Crazy About You...Literally (AU Teen Wolf Story)

nine.

Outside, Stiles has a moment; one moment where he can think. He's been doing a lot of that lately, the padded room gave him some time to process a thought or two. Everything, now, is completely at peace. There is not a sound, Stiles' light breathing is inaudible and the thumping in his chest, muted. Though, before Stiles can even relax properly, this peace is completely ruined by the voices.

The same voices that echoed through his skull in the padded room. The same voices that mocked him before that, and the same voices insisting that he's as straight as an arrow, though his heart proclaims otherwise.

Worthless, the voices chant out the insults, spitting them across his mind. Stupid. Idiot. Why are you even here? You should be dead. You can even kill yourself right, you moron.

Some days, the voices aren't harsh like this. They just say that he's straight or that being gay is stupid, and it's solely focused on his sexuality. And then, there are days like this. Days where they're relentless noises that want nothing but to torture Stiles to no end, to trick him into thinking he's nothing. And Stiles always believes them. Stiles honestly can't take anymore of this. All of the negativity filling up his brain and practically spewing out his ears, on the verge of outright exploding. He takes his shaky fingers through his hair, tugging and then letting his fingers fall limp. He's not prepared for another breakdown, not so soon. He doesn't want to make another trip to the padded room.

So he collects his nerves, attempting to hold them back, but only barely succeeding, as the voices are reappearing with the same malicious growl. Worthless. Useless. Stupid.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Stiles' conscious orders.

Miserable. Gay. Pitiful.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Loser. Fag. Waste of space.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!

The boy starts to feel queasy, his stomach tossing and turning this way and that; his head pounding with reverberations from the voices; his whole body trembling with the force of their false words.

Face it, no one would care if you were never seen again. No one would miss you if you were gone. No one even cares.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Even in his mind, his voice sounds weak and miserable, shaky and uneven. He feels the ground beneath him spinning, circling and circling until he's seconds from getting sick. This isn't real, he thinks. The voices in my head are lying. My dad cares-

No he doesn't. He put up with you because he had to. He was so relieved to get rid of you. Couldn't you see it on his face? Joy. Stiles tries to ignore it. Ethan and Scott care-

Yeah right- the voice actually snorts- you're miserable. No one could care for you. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?

And Derek, Stiles' own thoughts are now a whimper.

"Derek cares," Stiles states aloud.

Derek cares least of all.

But when we were watching Titanic-

Didn't you hear what he said in group circle? About Paige? He's using you to get over her; just like he uses the nurses and probably every other insecure lunatic that presents itself.

No, Stiles' thoughts insist. You're lying.

Or are you lying to yourself Stiles?

And then, everything comes to a halt. The ground below him is still and the voices have ceased. His headache dies and so does the sick feeling. The boy feels nothing, a numbness if anything. Though, all of a sudden, his body is stuck with pins and needles, like during the transition from your foot being asleep to waking up. It hurts to move even an inch, and Stiles is scared as hell. He doesn't know exactly what's going on, but his theory is he's going crazy. As in, a real mental disability is developing.