Sterek One-shots

Save Me? (part 1)

(TW: anxiety attack)

Their life was fucked up. So fucked up and Stiles was struggling to handle it.

Sitting on the edge of his bed he had come to the realization that he did, in fact, not know how to handle it. He thought he could, thought he had it all under control, until now. Well, if he thought back he'd actually known for a while but just didn't want to admit it to himself because it hurt too much.

He'd tried everything he used to love: drawing, photography, cooking, baking, not even research could stop the onslaught of hate and pain and just general chaos his brain was producing. His life was so fucked up, way too far gone for any one person to save. He dug his hands desperately into his hair. Werewolves, fucking werewolves, was the most simple thing in his life right now and that was saying a lot because werewolves came with a whole lot of their own overweight baggage.

His brain skipped quickly from one thing to the next, Adderall not helping, nothing helping. He'd been through so much from hunters to being possessed to being completely and utterly forgotten. Right now he could do with that again. So much pressure. Scott had put so much pressure on his shoulders and he didn't know what to do. He stood up and began passing. He had to figure out what was going on, what all these missing people cases were about. Like seriously, hadn't they already been through the whole 'missing people' thing before. The last time had been so much easier.

Yep, definitely fucked the hell up. "Lats time," Stiles chuckled darkly to himself as he thought about it. Scott had asked him to, more like demanded he, find out what was going on. That kind of pressure did not sit well on Stiles' shoulders. He had been up all of last night and the night before running on coffee and five-minute naps alone. It was not sitting well with him. Not at all, he felt like he was losing the last shreds of sanity he had... Again.

It was too much he needed to get out, out of his room, the room filled with memories good and bad, the room filled with reminders of the supernatural, the room filled with everything causing him stress, everything he didn't want to deal with right now. He needed to get out of his house, he just needed out. So he left. As quickly as he could, slipping his shoes and hoodie on, opting out of driving knowing in his sleep-deprived state it would be rather dangerous. Although, that, he did find vaguely ironic since he'd spent most of the past gods know how long around Satan knows what. Honestly, at this point, he would not be surprised to find out that he had actually met Satan in disguise at some point, it would be just his luck. And if he hadn't, he would probably do so soon. Like seriously, he'd met and dealt with so much shit nothing really fazed him anymore, but that didn't stop it from being stressful as all hell, which he would probably end up in accidentally, without dying at some point. Oh no, stress was something that came along with "the life" and it was driving him insane, he didn't ask for this he was just dragged into it and now he wished he'd fought against it harder. He didn't know how much more he could take before he just spontaneously combusted. He shrugged to himself, it wouldn't be a bad way to go. It'd be dramatic but when did he do anything undramatically? And it would be fun to see Derek's face as he just went up in smoke and flames. Priceless, in fact.

He paused momentarily in his aimless meandering to wonder if there was an afterlife, a few years ago he would've said "no, definitely not" but now? He didn't know. Although that seems to be the case with a lot of things recently, according to Scott anyway.

That was another thing that was getting on his nerves, Scott. He'd been being a real dick recently and Stiles didn't really know what to do, just one more thing to add to the ever-mounting pile of "Things that are causing me to internally die". Yeah, that was a real fun pile that he'd just been ignoring for awhile in very strong hopes that it would shrink and eventually go away on its own. One of the many talents he had. Yet it didn't seem to be working with Scott and that was a real pain in the ass since he really did not like the idea of actually dealing with shit. Well, he'll give it a bit longer try and keep that ever-dwindling flicker of hope that his best friend was not gone. Mainly because he wasn't ready to accept he'd lost another person so close to him. He'd already lost his mother, he'd basically lost his father to his work, his supposed girlfriend had been cheating on him so he'd dumped her last week, that didn't stop it from hurting. He didn't know who Malia had been fucking but he just could not find it in himself to care enough to find out. That and he felt like the answer would not be pleasant. Scott hadn't been there for him, he'd needed him but he wasn't there. Kept claiming he was "too busy" or "dealing with more important stuff" the latter of which really hit home for Stiles, it used to be they were the most important thing to each other and now... Now Scott had a girlfriend and a pack, one that was slowly pushing him out. One that he'd spent so much time on, risked so much for. One that he loved. One that didn't appreciate all that he'd done for them and he was only coming to realize this now. He was losing them and he did not know what to do. Another thing to add to the aforementioned pile.

Not to mention he'd lost, more like killed, Allison. They had been closer than everyone had thought, being the only two humans in a pack had that effect. And then there was Isaac, not dead just gone because of him, that's what he thought anyway. He'd killed her, Isaac loved her and Stiles had killed her. He had been ignoring all their calls and texts and eventually just changed his number. Erica, Boyd, both dead. His Catwoman, he really missed her. They hadn't spent enough time together, he should've made more of an effort. He should've tried harder, should've but he didn't and he'll forever live with that guilt. He had no release.

He shook himself trying to rid his thoughts of the things he's been trying to repress for what was probably an unhealthy length of time. Pulling his red hoodie tighter around himself, he reached up to his face as he felt droplets of water slide down it, to his surprise it wasn't rain. He scrubbed furiously, trying to clear the tears from his face but it wasn't working. He'd stumbled too deep in his mind and was now drowning in his thoughts. He tripped over a tree root. When did he enter the preserve? That didn't matter, he decided as he sat down on the offending root. He had to dig his way out of this hole before it was too late, but what if it was already too late? No, he refused to believe that. Happy things, think happy things. It wasn't working. How could it when people were gone because of him, dead because of him. The words swam around his head. Dead, gone, dead, gone, dead, gone. Like a broken record, spinning so fast he was afraid it would snap. And then it did. He was too late like he'd feared. Always just moments too late.

His breathing was too fast, his mouth too dry, the forest too quiet, the world seemed to spin just like his thoughts. Scott was gone. He should just accept that since it was true and sometimes the truth hurts. It hurts like a knife to the gut. Come to think of it he'd knifed, more like katanaed, Scott to the gut once. Yeah, that probably didn't help with their friendship much. But it wasn't his fault, he didn't have control over his body. He should've been stronger though. Fought harder. People kept telling him he did his best, although he could see the lie in their eyes and what if the lie was the truth, what if he could've fought harder, what if he just liked the power? It was all too much, to gods damned much. Everything that could've gone wrong, did and now he couldn't breathe. Everyone he loved was leaving him if they hadn't. It was fair he was weak, pathetic, annoying, always in the way, always the one who got in trouble, always the one to bring others down with him. Maybe Derek had been right he was just some hyperactive spaz. Correction: Derek had definitely been right.

Derek, oh gods Derek, just the thought of him sent chills down Stiles' spine, pathetic. It was pathetic how he pined over someone who only talked to him when he needed help with some supernatural shit or on Pack Nights when Stiles got up to get something and Derek couldn't be bothered to move. But did that stop the pining? Oh no because that would be logical and smart and everything he's not. Derek, how he wished Derek was here right now, holding him, explaining to him why he was wrong about every word that seemed to be etched into his brain - though he would always know he was right, the only thing he's been right about for a long time - muttering words to him to help him breathe. Air, he missed the cold, fresh air, he needed it to fill his lungs until they felt like they were going to burst but instead they felt like they would just collapse under the weight of every new truth searing its way into his already overcrowded brain. He tried his old method of counting his fingers but they were shaking too severely. He tore his hoodie off trying to make the world feel less like an oven. Trying and failing.

He thought about calling someone before remembering no one cared, not even his own father. But he really needed someone, anyone. His breathing got harsher, dark spots grew over his eyes and the hard ground he had found himself on seemed to have fallen away. The hit his skin like daggers constructed of ice and now he knew he'd really lost it. Flying. He felt like he was flying like arms were wrapped around him, keeping him safe and... oh shit, he'd been kidnapped again. Of fucking course! Just his luck, what was he expecting. He was Stiles Stilinski, a kidnapper magnet and he was curled up, outside having an anxiety attack. But the arms felt so warm and muscular and the sent was so familiar, so, so very...

But it couldn't be, his mind was playing tricks on him. He tried to force his eyes open, tried to look up at his supposed kidnapper but failed. Like he did everything else. He failed. He failed at stopping the Nogitsune, failed at being a good friend for Scott, for everyone, failed at being a good pack member, failed at being a good boyfriend, hence why Malia cheated on him, failed at being a good son, failed at helping, failed. He'd failed everyone. Failed them all. Failed himself.