Superheroes

Dark Side

CONTENT WARNING!!! 

This is one of the darkest chapters of this fic so far. It features descriptive nightmares, panic attacks, negative self-talk, and a full re-telling of Stiles' time as the Nogitsune. So just like when I warned with chapter six, this chapter is rough and Stiles is in a bad mental place. If you think reading this chapter will do the same to you, then do not read. This chapter will be here later. Do not hurt yourselves.

Stiles walks into the common room just as Barton starts working on his bow. He's never seen it up close, but as one of the most approachable Avengers, Stiles feels comfortable going over to the man to ask questions. Allison was going to die when she found out.

"That is so awesome. I know it's custom, because it's you, but what kind of arrows do you use?"

"All sorts," he says. "Whatever Tony likes to cook up, I'll try in the range. I'm limited by what my quiver can hold, but we're working on that, too."

Stiles nods as Clint holds up the quiver, noting all the mechanical parts to it. "What's your favorite?"

"Silver tipped," he says with a grin, holding one up. It doesn't look at all like his normal arrows, which have a black shaft, color-coded tips, and varying colors of fletching to match the tips. Instead of a four-tipped arrow head, this arrow is three-tipped, glistening brightly. "I call it the needle."

His hands start to shake as he takes the offered arrow. The flesh tingles where it comes in contact with it, almost burning his hand. When he looks up, they're no longer in the common room, but on the steps of the high school.

Clint is in his Avengers costume, drawing the arrow and letting it fly. Stiles screams when the arrow thuds into Allison's torso, her eyes staring straight into him with betrayal. When he looks down, he's the one holding the bow.

Stiles spins around to escape the scene, only to find himself standing beside his mother's hospital bed, thumb pressed down on the plunger of the syringe pressed into her IV line. He scrambles back, staring in horror as his mother smiles and the heart monitor flatlines.

Someone grabs his shoulder -

- and he sits straight with a scream, lurching away from Derek and falling to the floor next to the bed. He scrambles until his back hits the wall with a thud, crying and gasping. Stiles is shaking too hard to do anything but sit there.

Derek crouches in front of him, a pained expression on his face. He doesn't reach for Stiles, but keeps up a steady stream of words in a low, soothing tone. He repeats the date, where they are, and tells Stiles that he is awake and himself.

Stiles doesn't know how much time passes or what time it even is. He collapses back onto the floor, still partially tangled in the bedding. When he stretches out his hand, he counts his fingers before Derek laces his between Stiles'. Their phones are buzzing on the nightstands, but Derek lies on the floor with him instead of answering. The pack has experienced the backlash of his nightmares enough to know that he'll contact them when he's able, and Derek will update them the moment Stiles is confident enough to let him go.