Unsteady | Sterek

Three: Daddy, I'm alone

He stays home that night, his body failing him. He tries not to fall asleep, drinking all the coffee they have in the house, but he can't stay awake. Terrified, he sinks into oblivion.

He wakes up on the couch many hours later, refreshed and calm. It's strange, not waking up in the middle of a panic attack, but a welcomed change. Maybe he will get better. Maybe things will go back to the way they were.

It occurs to him it's a dream when he sees Allison sitting in a chair beside him reading, looking perfectly ordinary were it not for the gaping wound in her stomach. Stiles feels sick looking at it.

"You're awake," she says quietly, closing her book and smiling at him. It's familiar, that smile.

"No," he croaks. "I'm asleep. I'm dreaming."

She laughs. "Maybe so, but you're awake here and I need to talk to you."

This isn't real. He scrambles for something to latch onto, something to wake him up. He has to get out.

"Stay with me, Stiles." A freezing cold hand latches onto his arm and he yelps. Allison still has that pretty smile. "You owe me that."

"I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm sorry."

Allison shakes her head and releases him. "I'm not angry Stiles. I don't blame you. The others don't either." She tilts her head as he stiffens, his eyes closing tightly as he tries to wake up. "You think they should blame you."

"You're dead because of me," he says opening his eyes and looking down. There is a blue bruise on his arm. "I killed you."

"But you didn't. It was the Nogitsune, Stiles, not you."

"I should have killed myself back at Eichen House."

Allison's face crumples in confusion. "The Nogitsune would have used your dead body anyway, Stiles. Nothing would have changed."

"If I was already dead, Scott and the others wouldn't have had to try and 'save' me," Stiles snaps, his tears long dry and his chest aching. "They wouldn't have had to be so careful not to hurt me."

"Everyone would have still lost a friend, Stiles. Scott would have lost his brother."

Stiles laughs; a horrible, dead sound. "He lost me either way. You aren't around anymore, Allison, he's destroyed. He doesn't talk to me, nobody does. It would've been better if I'd died. At least they'd still have you."

Allison's face twists into a sneer and Stiles stumbles back, afraid. "Come on Stiles," she hisses. "Where's that strength? That spark? I chose you for a reason, Stiles."

"You're not Allison," he says, berating himself because of course it isn't Allison, she wouldn't have nice words for him. This is a dream and his dreams aren't comforting. He needs to wake up.

"Everyone has it, no-one can lose it. What is it Stiles?"

"A shadow," he answers quickly. He knows this, knows it like he knows his name.

"What is it Stiles?"

"A shadow!" He cries. "It's a shadow!"

"STILES!"

He wakes up and twists away from whoever is holding him, shrieks tearing from his throat. He curls up against whatever he's leaning against, trying to count his fingers but he can't see them, can't see past the tears in his eyes. It it real? Is he still asleep? He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe!

"Stiles." Someone is shaking him, calling his name, talking to him but he can't see them, can't hear what they were saying. There's a buzzing in his ears, like static. He's trembling, he realises, low wails tumbling from his mouth.

A hand is running through his hair and someone is hushing him, a warm body wrapping around his to ease his shaking. Ever so slowly, his breathing grows steady and his hearing returns and his body calms, sinking into whoever it it that is there.

Stiles doesn't go back to sleep.