits out a word about it. Not after trying to off himself. Not after crying in front of his boss. Not after someone, he cared about asks if he’s truly okay.
It’s been shoved so hard into his brain that he must suffer in silence now. That’s all he can do. If he doesn’t then he’s hurting the people around him.
Trying to get the words out is like pulling teeth. Painful, there’s tears, there’s looks of judgment. It’s not something he ever wanted or wants to do.
“I know how much is on your plate.” He says to Alex. “I didn’t want to burden you with my shit,” Stiles said making Alex shake his head and squeeze Stiles’ shoulder.
“You could never burden me. Never. Night or day, two in the afternoon or two in the morning, I’ll be at your doorstep whenever you need me.” Alex said tears in his eyes and Stiles' tears spilled onto his cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” He said making the other man shake his head bringing him into another hug this time Stiles tried to return but he found his hands bound to the bed. Probably to stop him from ripping off his bandages and hurting himself again.
“I got you. Always.” Alex whispered before he pulled away.
Stiles’ eyes found his father and his friends. Scott, Lydia, Derek, Liam, and Malia all stood in different places in the room. Shit. How did they all get here?
He knows that a while ago he took them off his medical records. His father wasn’t even on there anymore. In situations like this. He prepared himself a long time ago for this day.
“How’d you know I was here?” Stiles said his voice going cold.
“I called them. Got your dad's number from Maggie.” Their boss. Shit, she knew?
He reached as far as he could, which was just enough, and pushed Alex back a little. The man didn’t move far but sighed and looked a little hurt.
“I was just trying to help—“
“You didn’t. You made it worse.” Stiles said thinking for a moment before deciding. “Get out.” He said making Alex wince closing his eyes for a brief second then took a deep breath.
“I’ll come back later.” He tried but Stiles shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“I will whether you want me to or not. I care about you—“
“Not the way I want you to,” Stiles said making Alex rub a hand through his hair seeming frustrated.
“I wish I could. I wish I could! I can’t okay? I can’t make myself. It’s not fair to you for me to fake it or I would.” He had a few tears fall and quickly wiped them away. “I’ll see you later.” He said firmly before leaving the room without a glance at the others who’d been watching the scene.
They’d been watching that whole thing. Stiles had tuned them out almost completely forgetting about them. He wished he had his hands so he could wipe his face free of tears.
“Why are you here?” He said watching as his fingers picked at the anti-suffocation blanket.
“We care about you. All of us.” Lydia’s voice was tainted with pain but still soft and comforting.
Stiles still scoffed looking away and sniffling. He doesn’t need their pity or their so-called comfort.
He doesn’t need anyone. He can make it on his own. He can help himself. He doesn’t need help from anyone.
“We wanna help you—“ Scott tried but Stiles glared.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone.” Stiles knew he was better off on his own. Better off pushing everyone away not letting them get too close. Then he couldn’t hurt them.
“You can’t push us away.” His dad said making Stiles dig his nails into his palm.
“We’ve been through too much to let you deal with this on your own.” Scott stepped up to the bed tilting his head to catch Stiles’ eyes. “I love you, man. You’re my brother. I’d do anything for you.” The words made tears prick both their eyes.
“Tell us what’s going on kid.” Noah’s hand landed on his shoulder and the warm touch flowed through his chest.
He hadn’t been touched with such love in so long. He missed hugging his father and talking with him. The warmth clouded his mind and pushed the anxieties about telling them away.
“It hurts so bad.” He whimpered his bottom lip trembling. “My head keeps telling me things I know aren’t true. It’s so convincing that I’m believing it. No one cares about me. I’m just a burden. I’m useless.” Stiles said only a few of them leaving his lips before the clouds parted and that dark voice returned with its violent words.
The sheriff pulled the chair up to the edge of the bed while Scott sat on the bed. His eyes flickered between the two and hot streams of tears rolled down his cheeks. It hurts everywhere.
“That voice is wrong kiddo,” Noah said tears in his own eyes at what his son was telling him. “We care more than you know. You’ve never been a burden or useless at any point.” He said the soft words being contradicted by that dark voice.
“It hurts dad. All the time.” He whispered making the sheriff tilt his head tears falling then pulling the boy in for a hug.
“We’ll get you help I promise. I’ll do anything to help you son.”
—