Work Text:
Stiles never expected for the residual darkness of the Nogitsune to seep out of him and reflect on Beacon Hills. But as he sat precariously at his desk, white-knuckled fist clenched around a glass of whiskey, he realized his expectations were always far from the truth. Beacon Hills, an unusually sunny place with either sweltering summers or icy winters, seemed to have its own loss to mourn. He’s not sure what, but the loss of Allison Argent may very well be the root of its depression. It’s evident in the bitter chill that shakes brick housing, in the dark sky that’s complemented with swirls of black angry clouds. And when Stiles glances out the window to solidify the dreariness of the day, he’s met with heavy tears falling from the sky.
It’s funny really. And not in the ‘I-can-laugh-when-I-look-back’ sort of way, but more in the ‘my-life-is-such-a-joke-I-should-die-to-make-it-easier’ way. It’s vulgar, it’s sad, pathetic. And those are really the only words that come to mind whenever he thinks of himself now. Stiles knew he was never particularly talented in any realm, that was always Scott. But he used to think he mattered, that he meant something to his friends. That he was pack. It’s increasingly evident in how easily dismissed he is now, how hated he is. And he can’t even defend himself. It’s not like they don’t have a reason to hate him.
The Nogitsune took far more than just pieces of himself. It took everything from him. It took Allison. It took his friends. But what probably hurts the most is the way Derek can’t even stomach the sight of him anymore. Stiles downs another shot, desperately willing the unbearable memories of the past week to erase themselves. It doesn’t work.
It’s Friday. It’s Friday and Stiles still hasn’t received a pack meeting text. They always have pack meetings on Fridays, it’s routine. At first, he thought that maybe they just forgot to text him. But he wanted to confirm with Scott first before jumping to conclusions. But surely, he would’ve gotten a text? They wouldn’t do that to him… would they?
Stiles corners Scott at his locker. “Hey Scotty!”
Scott turned to him, and rather than the loop-sided smile he was expecting to see, Scott held what he could best describe as a disgusted look. Okay, that stung. But still, he pretends that the other is happy to see him.
“What do you want.” Scott growls, and okay. Stiles can’t ignore that.
He visibly falters, face dropping for a second before morphing into confusion. He feels his hands shake, and he prays that he doesn’t pass out in front of Scott. That’d be embarrassing.
“I-. Um, is there a pack meeting tonight? I never got a text.” Stiles hates that he stutters. That just makes him even more vulnerable in front of his friend. He’s absolutely positive Scott can hear his beating out of his chest. Definitely giving some of the best drummers in the world a run for their money. If he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, Scott slams his locker shut, effectively spiking Stiles’ heart rate. He jumps in the air, startled and albeit scared at the loud sound. Scott adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, and fixes him with a gaze that could kill.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Stiles, you’re not pack anymore. Leave me alone.”
Stiles knew that after the Nogitsune nothing would be the same, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Like he said earlier, he had higher expectations for his friends. The reality was far from what he hoped for though. The pack began to ignore him. And not in the typical high school way where when he speaks and they don’t acknowledge him. No, because that’d be too easy. Fuck, Stiles can’t even find them at school anymore. All and any classes he’d had with any of them are always short one or two students. And he knows, he knows he shouldn’t let it get to him the way it does, but when the reality that Allison’s name is no longer called for attendance, he can’t help but crash.
Stiles tries and tries again, but he can’t ignore the darkness that has settled within him. When he was possessed, all he could feel was a malevolent evil that surpasses anything Beacon Hills had ever harboured. And when the spirit left him, it left nothing behind. At first, Stiles was relieved that the monster was away and never coming back. Almost cried tears of joy as soon as he was released from its viscous hold. Then it settled, and Stiles couldn’t allow himself to feel human anymore. And when the pack began to abandon him, that’s when a new darkness fell over him. And all the nights he used to spend drowning in nightmares are now filled with thoughts of drowning in rivers.
But it was still okay. He had Derek still, right?
They weren’t necessarily official, neither of them asking the other out. Stiles waits patiently though. Knowing Derek’s past is both a privilege and a scar, and he knows what baggage Derek carries everyday. He’s more than ready to share the burden though, making it known in the way he kisses him as he heals, when he cooks for him and the pack. They weren’t official, but ‘boyfriend’ was just a title that Stiles already did the work for without the reward. But when Derek used to kiss him after a mission gone right in the secrecy of his loft, far from the chatter of the pack and nosy gazes, he couldn’t give a damn about things like that.
So yes, Stiles did try and go to Derek for comfort. He found none.
Derek pushing him away hurt far more than the actions of his friends. In his fucked up mind, he had actually believed that Derek was different. That Derek cared for him. That the son of a bitch would never do anything to hurt him, or make him want to jump off a goddamn fucking cliff. He could never be that lucky though, no. Why should he be? Why should he have thought that Derek would still love him after all the pain he’s caused? Allison is dead because of him, she’s dead and Stiles is still fucking breathing and that-
That should be him instead.
Derek’s method of ‘operation-get-rid-of-stiles’ is different from the rest. He doesn’t just ignore. He fucks other women, kisses them with passion, and he does it in broad fucking daylight. Derek waits until Stiles waltzes in blissfully unaware to fuck a toy in front of him. And if it’s not Stiles going to him, he goes to Stiles.
And why does he show up in his bedroom at midnight, exactly? To start a fight. To break him down until he’s crying. To make him hurt. To cut his heart open until he’s bleeding, open, raw, and vulnerable.
Stiles felt especially gloomy today, his will to breathe becoming more and more of a chore than an afterthought. He needed to see Derek today. Needed to feel the comfort of the other’s arms wrapped around him, telling him that it will be alright. So once school let out, Stiles had only one destination in mind.
Stiles tried to text him to at least let the wolf know he’s coming over, but he gets no response. And it’s not necessarily unusual, yet today it feels off. Still, he tries to shrug it off as just another normal moment, and keeps driving. Derek’s loft isn’t too far from him, and when he arrives, a weight settles in his stomach.
He lets himself in, shoes discarded haphazardly near the entrance just to make sure he doesn’t track in dirt. Derek’s loft has always felt like home, and he often wishes he laid in Derek’s bed most nights rather than his own. He’s just never truly settled with himself unless he’s with Derek, but the loft isn’t how it usually is. The sun doesn’t peer through the windows as strongly as it usually does, it doesn't brighten up the open space as much as he’d hope for. Without it, without the sound of Derek rustling around, the loft feels nothing short of cold and abandoned. Stiles doesn’t like it.
Derek used to sleep on the main floor, but had recently moved his bed towards the upper level. In its place, he set up an even better living room for pack meetings. Which is why when he doesn’t see Derek sitting on the couch, he makes his way upstairs. That’s when he hears it.
At first, it sounds like nothing more than a gust of wind. But Stiles isn’t dumb, and has been in far more life-or-death situations to know how to train himself to listen for danger. Carefully, he ascends the metal stairs. The closer he grew, the more he regrets his decision of ever coming here in the first place.
When Stiles stood before Derek’s bed, his heart left him.
Despite his urge to scream, no sound could escape his throat. Derek, quite possible the love his life, was fucking another woman. Not even a fucking guy, a fucking woman. She looked painstakingly similar to Kate, and Stiles isn’t sure how to handle this. He could hear Derek's grunts, the woman's breathy moans, just like he could see the scratch marks on Derek's back from the woman's nails.
He watched as the scene unfolded in front of him, before deciding to make himself known. He murmured a quiet ‘Derek’ but that’s all it took, and stood there watching the reaction of the two in bed. The woman with her long brunette hair, light freckles and piercing grey eyes gasped at the sight of Stiles while Derek turned to him emotionlessly.
"You couldn't have answered my text?" Stiles questioned, fiddling with his trembling fingers. When he received no response, he spun around and stalked down the stairs. He stuffed his feet into his shoes, swung open the front door and slammed it shut.
He rushed into his jeep, turning it on before he could even blink. With both hands on the wheel, he couldn’t leave. He held his breath, staring at the front door of the building, hoping, praying, that Derek would rush out after him. He doesn’t.
So, a new thought takes his mind. One much happier, and much more simple than this piece of shit reality he has.
Whiskey.
This leads him to where he is now, hunched over his glass and hating his life. He took another swig and then a couple more right after. The bitter taste of anger and simmering rage lay on his tongue, much stronger than the alcohol in his hands. His thoughts are now clouded, and he can’t find it within himself to feel sorry for anyone. How dare they blame him? How dare they betray him? Stiles is the victim here! He was taken over by a fucking malevolent spirit, forced to watch helplessly as his body destroyed his pack and murded his friends. The fucking thing left and took his fucking soul with him, leaving him with nothing but burning nightmares and hilariously weak-bodied.
He’s the victim. Not Scott, not Lydia. Certainly not fucking Derek . And there’s so much more than them, but he expected better from them. And he was let down, again.
Mind clouded, Stiles came to the conclusion there’s only one way to end his suffering. An option that’ll make him feel whole again, and would satisfy the anger of his - what was his pack. It’s brilliant, he’s never had any brighter ideas.
Stiles stumbled away from his chair, the stool shooting away from him and tumbling over from the force. Positively wasted, Stiles hiccuped his way to his father’s bathroom, happy that the man is far away from home right now. He flung open the medicine cabinet and grabbed as many pill bottles as possible. He sat his whiskey down on the toilet seat before opening each and every bottle. For a moment, Stiles wondered if this was the right thing to do. Ending himself at the expense of others?
And in the muddy haze of his drunken stupor, he sees Derek. Sees his cold expression and uncaring demeanour. He doesn’t mean anything to them anymore. Just another liability they have to deal with. One that took Allison away from them. Past the haze, it becomes clear what he has to do. He throws a handful of mixed pills into his mouth, and chases down the sour taste of depression with his drink.
It’s almost instant how his body tries to fight the inevitable, and Stiles applauds himself for trying to survive. But if he has any say against his body, it’s that they’re ending this pain tonight. Stiles is far past stumbling as he slams down each and every family portrait hanging on the hallway wall, the memories of what once was shattering by his feet. Stiles throws himself onto his desk, the corner of the wooden slab knocking the breath out of him. Vaguely, he feels a stinging sensation against his skin, but doesn’t pay it any mind. In a few short minutes he’ll be pain free and joining the other shitty people down in hell. He doesn’t remember grabbing a pen or his notebook, but he’s writing before he could think twice.
His thoughts pool out onto the paper effortlessly, though his hand trembles trying to keep up the weight of the pen. As soon he’s done, he drops the weight of the pen, and replaces it with his keys and the bottle.
He stumbles down the stairs, tripping over his feet on the last step. Luckily, the whiskey bottle lodges itself between the panels, and stops him from slamming his head on the counter. He foolishly smiled at the bottle before pecking it adoringly. He’s not in the mood to hold onto it anymore, or wasting his time trying to wrench it out. His hand goes slack, and Stiles watches in amusement as it tumbles towards the ground and shatters. A waste indeed, but his father shouldn’t be drinking that anyway. Stiles did him a favor.
He staggers out into the open, lurching towards his jeep. The coolness of the metal greets his forehead, and Stiles groans as his head begins to pound. That would definitely swell. He struggles for several minutes with his keys, but a determined Stiles was no force to be reckoned with. In hindsight, it feels like his jeep is begging that he stay home, that he doesn’t go out and do anything stupid. It’s sad, but he can’t dwell on that now.
But he’s full of stupid ideas and wants to fulfill them now.
Stiles smiles weakly in satisfaction as he pulls out his driveway, already having an ideal location in mind. And though Stiles’ vision is so blurred he can’t see past his wheel, he manages to drive rather steadily. Maybe it’s the bitterness leaving him, or the sadness coming to take its place. Whatever it is, it helps sober him up enough to cause gut-wrenching sobs to slip from his lips. He hurts , and he doesn’t know what to do. Hasn’t felt like this since the death of his mother, and even then that was only one event.
With his mothers death, the nogitsune, Allison's death, and Derek’s hatred, Stiles feels like the weight of the world is caving in on him. And it never used to feel like this. He used to be okay handling his depression and supernatural matters, it used to not phase him. But back then… he had a pack, he had a family . He doesn’t anymore, and that’s just the truth. Nobody wants him, nobody misses him, and Stiles is positive that if they could go back in time, they’d push him in Allison’s place instead.
Exhausted, Stiles’ eyes begin to droop, head swaying in hopes for a place to rest. It’s getting increasingly harder to stay awake, the pull of sleep luring him into a peaceful slumber he’s never known. But he can’t, he needs to stay awake. He has to stay awake. Just a couple more minutes, and then he’ll be able to slip away.
After 3 more torturous minutes, a familiar entrance to the woods appears. It’s startling to look at it, he can sense the trees calling to him, just begging for him to come home.
'These were the woods Scott got bit. Son of a bitch. ' He venomously thought. Mouth far too numb for him to move.
Stiles roughly opened his car door, grabbed the whiskey, and left for the woods. He didn't bother closing the door or, hell, even grabbing the keys because he knew he wasn't going to make it out of this one alive.
This would be yet another successful mission.
The walk to his favorite lake was only five minutes, but Stiles was desperate. So close to the finish line, he breaks out into a sprint. He tries to avoid tripping over any loose branches, but the alcohol works against him, and he just stumbles off of every tree he slams onto. His skin already begins to bruise, but Stiles has never seen clearer. Branches cut into his shirt, tearing his human skin and leaving him stained with blood. He can’t heal, not like Scott or Derek can. Doesn’t matter anyway, not now.
When gravity starts to weigh him down, he catches sight of the murky water he’ll call home. The frigid air showed no sympathy and gave Stiles no oxygen when he stopped to breathe properly. Instead, his breath comes out shakily and unsatisfying. He tries to compose himself, but he can’t inhale properly anymore, and he knows he’s down to seconds.
Stumbling forward, Stiles falls onto his knees. His arms give out from where they’re outstretched to catch himself, not able to hold his weight for even a second. It’s pitiful how mundane he really is, having to crawl his way towards the edge of the water. The smell is anything but pleasant, distinctly earthy and mossy in a way that makes him want to hurl. Could be the pills also, but he’s not sure what’s bothering him anymore. Stiles allows himself to collapse against the moistened ground, eyes taking in the beautiful scenery that would end him. A bittersweet ending, indeed.
Body numb, Stiles revels in the breeze that chills him to the bone, dusting leaves across him as if trying to stake its claim. His gaze moves upwards to the beautiful full moon and a light grin settles itself on his face when his mother’s image embedded itself amongst the stars.
Next to her was Allison, a bright smile plastered on her face hidden of any pain. And he knows it’s just his imagination, that his mother and Allison weren’t actually painted out in the stars. But still, he allows himself to dream. Seeing them like this warms him and takes away from battered memories he has of them instead.
Stiles was almost starting to believe it wasn't his fault.
Almost.
Mixed emotions bubble up in his chest to the surface, so he flops over to smush them back down. He takes his fingers and gently caresses the top of the water. Stiles regrets it once his fingers begin to numb, and he shrinks back at the burning sensation.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles gazed longingly at the water. He wanted to know what it was like to be free, what it was like for your soul to be able to live without being tainted with guilt. But he did know some things about the lake. All superficial, but still somehow important in this very moment.
He knew how deep the water was.
Deep enough to swim.
Deep enough to lose things forever.
And deep enough to drown.
His eyes once again started to droop, the warmth from the whiskey evading his body. And of course, the absence of warmth just leaves an immense cold. But with it: clarity. He’s waited long enough. It’s time to go.
Wobbling to a stand, he turns his back to his fate and looks out into the starkness of the woods. It’s strange seeing things from a different perspective. From here, the bleakness of the night almost seems more inviting than the lake behind him, but that doesn’t make any sense. Distantly, Stiles wishes he could stargaze just a bit more, but if he looks up and his mother and Allison are gone, he’ll be heartbroken again.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the night air.
Distantly, he hears the sound of a wailing banshee and heavy footfalls.
He falls.
The force of his body falling in startles him enough for him to gasp, taking in some water. He’s blinded by the bubbling of the lake around him, the water trying to form around him and drag him down. He was only able to see again once the water settled around him, fingertips being brushed by tiny bubbles shooting towards the sky.
The icy water nipped at every square inch of his body, but he could take it. He needed to feel normal again, like there wasn't somebody else still in his body. He needs to feel grounded again.
His body sunk towards the bottom and time seemed to decelerate. Eyes glistening as he watches his breath escape, Stiles is surprised by how calm everything is. He can’t make out anything around him, but the shine of the full moon casts itself onto his skin. He feels like he’s being kissed, and it doesn’t warm him like he wants it to. With every passing second, the burning sensation in his lungs intensified, he knew, soon enough, he'd gasp for air... and there would be none.
Slowly, the dull pain behind his head grew, from a soft thud to an alarming pound. He closed his eyes for two seconds before opening them once more. His heart stutters to a stop. He sees… he sees the pack and it burns him. They’re not there, but they are. His life is definitely flashing before his eyes, and he thought he would only see his misery.
But these are fragments of his life he would never give up, that no one could take away from him. They’re all together, Allison fluttering around them with her crossbow as she pretends to aim at Scott. Lydia is twirling her strawberry blonde locks in her finger as she watches in amusement. Isaac’s there too, but he’s pretending to protect Scott from Allison. And Derek is-
Derek’s looking at them all with love in his eyes, and it’s only when his eyes flicker towards Stiles does he take in another breath. He’s greeted with nothing. And he feels more alone than he did when he was breathing.
Brokenly, as the water begins to enter his body and sink him faster, does Stiles realize he doesn’t want to die. Not anymore.
His back touches the floor and it all goes black.
“If you can somehow manage to read this, then kudos to you. I’m sure this will all seem like chicken scratch when I’m done rambling, so don’t feel bad if you can’t decipher this. I don’t know how to word this, or what to even say. I usually have so much to say and I’m at a stump now. Weird, I know. But I don’t know how I feel right now or what I want from any of you. I guess I should start off with the obvious… if you’re reading this, i’m dead. Not as eloquent as I’d like it to be, but i’ve downed an almost entire bottle of whiskey, so I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m putting down on here. I can’t even fucking read this shit. Whatever. This is an apology, not a president’s speech. Regardless, I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I shouldn’t be. I didn’t mean to kill Allison, I didn’t mean to tear the pack apart or make you all hate me so much. Along the way, I think you all forgot that I was trapped inside my own body, and had to watch as the thing destroyed you all. What hurts most is that I can still feel the satisfaction it got from its actions. I felt its happiness at causing pain and I wanted to kill myself to make it stop. But I couldn’t, I was trapped in my own body, and what makes everything worse is that you all left me. All of you. Still, I can’t find it within myself to hate any of you. I guess this is why I’m making the decision to leave and not bother any of you again. God, this sounds so pathetic. But that’s always what I've been, haven’t I? Pathetic?
I’m sorry to all of you, and I love you all. Please, look after my dad and make sure he stays away from those damn curly fries. Scott, I know you’ll become the best alpha to ever exist in Beacon Hills, I can only hope that you’ll never forget that I'm the robin to your batman. Lydia, please never forget that even though you’ll find my body, I will always stand by your side. And Derek, god Derek. I fucking love you so much, and nothing you could ever do will ever change that. Maybe in another life we’ll get our happy ending.
Dad, please hold no resentment for any of them. They tried all they could, and did their best. But grief takes over everyone, and Allison’s death hurts us all. I’m sure this will hurt the most for you, but just know I love you. Thank you for being there for me until the end.
With love,
Stiles.”