Teen Wolf Oneshots (I Take Requests)

I'd rather live a villian

Stiles-centric

"I'm sorry." He said, voice shaking just as much as the gun in his hands. "It wasn't-" his voice cracked, "I didn't know it would be you."

Stiles stared out, eyes begging him to understand, to see the truth in that. To know that Stiles would never set out to kill him.

But he still held out that gun, finger sweat slick on the trigger.

"Why are you doing this? When did you become this Stiles? You're supposed to be one of the good guys, one of the heroes." He asked, voice shaking as he stared into the eyes of the man he once trusted. The man aiming a gun at him.

Stiles barked a laugh, "One of the heroes. I guess you haven't noticed yet, but those heroes of yours?

They have a tendency to die. And I.. Derek I don't want to die."

~~~~~~~~~

It was like a scene from a horror movie, or it should have been.

Bodies and vacant stares were illuminated in the moonlight, the reflection bouncing off skin too pale to house a living soul. His eyes couldn't process further than the cold flesh grazing against his leg, the blood warming the frozen soil.

He wasn't sure why he felt so detached, perhaps it was the noise.

In the movies, tragedy was always met with a ringing silence. The world screeching to a halt as for one person or another it fell apart.

It didn't.

Instead, the sounds grew louder. Sobs turning into screams, and screams to wails.

The sounds of violence in the background didn't fade, the clang of steel only seeming to grow louder as his friends fell to their knees.

His mind though, that was just as quiet as the world should be.

It was disconcerting to him, this odd discordance between him and those around him.

Usually he was the source of too much noise and flailing movements, and yet here he was, mind put to rest even as the world raged on.

He couldn't quite comprehend the bloodshed, his mind refusing to translate that which he saw before him. His friends where they lay, bodies trying halfheartedly to mend their wounds, were dying, he knew this.

He knew from the way Malia curled in on herself, acting automatically as she would have in a different body, doing her best to stave off oncoming peril.

From the way Kira's eyes shone, gold standing out among the blood.

Knew from the sound of Lydia's screams, once loud and abrasive, but now mere gurgling things, hardly heard over the din of battle around them.

The blood was slowing in a way that should have meant they had won, but instead only underscored the scene of man and beast, all gathered and broken, to watch the final blow be dealt.

That right there, that final blow, was what finally managed to cut through Stiles' shock, and he knew now that's what it was. Shock that had kept him immobile on the ground where he now kneeled, along with the rest of them.

It hadn't worn off when Corey had his heart ripped out, looking out with eyes eerily similar to the last friend he had to watch fall. The last packmate he had lost.

Nor when Peter had cowered in that way he hadn't in so long, in a way he'd made sure he would never have to, eyes going wide and lifeless in an instant.

Or even when Chris had stood there, face gleaming red as he stared into Stiles' eyes, pride and contentment shadowing any regret.

But now, now that the final blow was being placed, his mind gave up it's silence. His screams joining the chorus already being made, usurping it.