Unsteady | Sterek

Fourteen: Hold, Hold on

He wakes up in an Emily Dickinson mood.

'I'm nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too?'

He's in his bed, smothered in blankets. He's overheating, boiling alive. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe it's just a taste test of Hell because that's where he's headed.

"I swear you are the most agitated person in the world," Peter sneers from the shadows. "Kid, I can hear your heart from a mile away. Calm yourself."

"I am calm," Stiles says blandly. "That's the problem."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Explain."

"Well, I passed out from a panic attack, I'm being stalked by a werewolf who seems to know an awful lot about me, I'm hallucinating, possibly dying and yet the only thing I'm worried about right now if how hot it is under these blankets."

"Well, you're hot all the time so-"

"Don't be an ass, Peter."

"Ah, but you see, I'm an ass-et to humanity."

Stiles bites back a laugh. He slips out from the tangle of sheets and stands on wobbly legs, taking a deep breath as he sees the familiar figure take his place on the bed. Allison just smiles prettily at him and waves.

He doesn't wave back.

Peter doesn't touch him at all but Stiles feels his presence like a fire as he walks downstairs, aching for a coffee. He's not sure where Derek is, but if he's completely honest, he's hoping that the werewolf isn't there at all. It'll save him the awkwardness of confrontation,

"Stiles."

Never mind, the universe hates him. Honestly. He'd done something wrong. "H-Hey sourwolf."

Derek studies him and even Stiles catches Peter's faint laughter. "Coffee is on the counter. After that, we talk."

Heart in his throat, Stiles nods, bustling into the kitchen and lunging for the hot cup of coffee. He sculls it, absorbing the caffeine. God, it's almost like he's powering up his ADHD.

"You're the target, Stiles."

He doesn't ask Derek to clarify. "No I'm not. I'm insurance that we'll let them take over. That's all."

"They know you Stiles."

The teen boy clenches his fist. "I know that, Derek, but I can't really do much about it. I'm completely open to their mind tricks. Hell, maybe I'm subconsciously giving them a boost."

It's oddly quiet for a few minutes and Stiles swears he can hear a clock ticking somewhere. He feels strange, like there's an air pocket around him and there's just enough pressure on him to be noticeable.

"Stiles," Derek says softly. "Does this have to do with incident with Scott."

"No, that was just me being tired and scared."

"If I may-" Peter begins.

"No," Stiles snaps. "You may not. Creeper wolf."

Peter has the audacity to look offended. "I was just going to point out that you're about to break the coffee mug."

Stiles looks down at his hands to see his knuckles tense and white with the strain. The mug is trembling and he slams it down on the bench. He hears a female giggle and grits his teeth because dammit why is it always him?

"Where's my dad?" He asks abruptly, needing the change in subject because otherwise he's going to break down and he's already weak enough. He doesn't need tears to prove his point.

Derek shakes his head. "Early shift. There's a note on the fridge."

Stiles huffs. "Of course."

"You know Stiles," Allison says from behind him. "All this agitation is just fear. You're scared, Stiles, you're scared of me, of the coven of yourself." The last word is a whisper and he shivers. "That's not healthy."

You're not real, he thinks, but maybe she is. Maybe he's finally broken.

"Stiles?"

"I'm good," he whispers. "I'm good."

I'm nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too?