Raising Up My Hands (Drive Another Nail In)
Author: verucasalt123
Title: Raising Up My Hands (Drive Another Nail In)
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Gen (possibly Sterek pre-slash/feelings if you squint)
Character/s: Stiles, Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: He’s got to keep it, or else where will it go?
Warnings: angst, darkness, depression, hallucinations
Word Count: 968
Prompt: Possessive
Every finger in the room is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces, then I get afraid what that could bring
Scott had tried hard to get him to talk about it after the incident in Finstock’s class, but Stiles didn’t have anything to say.
Well, there was plenty he could say, he just wasn’t going to. He knew everyone was staring, but it wasn’t the first time since the whole Nematon business that something like that had happened. And honestly, Stiles had been stared at and whispered about in school for many other reasons in the past; it’s not like it bothered him anymore.
Apparently his new record of four straight nights without a minute of sleep was making things worse, because something happened in lit class too. There was no telltale weird writing in his notebook, but it was clear he’d lost some time. Thankfully, he sat in the back and the teacher hadn’t noticed anything but Isaac was shooting him worried glances and Lydia had him fixed with a pointed stare that telegraphed I know something’s wrong, don’t you bullshit me, Stilinski (Lydia’s expressions were very specific, okay?).
Stiles made a quick escape as soon as the bell rang, faster than Lydia could catch him, and was out in his Jeep before the bell rang again to signal the start of the last class of the day, which he would clearly not be attending.
It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with talking to his friends about this whole…thing. The darkness. They all knew. Scott and Allison seemed to be handling it better than Stiles was. Well, they were handling it differently, anyway, or it wasn’t affecting them the same way. Neither of them would claim to be fine, but they weren’t going off the deep end like he was. But he didn’t want to talk to them about it. All they ever had to say, especially Scott, was how Stiles needed to fight it. Right. Because that made so much sense.
The darkness wasn’t ‘around his heart’ like Deaton had told them months ago. It wasn’t just hanging out there in his chest cavity like something he could cough up and get rid of. And even if he did - where would it go? He hadn’t aced physics for no reason. Everything had to go somewhere, right? No, the darkness was in his heart, and there’s no way to fight that. Maybe that was the difference between his condition and the way Scott and Allison seemed to be dealing with the situation. The darkness might actually really only be ‘around’ their hearts, so it could have felt completely different to them than the way it felt to Stiles.
He was unspeakably grateful to find the driveway empty when he arrived back at his house.
I’ve got a bowling ball in my stomach, I’ve got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
If there was one thing worse than his friends nagging him about his feelings and his symptoms and his lack of sleep and his (now, apparently) hallucinations, it was when his father started in on it. Stiles had been hopeful that his dad knowing about the supernatural aspect of his life would make things easier between them, make it easier for them to talk to each other. And it had, in some ways. About some things. But not this. Plus, the Sheriff knew things his friends didn’t. They knew he wasn’t sleeping because it was obvious from looking at him; his father knew because Stiles was pacing his room at night, or watching TV, or walking around the house. Allison told Lydia she had nightmares, so they all assumed Stiles did too; his father was the one who heard him screaming on those rare occasions when he actually did fall asleep. The pack worried about how Stiles’ mood and demeanor had been affected; his father had seen this deep depression and the self-loathing that went along with it before and knew exactly what it was. The Sheriff kept a closer eye on Stiles’ medication these days, the liquor cabinet was eternally empty and the location of the safe where he kept his duty weapon had been discreetly changed. Stiles figured his dad was doing what he could - if he couldn’t make Stiles try to do anything about his mental state, he could at least try to keep a tight watch on things that might be harmful.
Not that Stiles was suicidal or anything. Mostly. Or, at all. Really. Not everyone who’s fucked up in the head wants to kill themselves, but then, not everyone who’s fucked up in the head got that way because of crazy magical almost-death and having to fight monsters. His father should know, honestly. It was a law, after all. The law of conservation of matter. The darkness was there inside Stiles’ heart - if he let it go somehow, it would end up somewhere. And he wouldn’t let that happen. The darkness was his, it belonged to him, and Stiles wasn’t about to let it go; even if he could, there was no chance that he would. He took it on willingly, and now it lived in his heart - that was where it would stay, regardless of the consequences.
Stiles stripped off his jeans and slid into his bed, just to lay down. He’d stay awake as long as he could to keep the nightmares away, but if he was going to wake up screaming, he’d rather do it when he was alone in the house.
I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets, looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
There really wasn’t anyone who could help him. Probably. He sent the text to Derek anyway.
Title: Raising Up My Hands (Drive Another Nail In)
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Gen (possibly Sterek pre-slash/feelings if you squint)
Character/s: Stiles, Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: He’s got to keep it, or else where will it go?
Warnings: angst, darkness, depression, hallucinations
Word Count: 968
Prompt: Possessive
Every finger in the room is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces, then I get afraid what that could bring
Scott had tried hard to get him to talk about it after the incident in Finstock’s class, but Stiles didn’t have anything to say.
Well, there was plenty he could say, he just wasn’t going to. He knew everyone was staring, but it wasn’t the first time since the whole Nematon business that something like that had happened. And honestly, Stiles had been stared at and whispered about in school for many other reasons in the past; it’s not like it bothered him anymore.
Apparently his new record of four straight nights without a minute of sleep was making things worse, because something happened in lit class too. There was no telltale weird writing in his notebook, but it was clear he’d lost some time. Thankfully, he sat in the back and the teacher hadn’t noticed anything but Isaac was shooting him worried glances and Lydia had him fixed with a pointed stare that telegraphed I know something’s wrong, don’t you bullshit me, Stilinski (Lydia’s expressions were very specific, okay?).
Stiles made a quick escape as soon as the bell rang, faster than Lydia could catch him, and was out in his Jeep before the bell rang again to signal the start of the last class of the day, which he would clearly not be attending.
It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with talking to his friends about this whole…thing. The darkness. They all knew. Scott and Allison seemed to be handling it better than Stiles was. Well, they were handling it differently, anyway, or it wasn’t affecting them the same way. Neither of them would claim to be fine, but they weren’t going off the deep end like he was. But he didn’t want to talk to them about it. All they ever had to say, especially Scott, was how Stiles needed to fight it. Right. Because that made so much sense.
The darkness wasn’t ‘around his heart’ like Deaton had told them months ago. It wasn’t just hanging out there in his chest cavity like something he could cough up and get rid of. And even if he did - where would it go? He hadn’t aced physics for no reason. Everything had to go somewhere, right? No, the darkness was in his heart, and there’s no way to fight that. Maybe that was the difference between his condition and the way Scott and Allison seemed to be dealing with the situation. The darkness might actually really only be ‘around’ their hearts, so it could have felt completely different to them than the way it felt to Stiles.
He was unspeakably grateful to find the driveway empty when he arrived back at his house.
I’ve got a bowling ball in my stomach, I’ve got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
If there was one thing worse than his friends nagging him about his feelings and his symptoms and his lack of sleep and his (now, apparently) hallucinations, it was when his father started in on it. Stiles had been hopeful that his dad knowing about the supernatural aspect of his life would make things easier between them, make it easier for them to talk to each other. And it had, in some ways. About some things. But not this. Plus, the Sheriff knew things his friends didn’t. They knew he wasn’t sleeping because it was obvious from looking at him; his father knew because Stiles was pacing his room at night, or watching TV, or walking around the house. Allison told Lydia she had nightmares, so they all assumed Stiles did too; his father was the one who heard him screaming on those rare occasions when he actually did fall asleep. The pack worried about how Stiles’ mood and demeanor had been affected; his father had seen this deep depression and the self-loathing that went along with it before and knew exactly what it was. The Sheriff kept a closer eye on Stiles’ medication these days, the liquor cabinet was eternally empty and the location of the safe where he kept his duty weapon had been discreetly changed. Stiles figured his dad was doing what he could - if he couldn’t make Stiles try to do anything about his mental state, he could at least try to keep a tight watch on things that might be harmful.
Not that Stiles was suicidal or anything. Mostly. Or, at all. Really. Not everyone who’s fucked up in the head wants to kill themselves, but then, not everyone who’s fucked up in the head got that way because of crazy magical almost-death and having to fight monsters. His father should know, honestly. It was a law, after all. The law of conservation of matter. The darkness was there inside Stiles’ heart - if he let it go somehow, it would end up somewhere. And he wouldn’t let that happen. The darkness was his, it belonged to him, and Stiles wasn’t about to let it go; even if he could, there was no chance that he would. He took it on willingly, and now it lived in his heart - that was where it would stay, regardless of the consequences.
Stiles stripped off his jeans and slid into his bed, just to lay down. He’d stay awake as long as he could to keep the nightmares away, but if he was going to wake up screaming, he’d rather do it when he was alone in the house.
I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets, looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
There really wasn’t anyone who could help him. Probably. He sent the text to Derek anyway.