
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13330278.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Past_Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall_-
      Relationship, Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall_(background)
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Allison_Argent,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin, Isaac_Lahey, Erica_Reyes_(mentioned),
      Vernon_Boyd_(mentioned), Cora_Hale, more_to_be_added, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Self-Harm, Cutting, attempted_suicide, Suicide, Blood, i'm_exposing_my
      blood_kink_guys, Gore, Implied/Referenced_Self-Harm, Explicit_Self-Harm,
      Spark_Stiles, Abandonment_Issues, Slow_Burn, Depression, Unhealthy_Coping
      Mechanisms, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, Hospitals, Injured
      Character, post_season_3B, Allison_dies_in_the_fic, different_allison
      death, Stabbing, Graphic_Torture, Drug_Abuse, Mild_drug_addiction, mild
      narcotic/pain_killer_addiction, Overdose, ptsd_symptoms_mentioned,
      Nightmares
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-10 Updated: 2018-01-16 Chapters: 2/6 Words: 3237
****** I'm Already Six Feet Under (Can't You See?) ******
by bluemoongirl99
Summary
     He tossed his backpack on his shoulder, and picked up his phone when
     he caught it glinting at the reflection of the sun through his
     window. When he picked it up, the screen flashed.
     No missed calls.
     No new messages.
     Stiles’s quick intake of breath tasted sour in his own mouth. He had
     been right: he had nobody to call.
     Because Scott had Isaac.
     Allison had Lydia.
     Erica and Boyd were dead.
     His Dad was disappointed in him.
     And Derek had left.
Notes
     I don't know why I'm starting this when I have so many other
     unfinished fics I need to work on, but this is the one I'm passionate
     about right now, so oh well!
     I planned all of this out today in my notebook while I should have
     been paying attention to class. But who needs college, right? Also
     instead of passing out as soon as I got home from work tonight I
     finished this first chapter and edited it (it's almost 1am and I've
     been up since 7am so if there's any mistakes please tell me.)
     I'm excited to get this angst fest on the road. Don't worry, they'll
     be a happy ending of course!
     This is set in a universe that I created with Sage (well not really a
     universe, just stupid werewolf ideas we had that go past Jeff Davis's
     canon because he sucks at writing). He's my best friend and I've
     never been more grateful to have someone in my life. He's also
     writing an angst fest fic with some of the same details, so I'll
     definitely link you guys to it when he finishes it and publishes.
     I hope you guys like this little beginning! Please, please, please
     leave lots of comments because it makes me excited to continue!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** one *****
one.
Derek had left.
Cora had told him about her pack in South America; how they were stable, large,
and hadn’t had any supernatural attacks in years. And that was all she wrote.
Derek had packed up his loft and left. He left with Cora, and he never even
said goodbye.
The following week was when Stiles attempted for the first time. The two events
weren’t mutually exclusive, at least, Stiles didn’t think so at the time.
He had just woken up from another one of his nightmares, the kind that made him
shake, and sick to his stomach. He reached for one of his books on his
nightstand, desperately. His fingers slipped as he turned the pages and scanned
over the words. His heart was stuttering in his chest as they rested on a
sentence. As the words resonated, he let the book fall to the floor, and curled
up with his knees pressed against his chest. He swiped at the sweat that had
gathered on his forehead and upper lip, and cringed when his hand came away
from his back wet, and sticky.
“You’re awake,” he found himself muttering. “You’re awake, and you’re real.”
His voice was cracked and his tongue felt like cotton. He couldn’t get the
Nogitsune’s burned, decayed face out of his mind, nor the dirty bandages and
the film they left, off his skin.
He walked to his bathroom on autopilot with weak limbs. He turned the shower up
as far as it could go, and mechanically stripped out of his t-shirt and
sweatpants.
When he stepped into the shower, he let the steaming hot water rush over his
body. He tugged his hands down his face, trying to scrub the water along it,
and let them run down the rest of his body. They froze over his hips, and
traced over the bones jutting out sharply. Had his hip bones always been that
prominent? He scaled them back up his torso, and along his ribs. They weren’t
sticking out quite like his hips, but they were enough for him to be startled.
Before even reaching for any soap, he turned off the faucet, and let his legs
guide him into a sitting position on the bathtub floor. He sat in the water and
tried to will his hands to stop shaking.
He sat, mesmerized by the water sloshing around him, and shivered as the water
turned cold. He was close to getting out when he glanced down at his hands, but
this time they were covered in blood. He jumped back, and noticed how all of
the water was now a murky red, swirling with all the blood dripping from his
hands. He let out a choked scream.
No.He screamed desperately in his head. Not again. This can’t be happening
again. He jerked back, and tried to scramble for purchase along the wet
porcelain of his tub before he slipped and cracked the back of his head on the
faucet. He let out a gasp as he saw stars clouding his vision. When he blinked,
he saw that the water was fine. His hands were their usual beige gray, and the
water was cloudy, but not red.
Stiles’s head throbbed, but when he reached back to feel it, that’s when his
hand turned red, for real. He rubbed the blood between his fingers almost
subconsciously. It was warm and thin, thinner than he was expecting.
As carefully as he could, he stood up and got out of the tub. He wrapped a
towel around himself and padded back into his bedroom to call someone. He would
need to go to the hospital, and he knew with a head injury he wouldn’t be able
to drive himself.
He called Scott three times.
He didn’t pick up.
He called Isaac.
He didn’t pick up.
His thumb hovered over his Dad’s number, but then remembered all the sick leave
he had to take when the Nogitsune was still in the back of his brain, and how
he had only just gotten back on his feet at work. The feet he was knocked off
of because of Stiles not being able to stay out of trouble for one goddamn
minute.
When he closed out of his Dad’s contact he realized - he had nobody else to
call. Allison certainly wouldn’t pick up any of his calls, and wouldn’t do him
any favors, unless she was trying to get into Scott’s good graces again. But
with the way they’d been ignoring each other in the hallways, and the small
secret smiles Scott and Isaac had been giving each other lately, that was
doubtful.
And Lydia, well, she had just started acknowledging Stiles’s mere existence
about five minutes ago, so she was probably out of the question too.
For a second Stiles ached to call Erica. She was easy to be around when she
dropped her confident girl facade, and she understood most of his comic book
jokes. She would pick him up with an annoyed eye roll, even though they weren’t
very close, and Stiles wasn’t very nice to her before she got bitten.
And he couldn’t call Derek, because Derek had left.
He sat his phone back onto his nightstand carefully, and stumbled back into his
bathroom. He ran his fingers through his hair, and over the back of his neck,
feeling the blood drip sluggishly slow. He watched in the mirror as the blood
smeared along his neck and over his hands. He stared down at it and it was like
a jolt went through his body at how nice it felt to have physical pain. The
blood was a physical manifestation of what he was feeling. It was tangible, and
not just in his head.
His next thoughts were jumbled and crooked. They didn’t make any sense, and
didn’t seem to fit into a cohesive narrative. His fingers acted on autopilot as
they stumbled, clumsily pulling out his pair of clippers from the drawer under
his sink. He got the screws out hastily with a stray pencil he found on the
floor. He didn’t even know how it got there, but he didn’t really care.
He pulled the straight razor free and it was kind of nice. The clippers he used
to buzz his hair whenever he felt too small in his skin were now serving a new
purpose. He climbed back into the bathtub. It was wet, but all the excess water
had already gone down the drain. He stared at the razor for a minute before
pressing it against his leg.
The pain was white hot, and the sharpest thing he’d ever felt. He imagined
briefly that they were claws as he slashed a line in his thigh, and watched the
blood swell up and dribble out. He started laughing maniacally as he cut
another line, and then another, and another. As he heard his voice echo across
the tiles of his bathroom, he wondered if this was the moment that he had truly
cracked.
He continued to slash away at his thighs until he started to feel woozy. The
blood oozing from his head had mostly stopped, but his legs were still painting
the bathtub beneath him red. His fingers had started to slip and he dropped the
razor. It was okay though, his head had started to get foggy and the light on
the ceiling had suddenly got a lot dimmer.
Stiles slid further down into the bathtub until he was practically laying flat.
His gangly limbs were finally relaxed, and he felt tired, but like he could
actually fall asleep this time, instead of the wide-awake-exhaustion he had
been feeling every night ever since the Nogitsune. A voice in the back of his
head was panicking and screaming at him that he shouldn’t be falling asleep,
especially not with how much blood was pooling beneath him, and seeping down
the drain. But the voice was far away and hard to focus on.
He groggily opened his eyes - when did he close them? He gasped as he felt a
buzzing start underneath his skin. It was warm and soft, and he hadn’t felt it
since he had created the mountain ash barrier back at The Jungle. He remembered
what Deaton had said about him being a Spark. But it didn’t make any sense, he
just wanted to sleep.
He let the warm buzzing glow lull him to sleep.
***
When he woke up the light was too bright, and his body was consumed by an
overall pain. He felt worse than any hangover he had ever imagined. When he got
enough strength to sit up he cringed at the blood that caked most of his body
and the bathtub. He looked like a murder victim on a cheap crime show.
He stared down at his legs, and tried to get over the pounding in his head.
After taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind and tried to not to think about
anything that had happened in the past few hours. He picked up the razor, and
sat it on the floor outside the tub and stood up. He turned on the water, and
ignored the cold blast shocking his skin, and stinging at all his fresh wounds.
He took a shower and used an old towel to wipe down his body.
He used the first aid kit he kept in his bathroom to wrap up his legs with
gauze and clean them, clinically. He got dressed and shifted from foot to foot,
wincing at the sharp slices of pain that racked through him at the movement,
then shivered from it. He stared at the sun rising outside his window and
swallowed down the bitter bile in the back of his throat at the disappointment
of waking up.
He tossed his backpack on his shoulder, and picked up his phone when he caught
it glinting at the reflection of the sun through his window. When he picked it
up, the screen flashed.
No missed calls.
No new messages.
Stiles’s quick intake of breath tasted sour in his own mouth. He had been
right: he had nobody to call.
Because Scott had Isaac.
Allison had Lydia.
Erica and Boyd were dead.
His Dad was disappointed in him.
And Derek had left.
***** two *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys! I'm hoping to pump this out real quick, so that I can get
     it out of my wip folder. How are you liking it so far, any
     predictions? Leave some comments please! My goal is to publish one
     chapter a week until it's done. But it might take a little longer
     because I have school and work full time. But I'm trying!
     This is also unbetaed, so please point out any mistakes and I'll try
     to fix it. Though when it's all finished I'll get my beta to look
     over it and I'll rework the structure of this to post it as all one
     work instead of chaptered. I've also added some tags, some of it
     applies to this chapter, other stuff applies to the chapters I have
     mostly planned out coming forward. But I'm definitely open to
     suggestions if you guys have any ideas! But please check out the
     tags, they might be changing every time I upload a chapter.
     I think that's all for me. And again, your comments keep me going to
     keep them up!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
two.
The second time Stiles almost died, was just as unplanned. And Derek was still
gone.
Allison was dead now too. He imagined them all in a lineup, their yearbook
smiling photos all next to each other, but with a red x through Boyd’s picture,
Erica’s, and now Allison’s too.
They had known a new coven of witches were in town, but they were supposed to
be peaceful. They were supposed to be like them: supernatural, but not evil.
But their leader had the great idea that sacrificing virgins to the nemeton
would increase her power exponentially, and well, who in Beacon Hills wasn’t
power hungry anymore?
Stiles got drug out into the preserve with Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia.
Stiles tried to use his Spark, but the witches were throwing around spells that
he had never heard of. He did his best to keep up, but he was drowning,
quickly. Isaac and Scott were of little help, and already useless due to the
witches magic. Stiles had to bite back that maybe they shouldn’t just jump
right into anything evil considering half their team had well-known, very
exploitable weaknesses.
“I believe.” Stiles whispered as he felt the familiar tingling in his chest and
fingertips. It had become his mantra of sorts. Believing that your Spark would
work was the most important, and one of the few guidelines that Deaton had
pushed when he gave Stiles his Spark 101.
He zapped out of bit of lightning that took out three of the witches, but there
was still four going strong. The action left him winded though. He wasn’t
trained or experienced enough to ration out his spark, so great exercises of
his power were few and far between. He slouched over and tried to get his
breath back.
He glanced frantically back at the rest of the group. Scott and Isaac were
still fighting against their wolfsbane circles, and the scent of burning flesh
was pungent in the air. Lydia was spouting Latin right back at the witches, who
didn’t seem to be taking it too kindly.
“Stiles!” He heard his name ring through the air. It was Scott. “Do something!”
Stiles took a deep breath and focused his energy on the coven. He could feel
his spark dimming, but Scott was right. He was their big player at the moment
and he’d barely done anything. He stepped out from behind the tree he was using
as cover, and raised his hands, sending a blast in the direction of the two
other witches off to the side.
The two witches, who looked eerily similar, twins, Stiles thought distantly met
him right back with an energy spell, soaking up all of his flame. Stiles
gasped, and fell to his knees, his hands and forearms digging into the earth.
He was going to die. They didn’t have the strength or the numbers. His hands
were numb from the snow and ice. With each breath he took he could see it puff
out in front of him, and his nose was running angrily.
For a moment his heart twisted sharply at how much he missed Derek. Right now
was when Derek would come rolling in. He wouldn’t really have a plan either,
but he’d be so angry and eager to fight that it would seep all the
righteousness and fire right back into Stiles’s bones. But Derek wasn’t there
anymore. Derek had left. So they were going to die.
“Stiles!” Stiles threw his head up as his name was screeched only a few feet
away. One of the witches had Allison. She held her with her arm locked around
Allison’s shoulder and throat in a vice grip, making it nearly impossible for
her to escape. Allison was looking right at him, desperately.
“C’mon Stiles,” she said, her voice choking. “I believe in you.”
Stiles pulled himself up so he was straight on his knees. He had mud and snow
smeared all over his arms. He snarled and used the last of his strength to push
out his own magic. He held his breath, and felt the vein popping in his
forehead as he pushed. His magic shined, and lit up his hands for a moment
before petering out. Stiles stared at his hands in shock and horror as he tried
to do some form of a spell. Anything. But it didn’t work.
His eyes met Allison’s briefly, they were wide and terrified, probably matching
his own. Then the witch cackled. She was the leader, with long tangled honey
blonde hair, and lengthy sharp nails. “Looks like your poor Sparky has burned
out,” she taunted before pouting her lips.
Stiles scrambled to stand up, and wildly attempted to make a go at them. His
brain was fried, and his chest was empty, from where his Spark usually settled,
keeping it warm and abuzz, but now it had short-circuited. He didn’t even know
what he was thinking at that point, like blindly charging at the witch was
going to work, or do anything at all.
The leader, Maggie, Stiles remembered her introducing herself faintly, only
laughed once again, then used her long pointed nail to slit Alison’s throat.
By the time Stiles had managed to make it to the witch, Allison was dropping,
and she ended up falling into Stiles’s arms. Her neck was oozing blood. Stiles
didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t trained for this. He pressed his hand against
the cut to try and stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood. It was all
over his hands, and clothes, and Allison was making these awful gurgling sounds
that he knew he was going to be hearing in his nightmares for years.
Allison’s hands and arms were twitching, grabbing onto any part of Stiles she
could, but she couldn’t breathe. A few feet away he heard Lydia’s blood-
curdling scream of Allison’s name, a few moments later she went limp. Suddenly
he was being tackled and thrown away from Allison’s body. Scott gathered her
body in his arms and started yelling.
Stiles could barely hear anything. When he landed he caught himself by the
wrist, bending it at an unnatural angle that sent a pain so sharp up through
his arm that he bit back a scream. It was hard to breathe, and his torso hurt
so bad that he was pretty sure he had broken a rib as well.
Everyone crowded around Allison’s body. The grayish murky white ground was
splattered with red blood, and Stiles could feel it caking under his nails. He
started to sweat over how much his wrist and body hurt.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, cradling his wrist, but his trance was
broken by Melissa calling his name.
His head snapped up, and he saw Melissa standing in front of him. Her face was
nothing but concerned as she knelt down, then her hand came up to rest on
Stiles’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?” Stiles stared up at her, he felt like he was
underwater, and he could barely hear her.
“My wrist,” he heard himself say, more than he consciously remembered saying
it.
Melissa grabbed his hand, and he wanted to flinch at how the blood smeared all
over her. He was covered in blood. Allison’s blood.
“Stiles!” Melissa suddenly yelled in alarm. Why was she shouting? “Your wrist
is broken. We’re going to have to take you to the hospital.”
Stiles’s head was pounding and he could barely figure out what was going on. He
wondered if he stuck three fingers in front of his face, could he count them?
He wanted to laugh at his joke, but the sound that came out must have been
twisted or broken because Melissa suddenly looked very scared.
Her hands disappeared in front of him, and he felt a sharp pressure on the back
of his head, where most of the pounding was coming from. When his eyes focused
enough he saw Melissa holding her hands out in front of her, but they were
covered in blood, way more blood than they had been a few seconds before.
When Scott and Stiles were twelve they had been trying to climb a tree in the
McCall’s backyard, when Scott fell and broke his leg. They had to call an
ambulance and go to the hospital. Melissa was on shift that day, and Stiles
remembered her busting into the room that they had just finished doing x-rays
in, and how terrified she was. Later they found out that while she was on shift
she found out that Scott had been taken in an ambulance, and that he had been
admitted, but knew nothing else.
Looking at her face now though, she didn’t look scared, she looked petrified.
“Stiles!” She breathed out.
Stiles didn’t understand why she was so worried, until it clicked. He blinked
through the cotton slowly filling his head. The blood on her hands wasn’t
Allison’s, it was his.
“Oh,” he said faintly before a sharp metallic taste flooded his tongue. When
did he hit his head? He wondered, before everything went black.
Chapter End Notes
     comment, comment, comment!
     twitter: @bluemoongirl99
     tumblr: babyashleym
End Notes
     yo, yo, yo
     tumblr: babyashleym
     twitter: @BlueMoonGirl_AM
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