Chapter Text
Stiles and Scott have been best friends since forever. That's not a secret – everybody knows how tight the two of them are. Tight enough so Scott tells Stiles first when he becomes a wolf, tight enough that they consider themselves brothers and their parents are family. Stiles can't remember a time without Scott by his side – his partner in crime, his brother, his best friend. That's everything that Stiles ever knew, and he honestly wouldn't want it any other way.
Except now, he might have to get used to living without Scott. He can't believe what's happening, his mind hasn't really wrapped around it yet. All it keeps doing is replaying the scene from earlier that night in his head. Scott, coming to talk to him while the rain's beating down on the two of them. Scott, trying to stay calm and considerate but being so obviously disappointed and angry. Scott, shying away from Stiles just because he lifts the fucking wrench.
There had been blank terror in Scott's eyes, and it had been directed towards Stiles.
He can't believe that this happened – can't believe that he lost Scott. And he's sure he did, because Scott is afraid of him now, because Stiles killed and Stiles is slowly but surely losing his mind and it sucks. It sucks so bad. And he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to fix this. He just lost his friends, he just lost his friends. And he's not sure how much Theo has to do with this, but he's the only one who knew about Donovan and he's the one Malia can't keep her eyes off and ever since that asshole came back to Beacon Hills, things have been getting even worse for Stiles.
He's been trying. He's still trying. He's trying to breathe normally, all the drive back home, and he's trying to focus on a way how to get Scott to listen to him. Scott didn't even ask for how it happened. But all these things that should be suspicious to Stiles are left in dark, because the only thing he can focus on right now is that he needs to breathe. He needs to breathe and he needs to stay calm and he needs to find a solution.
As soon as he reaches his room, sees all the stuff and theories and thoughts messily aligned, Stiles breaks. There's only so much he can take, and this has been enough. He's survived the nogitsune and Allison dying and he survived Derek leaving, all while he was weak and hurt, but this is enough. He's tortured, and now he's pretty sure he's going crazy. So Stiles explodes. With a cry he starts tearing down the strings and the photos and the articles and finally, finally the board, too. He's crying, but he doesn't notice – the water streaming down his face could also be the rain dripping from his hair. And when the board goes to the floor and shatters, he does, too. The splinters and bits and pieces of broken glass dig into his feet, his shins, his knees, his hands where he falls onto them as broken sobs shake his body – a body that's just skin and bone now, but nobody's noticed yet. Malia calls him athletic, and the rest of the pack hasn't bothered to look at him in a while.
He feels like he's dying and nobody even cares.
Stiles knows it's a panic attack before it really crashes down around him, and he doesn't even try to stop it. He's got no power to fight anymore. And so his chest constricts and his thoughts spiral into darkness too quick and too fast and he can't. He just can't. He can't breathe and he can't think and there are pictures in his head, pictures that only make it worse but he can't stop them.
The pack, standing together and laughing. Without him, Theo in the middle of it all.
Donovan, and that ugly mouth in the palm of his hand.
Donovan, dead, impaled on the piece of scaffold.
His dad, working late hours, losing weight and losing colour, so worried about his town.
Blood, so much blood.
Malia, staring at Theo like she loves him.
Scott, looking so disappointed.
His own reflection smirking at him, devilish and evil – the Nogitsune inside of him.
Derek, driving away in his Camaro.
Scott, stumbling back as Stiles takes a step forward – so afraid.
Donovan, dead.
Scott, scared.
Stiles doesn't know how these thoughts come up, but he's finally found something to focus on. It's Derek's face when he's leaving. Stiles understood his reasons, but that doesn't mean he's okay with it. He misses Derek, every day a little bit more, even though sometimes they text. But it's not the same. In the past year, Derek and Stiles became .. friends, of some sort. They looked out for each other, and when Stiles found Derek unconscious, he almost died with worry until Derek woke up. He only noticed how much he relied on the werewolf until he went away.
Derek is the only person Stiles hasn't screwed up with.
Somehow, Stiles manages to fumble out his phone. He smears blood from the cuts in his palms all over it, but he couldn't care less. His fingers are shaking, but he still finds Derek's contact, presses call. It's all he can think about. He needs Derek. He needs someone, but most of all he needs Derek. Because Derek is there for him, because Derek promised him, because Stiles never forgot the words Derek used as goodbye.
".. Stiles?"
He sounds groggy, and it makes sense – it's the middle of the night. But it's definitely Derek, he picked up after five rings, and Stiles can't breathe; relieved, this time, but also scared and broken and needy.
"Derek" It's all he says. He wants to tell him, wants to tell him what happened and how he is and please, please just come home, I need you. He can't get the words to leave his mouth, though.
"Stiles, what's wrong?"
"I-I fucked up. Bad." And there he is, and his breathing is short and irregular and ragged and his panic attack isn't gone, he's still in the middle of it, but Derek's there, on the other hand of the line, and only hearing his voice makes things better, at least a little bit. Stiles isn't sure if anyone else had picked up.
Derek's silent for a while, but Stiles can hear his breathing, slow, deep. Has he fallen asleep again? "You need to calm down for me. Can you do that? Just breathe. Listen to my breathing and just breathe." He hasn't. Stiles does just that. He concentrates on the sounds coming from the speaker, and eventually his breathing slows and his heart stops racing and it stops. He falls to the floor again, and the shreds dig into his skin, but he doesn't care. Pain keeps you human.
"Okay, good, Stiles, that's good. Will you be fine? Six hours, that's all."
Stiles only understands what Derek said when he'd muttered "yeah, yeah" and Derek answered "Good. I'm coming, I'll be there. Don't you worry". Derek's coming back. He's coming back for him.