Whump at every turn- Teen Wolf Oneshots

Post 3b- Ugly

A weight pressing down on his stomach, no a belt. A belt tight around his waist every time it happened and it happened a lot.

After the nogitsune nobody had looked at him straight. He had killed Allison and Aiden, he was a horrible person inside and out.

The pack still hung out with him but they made it clear they didn't like him. When he finally felt okay enough to joke around and use some of his old sarcasm again the others cut him down and that feeling around his stomach came along and that voice in his head.

Isn't it bad enough you killed your friends? Now you're joking around like nothing happened. Can't you see the hate in their eyes? It's because you're a horrible person. Weak. Selfish.

And he'd hate himself some more for pitying himself. He started to dread going into school- he never thought he'd feel like this. Had always thought he was stronger. But he wasn't strong. He was weak. Weak enough to let the nogitsune in.

Sometimes he'd look in the mirror or catch a glimpse of his reflection and just hate. Wasn't it bad enough that he was ugly on the inside?

Scott had been his best friend forever but now he hated Stiles. He could see it in his eyes, in the tone of his voice.

Sometimes Scott would say about how horrible he felt. How his mum, Melissa, didn't like him anymore because he hadn't saved Allison. How horrible his life was without her. How he felt depressed all the time. How he felt the pack didn't understand him. Scott would pout and not speak with his big puppy eyes and the pack would rush to comfort him and Stiles hated him. How could he be upset if he seemed to be bragging about it?

Then Stiles hated himself because it was all his fault. Scott was only upset because of him. The horrible thing on his stomach was a constant and he hated.

How could you hate Scott? How could you not comfort him when it was you who put him through all this? You.

Stiles dad snapped at him a lot and it hurt. Sometimes he wished the nogitsune was back. At least he'd felt happy. At least he'd felt powerful.

Then he'd hate himself for thinking that because more people would die. When he had panic attacks he would let the pain wash over him because he deserved pain for what he had done.

Sometimes he thought about self-harm but to him it just felt stupid and silly. Why would he throw his life away? Then the voice was back telling him he was selfish not to make himself suffer for his crimes.

Your fault. Horrible. Selfish. It echoed in his head and he wanted to escape but couldn't.