What's Up? [Stiles]

Stiles was on day three with absolutely no sleep and it was really getting to him. He still had no clue how he had managed to drive all the way to school and to all of his classes. He wasn’t even running on fumes, just his will to stay awake. The nightmares were too strong and kept blurring into his reality, but he was too damn stubborn to ask for any help. He kept reasoning with himself that once it got too bad he would talk with his dad, but he kept pushing that back. It was okay, he could go another day. His dad didn’t need to worry. He was okay. He was okay, damnit.

He had even managed to turn in some homework to his other classes. They accepted it after some fake promises on his part to do better in the future. How far he had fallen. He used to battle Lydia for the top of their graduation class but now he knew he would be lucky to graduate. In hind sight, he hadn’t actually fallen too far, he just assumed he had. It also didn’t help that his new teacher asked him to stay after class, when all he wanted to do was go try and eat lunch.

Eating had also proven to be a very fun adventure. It was damn near impossible to keep anything solid in his stomach for longer than half an hour. He switched to liquids just to get through the day, despite knowing full and well that he couldn’t do that for long. Packing his notebook and pencil into his bag, he made his way over to the desk. This was a talk he wasn’t looking forward to. “You asked to see me?” He kept his eyes to the floor, taking into account that his shoe lace was untied. Maybe he should get that but he decided against it. He wouldn’t trip.

 @damien ;; tag
this ;; wearing
321 ;; word count
let me know if you want something different ;; notes

“I…” His vision blurred, whether from being tired or some other unknown reason, but he shut his eyes and tried to focus on the distant voice of his professor. It was like trying to push past thick bushes in a quest to reach the end of some maze. He didn’t quite hear everything but what he did seemed to be enough to peace together some words to form a response. “I-I’m fine. I’ll turn in the work, just don’t call my dad.” His dad didn’t need to hear that he wasn’t passing any of his classes or that he wouldn’t be able to graduate. That would really set his old man off and Stiles knew that he just needed to apply himself. But doing that was proving harder and harder with each passing day.

He was just so tired. Everything hurt, like if he had lost a fight with a werewolf and then been run over by a truck. So tired of being up, of fighting with his head to try and sleep, of fighting with his stomach to push down one more piece of food. He was just so tired of it all. His legs were weak at the knees and fighting so hard to keep him up. But what was the use? Everyone fell eventually, whether by their own choice or another’s, but down they went. His dad had once told him once that it didn’t matter how many times you fell, just as long as you kept getting back up. But he didn’t want to get back up anymore. He wanted to stay down and just stop feeling the way that he did.

So much self-loathing was bottled up deep within. Hatred directed at all his decisions that had done nothing but hurt everyone around him. Scott becoming a werwolf? His fault. Jackson becoming a kanima? Also him. Erica and Boyd’s death? Him. Aiden? No one but him. And Allison? A sharp pain jabbed him at his core. It was his fault she was dead. His mom had once told him that he did nothing but bring light into the world, how sad she must be that all he does now is bring pain.

He was sure his teacher was trying to talk to him but he was done listening. He was done trying. He felt his knees give in. And then…he was falling. He didn’t even fight it. Just sort of went with the flow of things. His mind was elsewhere. Thinking of his mother and of how disappointed she must be.

@damien ;; tag
this ;; wearing
429 ;; word count
n/a ;; notes

Waking up was sometimes harder than going to sleep. He had years of sleepovers with Scott to attest to that, but somehow, this felt different. There was this force within him, pulling him down into a black abyss, all while calling to him. It sounded so much like his mother, beckoning him to go with her and he wanted desperately to believe it was her but if he focused hard enough, he could hear a distorted voice overlaying his mother’s. Whatever was grasping at him, he had to fight it. The cold embrace of the darkness tugged at his leg, pulling him deeper, and no matter how much he kicked, nothing let him go.

And for a second he thought of what would happen if he didn’t free himself. Nothing could be worse than the feeling of despair that he dealt with everyday. Maybe he really should stop fighting it and let it win. But he thought of his father and how he was probably not going to survive losing another family member made him renew his struggle. He would be damned before he caused more pain to the man that had done nothing but try and help him.

As he breaks through the surface, he’s hit with a soft rhythmic beat. One he knows he should be able to place but with his eyes feeling like they were holding up a pair of steel dumbbells, he would have to deal with not knowing for a little while longer. Next, his sense of touch is reawakened as the harsh, stiff sheets overlaying his body rasped his arms with every jagged breath escaped his dry mouth. Where they made of sandpaper? Then came his sense of smell, with a scent so putrid that it burns his nose and makes him want to gag. It’s a disgusting concoction of death, misery, and disinfectant that can only mean one thing. He was in a hospital.

With fluttering eyelids, he struggled to open his eyes and confirm his suspicions. He managed to open them into narrowed slits and glance around the dark room. How long had he been out? And for that matter, where was his dad? Had he finally realized how fucked up his son was and had simply given up? A tired rasp of a voice grated at his throat as he tried to call out to him. “D-Da-ad.” He was pushing himself too hard. He didn’t even notice until the familiar call of the dark pulled him back under.

He knew he needed to escape it once more to hopefully get back to a room where his father would be sitting next to the chair, eagerly awaiting him. Not that he deserved it. He had screwed up so bad. Months of little sleep, plagued with nightmares had done damage to his body. The pills he had forced down his throat had no doubt affected him more than psychologically, he had felt the dependency calling to him and he had fallen pray to their addiction. Something he had sworn he wouldn’t do.

Stiles lay in that limbo for what seemed like hours, waiting to hear the voice of the man who had given him life, but with each passing second, his desperation grew. Where was he? He couldn’t win the fight by himself. He was tired of struggling and loosing every time.

The next time he wakes up, he managed to open his eyes a little more and take a good look at his surroundings. Making sure to not speak in an effort to save his strength. On his right is the machine he’s hooked up to. An I.V. was dripping in the saline that was no doubt the only thing keeping him fed. On the end of his index finger was a small black heart monitor that was no doubt the source of the beeping, keeping track of his pulse rate.

To his left was the tired face of who at first, he assumed to be Derek, but upon deeper inspection, was his teacher. Where was his dad? His heart beat picked up speed as he struggled to sit up. The silicone mask pumping oxygen into his system kept pushing the hospital in him and he wanted it gone. It did nothing but bring him horrible memories. Moving his left arm was difficult but he managed to get it close enough to yank on the mask and remove it. “Wha-” A coughing fit hit him and did it hard. He needed water.

@damien ;; tag
hospital gown ;; wearing
754 ;; word count
idk man ;; notes

“ ‘ts not y’r fault,” he rasped. “mine.” His dad had probably just given up on him. He didn’t need Stiles anymore, the child he had been saddled with when his wife had died. He had Morgan, the one he had actually chosen to keep. Maybe it was for the best that the bastard had returned after all. Stiles was just a little spaz that ruined everything he touched. He drank the entire cup, too slow for his liking but if he went any faster, he would cough it all back up.

The brunet felt a flush of embarrassment, here he was, tears ready to spill in front of the new teacher. The same new teacher who had gotten him to the hospital and kept him company until he woke up. As he tried to put some words together to ask Damien if he knew when he would be allowed to leave, the door rattled open. A stern looking nurse came in with his chart. “Melissa?” He knew it wasn’t her, but after being looked after by her countless times, he kind of expected her to be his nurse now. Then again, she was probably just as down with him. “She’s been asked to step down. Your case is causing a conflict of interest.” The woman told him before placing the chart on the table and looking at his vitals. “Mr.Stilinski we’ve attempted to contact your father but nothing has gone through. Nurse McCall called the sheriff’s department and left a message for him to return the call at his earliest convenience. For the time being, I haver a few questions I would like to ask. Feel free to ask me to stop any time you feel like you’re about to pass out.” A shaky nod was all she received as a response.



“Would you like to tell me how you’re feeling?” Her clipboard was perched expertly on her left hand as she prepared to write whatever he said down with her right. “Sore.” It wasn’t a lie, but that was all he planned to divulge. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew there was countless drugs that would show up in his blood work…if they had done a test. Although, without the consent of his legal guardian they wouldn’t have been allowed to do that. “That’s to be expected. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?” He had no memory of actually getting any sleep the night before. He actually couldn’t even remember the last time he slept for more than three hours. “Uh…I can’t remember.” The look of fear that flashed on his face must of made her realize she should skip over that question. “That’s okay, we’ll move on to the next question.”

It continued back and forth, the questions getting a little more personal by the minute and his teacher was probably getting to know him very well. “What’s wrong with me doc?” He grinned sheepishly, trying to get the woman to lighten up a bit, even if he was ready to break on the inside. A soft smile graced her lips before she patted his hair, almost motherly, and told him he needed to wait for the doctor to come in.

At the risk of sounding weird, Stiles didn’t voice his displeasure at being left alone with the teacher. It was a bit awkward that the man was still there but he also didn’t want him gone. Then he would really be by himself in that tiny cold room. “My phone?”

@damien ;; tag
hospital gown ;; wearing
568 ;; word count
N/A ;; notes

“Thanks…” He stared at the dark screen, trying to will himself to turn it on and see the messages that were no doubt waiting to be answered. Did he really want to see them? Where there even any messages to see? He had done an effective job of pushing many people away, people who cared about him. They probably wanted nothing to do with him. Ayame had probably made other friends by now and was enjoying a life without Stiles. It still hurt to think about the tears he had caused her when all she had done was try to help.

His curiosity won in the end as he pushed lightly with his index finger on the side. The screen flashed to life along with six messages from Scott. There were others ranging from Danny to some girl in his third period, but the ones from the true alpha called his attention more. Questions of how his health was were repeated in all the others, unlike his, that said that he should have talked with him. That he shouldn’t have stayed up too late playing video games. Poor, ignorant Scott probably figured it was something as simple as that. It would be best to let him live in such an innocent black and white world.

Stiles placed his phone down on the bed, leaving all messages unanswered. What good would it do to correct Scott? “He’s the sheriff of Beacon Hills.” Probably too busy with the mountains of paperwork that he no longer brought home. He knew Stiles would look through them the second he had his back turned. It wasn’t his fault, he had always had a very curious nature and a knack for finding clues and connections unlike the people on his payroll. But Stiles had a tendency of going in all or nothing into situations that would end up with him injured.

“So…uh…do you mind asking the nurse when I can leave?” He always hated being inside hospitals. It brought back too many memories of his mother. Along with a rather genius idea of how he would escape should they decide he wasn’t allowed to go home.

@damien ;; tag
hospital gown ;; wearing
362 ;; word count
N/A ;; notes

Stiles was eternally grateful that the dark-haired male had been there and was offering him companionship for the time being. Not many new teachers would do such a thing, especially without some ulterior motive. The man seemed genuine in his wishes for him to be okay and for his father to be there soon. That made two of them. Or three, if he counted Melissa. “Don’t apologize.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, his muscles tensed as he lowered himself back onto the bed. Making any sort of movement sent a stabbing pain all through his body so he would attempt to keep still. Which was a feat all on it’s own. Stiles had never been one to refrain from moving. Unlocking his phone once more, Stiles typed out a message to Peter, letting him know he was in the hospital. It proved therapeutic as he got the swirl of thoughts and emotions out in text format, all the pain, all the regret, all the guilt, all typed into the longest message he had ever written. As his finger hovered over the send button, the door clicked open.

“Stiles.” The broken voice of his father reached his ears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” That seemed to be the thought on everyone’s mind. Why hadn’t he told anyone? The thing was, he had. In the way he was acting, in the way he coped by pushing everyone away, he had been calling out for help. And the only one to have ever realized anything was wrong was Peter Hale, who had helped out as best as he could but it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough. He clicked send. The man deserved to know everything.

“I…I’m sorry.” Such a pathetic sight he must make. In a pale blue gown, eyes so dark and lifeless. Not much different than what he had looked like when the nogitsune had possessed him. So much time he had spent worried about something putting him back there, when all along he had been the one to do it. “We can fix this.” Stiles had shut his eyes and flinched as the callous hands of his father touched his cheek. Almost like a lifeline, begging him to hold on. “I’m broken pops. Irreparable.”

@damien ;; tag
hospital gown ;; wearing
379 ;; word count
N/A ;; notes