Work Text:
He is not aware of the shift at first.
Scott, his first and very best friend, has his life changed overnight. Scott becomes a werewolf and he knows this is partly his fault. He made Scott go with him to find a body in the woods. Not even a whole body, but half of one. Half of a person. His father had caught him wandering and what else could he do but leave his friend in the dark? He didn't want Scott to get in trouble and so he left him alone. For that, he will hold on to the little voice in his head that says that all of this, all that has happened and all that continues to happen, is his fault.
Scott seems to have come into his own now. He has Allison, and her family is currently not trying to murder him. He is co-captain of the lacrosse team and there are no current threats in Beacon Hills. Scott has gotten closer with Isaac, and because of that friendship, has integrated more with Derek's pack. He and Isaac are constantly together; partnering in chem, practicing lacrosse, and running together during the full moons. He still has not submitted to Derek, but they seem to have a partnership that is currently working for everyone. They have been working together to protect the town.
He knows that Scott has been busy lately. He understands. He understands but doesn't forget. Scott does not remember plans that they have together or often cancels them. He's spent many times over the last few weeks sitting alone somewhere waiting hours for Scott to show up or at least answer one of his many texts. The excuses are becoming less frequent and weaker if they are even given at all. He knows that Scott has been a shitty friend as of late, but he seems to care less and less as time goes on. That is what worries him the most.
There is a little voice that begins to whisper to him in the night. Scott is better than you. He doesn't need you anymore. No one needs you. He ignores the voice and carries on.
The pack has come together over the past year. Once the fight with the Argents and the Kanima was resolved and a new treaty was negotiated, the pack bagan to finally work together. The bond was solidified when they rid Beacon Hills of the Alpha Pack. Boyd and Erica came back, scared and broken, and Derek took them in. They submitted and then fought against those who had captured them. They grew into their own because of their suffering and found each other in their struggles. Jackson and Lydia had become stronger than ever since the Kanima debacle. She set him right with the power of her love and his werewolf transformation was completed. Jackson submitted to Derek and she followed. Peter stuck around, and even though everyone is still a bit wary around him, he is pack. A creepy and salacious member, of course, but pack all the same.
Derek himself has become less grouchy and actually jokes once in a while. He is still a grumpy and stoic leader, but now Derek participates in hangouts that the pack termed "bonding nights". Derek and Scott are often seen discussing various training methods. Pack meetings are now more enjoyable and not all about impending doom. Training sessions still occur on the regular but are not as brutal and are often fun. They all are working on tearing down and fixing up the Hale house as a place that the pack can be safe.
He thought it was a place that he would be welcome too.
He thought he was pack.
He was wrong.
*******
He notices the others start to pull away from him. Isaac and Erica stop partnering with him in Chem. That's not so abnormal because they like to sit together and Scott usually sits with Allison. One class is not something to worry about.
Maybe no one wants to sit with the ADHD kid. He ignores the voice and goes to sit in the back.
Then he starts getting left out of group gatherings. There is no longer a space for him at the lunch table. Boyd, Erica, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Danny all stare at him the first day that he is excluded. Scott gives him his usual puppy eyes and a quick,"Sorry man" then turns back to his conversation with Danny. He freezes for a moment then moves to an empty table. He assumes it was a fluke and would be corrected the following day. He was wrong again. The little voice gets louder.
They can't stand you. Won't even save you a seat. You are too loud. They hate you. He tries to ignore it and sits alone, back facing the rest of the lunchroom.
The guys stop practicing lacrosse with him. One day he's walking back to his jeep to go home after Scott forgot about plans to meet in the library AGAIN. He walks by the bleachers to get to the parking lot and sees the others laughing and playing around with a lacrosse ball. He overhears Jackson say something about going to Lydia's for a party this weekend. He had heard about the party in the hallway chatter. Everyone gossips about a Lydia Martin party. Everyone wants to be invited.
He breaks out of his thoughts when he hears his name... "Stiles."
"I know. I know. Don't bring him. I get it. He's not my problem anymore." He hears Scott say.
He's shocked. Yeah, they haven't been spending bro time together lately, but he didn't think Scott actually actively meant to shun him. The voice sounds vile and smug in his head
Now you know. They don't like you. They would be better off without you. You don't matter. He can't listen to this anymore. He runs the other way to his Jeep. He needs to get away.
He drives around listlessly for a while. He can't quite breathe properly. His breaths are short and he cannot seem to get air. He pulls over on the side of the road and starts hitting his leg with his fist.
Relax. Breathe. You are better than this. Fuck them.
It takes several minutes, but he gets over his mini-panic attack and breathes in the tepid air of the confined space. He rolls down the window and sucks in the fresh air. He looks up to take in his surroundings and realizes he's near the preserve. He can feel his anger over the events of the past several weeks build up. It's a much stronger feeling than the panic he felt before. He uses it to get his limbs moving and throws the Jeep into drive.
He needs answers and he’s positive that Derek has them.
*******
He becomes fully aware of the shift the hard way. It was fast, unexpected and heart-breaking. He pulls up outside the necrosed remains of the Hale house. He barely throws his baby into park before he jumps out; his anger carrying him up the front steps.
"Derek!" He calls out. "I know you’re here. Get your ass out here!"
Derek is suddenly in his space. He looks angry. He always looks that way but today there is a more threatening shadow to his face.
"What are you doing here Stiles?"
"What am I doing here?! How about you tell me what's going on? Why has everyone been avoiding me?!? For weeks now?!? Why are you avoiding me? I've helped you! I keep helping you! I am a part of your pack and I'm ...
"No, you're not."
...supposed to be...wait, what?"
"You are not pack. You don't belong here Stiles."
"I, but, wha..."
"We don't need you."
He's speechless. Derek's glare becomes even more piercing. Derek steps forward as if to remove him from the property. He jolts out of his trance and bolts down the steps to his jeep. He guns the engine, loops around and speeds home.
Nothing. He can think of nothing. The voice inside his head is having a field day. With it joins Derek's voice,
We don't need you.
You are NOT pack.
You don't belong here Stiles.
He gets home without any recollection of the journey. He knows it like the back of his hand anyway. His dad isn't home. This isn't unusual, but for once he wishes it weren't the case. He really needs some fatherly comfort not for the first time since this whole thing has started. He calls the station to a least hear a friendly voice.
Dad.
Hey kid. Are you home?
Yeah. You working late?
Yeah. With the shortage we’ve had, I have had to take some more shifts. I’m pulling a double tonight. I'll be home in the afternoon tomorrow. Why don't you and Scott order a pizza and relax for a night?
Dad, I...
Sorry kid, I gotta go. It's really busy here.
Yeah. Ok. Love you Dad.
His dad hangs up before he's finished talking. His dad is just another person not willing to spend time with him. The voice, constantly present now, starts yelling,
Ha! Ha! Even your father cannot stand you! He barely speaks to you. He doesn't want to be around you. He blames you for killing your mother.
SHUT UP!
He can't think. His breaths are coming in hard and short. He scrambles out of the kitchen and bangs his hip off the entryway wall. He careens into the living room and runs haphazardly up the stairs. He gets to his room in a worse state than he left it this morning.
He manages to shut the door before he falls against it. His back hits the wall and he slides down it before coming to rest in a fetal position. He puts his head between his knees and tries to breathe. He grabs his head roughly and tries to block out the noise. The awful noise that he knows is coming from his head, but yet he can't get rid of it. He tries to breathe. His chest hurts and one hand twists in his shirt almost painfully. He sits that way, alone, for what seems like hours.
After roughly forty minutes he calms down enough to unfurl. He stays on the floor and stares into space. The voice, which has become an awful buzzing sound rattling between his ears, dims to a dull but manageable roar. He doesn't know what to do. He has no friends. He has no pack. He barely sees his father, and even then conversation is stilted. Too many secrets bridging a gap between them over the past few months. He is alone. He has been alone before, but somehow this is worse.
*******
He manages to get up; though his legs feel like small, sharp pins are stabbing him everywhere and his hands will not stop shaking. He pushes off from the wall and stands in the middle of his room. He feels on the edge of something. He just needs to calm his mind.
Calm down. Breathe. Think. Calm down and you can think of something. A plan. Something.
The feeling in his legs returns and he considers falling into bed and sleeping the panic off, but when he looks at his bed, he feels unease. He feels confined in his bedroom, a place that until recently was his sanctuary. He looks over to his window and decides to take a drive. He grabs the keys, and runs to his Jeep. He rolls down the windows, pulls out from the driveway and just goes. He doesn't really have a destination in mind; just drives,stays away from the main part of town and ventures towards the highway and the woods. He feels calmer now, more free. The tiny horrible voice is finally silent.
He drives around for what seems like hours. He doesn't even know where he is at the moment. While that would usually worry him, he more than anyone knows of the terrors that lurk in the dark, both human and supernatural; for once it is calming. He stops where he is and just idles. He looks up to the sky and observes. The moon, waxing crescent, more than a week before the full moon, looks beautiful tonight as it is surrounded by hundreds of stars. The view calms him. It fills him with a feeling of confidence. He may not know many things, but he knows himself. He may have lost some friends over the past month, but he is NOT a teenage girl pining after his vampire love. Yes, it sucks that Scott threw away a 10-year friendship. It sucks that these people decided he wasn't worth their time or even an explanation. He can deal. Get through high school and the world is his oyster. Cliched, but helpful.
He can do this. He doesn't need anyone. He doesn't need anyone. If he continues to repeat this mantra in his head then maybe he will start to believe it.
He feels that he can go back home. To his house. It doesn't quite feel like home anymore. He guesses it hasn't for a while. He begins his journey back to town. Down the winding and twisted paths he originally drove to get to his mystery spot. The sky is darker now. When he began, the moon and stars illuminated his path. Now, they are hidden by trees and dark wispy clouds. He eventually reaches the end of the mountain path and turns on to the small highway leading back to town. He feels more like himself again. He plays with the knobs of his stereo, taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, and squirms in his seat as he drives. He glances out his window and sees the moon again. He offers it a small smile as his eyes drift back to the road.
He sees a bright light and doesn't even have enough time to react before he is slammed into head on by a small rig, not much larger than a dump truck. The force of the collision causes him to surge forward. He bashes his face off the steering wheel before being thrown back against the seat. The Jeep careens off the side of the road and rolls down a bank. The jeep rolls two, three times before the forest halts its descent. The thick trees growing adjacent to the road stop the Jeep on its side, driver side down. The windshield busts inward and glass shatters everywhere. The whole front of the Jeep is destroyed. The right front tire is slashed and the rim is bent. Part of the barrier protecting the shoulder broke from the force of the collision and lies mangled 20 feet away, partially wrapped around another tree. The truck is stopped on the road; front end smashed in, driver alive but unconscious. Stiles is not so lucky.
He is awake. He can barely see. One eye is swollen shut. His nose is broken as well as his jaw. His left arm is crushed and at least three fingers on his right hand are broken. The most pressing matter is the jagged metal pole sticking out of his abdomen. If he could think, he would guess that it must have come from the mile marker that sits on the shoulder of the road where he rolled off. If he could think, he would wonder if his dad will find him. If he could talk, he might call out for his Dad, for Derek, for someone, anyone. He glances up out of the passenger side window, sees the moon and the world goes black.