Devil of Wolves (Sterek)

Chapter Eleven (The Last Goodbye)

I present to you a thousand or so words of stupidity. In all honesty, I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but here it is! 

Enjoy!

^

There were noises around him, various shouts and yells, pleading voices riddled with fear, but Stiles didn't focus on that.

His insides feel like they're being torn to shreds, like a serrated knife is being sliced through them and he can't help but cry out. His magic swirls around him, the thin black smoke curling and filling the room, flowing around his person protectively, ready to lash out and it feels like it's throbbing, pulsing like a beating heart, surrounding him like some sort of angry beast.

There are more shouts. The voices are muffled like the noise is battling gale-force winds and Stiles can hardly focus on anything over the dull roar in his ears.

There's pain, yes, but there's also a creeping numbness settling in his gut, weighing him down like a heavy stone. It's terrifying not being able to feel, but he knows the alternative is much worse—being able to feel too much. It was all too much.

Not one cared, he had nothing now. Stripped bare of any hope, now labeled as the murderer...he didn't...he didn't want to be that. He didn't want to be so unlovable that he was easily tossed aside right then, marked as the villain without anyone hearing his side of the story.

It was an accident. He didn't mean to be that weak, he tried, he did, but no one could seem to look past those errors. His mistakes cost the lives of one of his close friends and the lives of innocent people in this town.

He should have never come back.

Stiles thinks of Derek, how their friendship is starting to grow, and he felt like he can trust the man, but he was wrong. He'd never been more wrong and then that hurt, that betrayal, intensified to the point where he felt like screaming.

I didn't mean it, Derek, please believe me. I didn't mean it...I'm sorry.

"Stiles!"

"Stiles, goddammit, stop!"

And then someone was moving, daring to step closer into the magic he's surrounded himself with, all meant to keep someone out. He could feel it swirl like a dark angry cloud. He felt the person get closer.

Stiles knew his magic often had a mind of its own, he tasseled with it every day - knew it had an innate liking to a certain werewolf and he wasn't surprised when he felt the dark smoke-like cloud shift, allowing entrance, lowering its defenses and he knew Derek stepped closer. He felt it. Felt the way his magic thrummed, happier this time, knowing there was no real threat approaching.

'Brave. Brave and foolish wolf.'

He felt the smoke snap back into place as another tried to step forward.

But before Stiles knew it those hands...those warm welcoming hands grip his cheeks gently, but it feels wrong. So wrong. He does not deserve that touch, that gentle caress, though it's now quite frantic. His magic ripples dangerously but then it settles the slightest bit again, inside of poised and ready, it softens when he hears those words.

"Stiles. It's Derek, I'm right here. I'm right here."

Those sweet nothings are being whispered in his ear again, but Stiles can't see anything past his blurring vision, can't look beyond his curled fists or focus past the violent tremors that rattled his body to the point of pain. All he could feel was pain and he was so tired of it, exhausted.

He was coming apart at the seams, everything he kept buried was slowly unraveling.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he hears Derek whisper.