Monster. (Sterek)

Part 20: Broken Truths.

TW: blood and harsh words

"Stiles?"

"Derek?" Relief flooded Stiles but he couldn't remember why. There had been a reason he wanted Derek, but what had it been? Allison, Isaac, Scott. He needed to find them. "Derek, help me, Isaac's in trouble!" But as soon as he'd said the words he knew that they weren't true. Derek didn't even flinch though, as if he hadn't heard Stiles.

"Stiles, we need to talk." Stiles stepped closer to Derek but Derek stepped back. "Don't," he sneered.

"What?" Stiles' eyebrows drew together. Derek was his alpha, his friend... so much more. Ever since he had become that to Stiles he hadn't acted like this towards him.

"Like I said, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"You're human now; you're weak. You're no longer a good asset to my Pack. We don't need you, I don't need you." Then he turned his back and began to walk away, past Stiles' house, nails dragging along the front of his jeep. All too relaxed, all too calm. The sound of paint curling under claws didn't echo, it didn't even make it to Stiles' ears.

"No!" Derek kept going. "You don't get to do this!" Stiles' voice sounded raw, even to his own ears.

"Oh, but I already have." Stiles' hand fell onto Derek's shoulder, pulling him back with a sudden burst of strength. He shook off the uncertain feeling that came with it. And the question of how he'd gotten so close to Derek so quickly.

"No, you haven't. You said you would wait for me. You kissed me, you said it meant whatever I wanted, and now I know what I want." There was a brief flicker of recognition in Derek's eyes, hope and love and caring compassion. A gentleness that Stiles held close, would fight for. Then it was gone. Buried deep.

"You do?" Derek loomed closer.

"I did, now I'm not so sure." Stiles stepped back.

"Why?"

"Because you're scaring me."

"Good, as I should."

"But--"

"No! Stiles, don't you get it? I. Don't. Want. You." This wasn't right. This couldn't be right. "Scott was right; you are a monster. Or, you were, now you're just pathetic. Why would I want to be with you? I could have anyone, why would I pick you?" He spat the last word like it was a slur. "You're no-one to me. Nothing. Weak. Powerless. Pathetic. Worthless. Selfish. Idiotic. Lost and alone in a world you were never invited to." With every word, he stepped closer until Stiles stumbled and fell. Cowering on the ground, arms over his head, palms up in defence.

Derek's voice blended with Noah's, Mellisa's, Scott's, Isaac's, Jackson's. The whole Pack was there, invisible to Stiles, but there nevertheless. Shouting, yelling, screaming all of his flaws. Picking apart every insecurity. Every fault. Every negative thought he'd ever had.

Surrounded by a viscous, shadowy, all-encompassing dark. He shut his eyes, almost unsure if he had for a split second, and when he opened them the dark had faded, replaced with mirrors. Every one he looked in was broken, reflecting him but wrong. Green eyes – Derek's eyes. Long, wavy hair – Allison. Isaac's scarf, Scott's jaw, Lydia's makeup, Jackson's lacrosse gear, Liam's smile.

Old wounds.

New wounds.

Blood.

And then they were gone; every version of him was gone.

The mirrors melted, dripping and running down his bedroom walls. Over his bed, his desk, his wardrobe. Dragging itself into a pile in the middle of his floor and building up, up, up. Colour spread over the mound like a virus. Leaving, in its wake, Stiles. A perfect imitation of every detail, every mole and hair, every feature and every scar. The other Stiles rolled its shoulders, cracked its neck, looked around, eyes skimming over the real Stiles as if he wasn't even there, before moving to sit at his desk.