Drag Me Down Quick (So they don't notice)

Everything's Gone to Shit Now (Or Has It)

     The wolves and hunters had worked out shifts to guard the town and the woods. Castiel had gone back to the place where the demon had been summoned to cast around for clues or try to sense the demon's energy or whatever, Stiles wasn't really paying attention. He had forced down some breakfast and firmly avoided everyone's worried gazes. At some point the Winchester brothers and Chris left to research or something, but only after spray painting demon traps in front of the doors and spreading salt around (and wow, wasn't that useful information). 

     Stiles shrugged off Melissa and ended up back in his room, curled under the comforter. He wasn't asleep, the back of his eyelids were painted in red and bone so he kept them open. Instead he decided to practice some of the things he had read about emissaries, starting with a connection to the pack. The books he had read from Deaton had talked about it being a vague sense only noticeable when the pack was in danger, but Stiles found that by concentrating, he could feel each pack member connected to him like strings. 

     It was difficult to tell who was who, as most of the strings were faint and tangled. Two of them were easy to hold onto, one that Stiles knew led to Scott. He held onto it and focused on feeling it. Scott was not nearby, he was far out into the preserve. Stiles couldn't pinpoint his location exactly. The other thread was Derek. Stiles could feel him clearly. He now recognized how he had been able to tell Derek was outside his house before. 

     Stiles realized he was shaking all over. He pulled the blankets tighter around him but he couldn't stop. He didn't feel safe. They were going to get him. They were going to drag him back and they were going to drag his whole pack down there and everything he had done was all for nothing and it was his fault he led them here - he felt his breath get shallower and his vision was narrowing. 

     Instinctually he grasped onto the tether that linked him to Derek, pulling it tighter in an attempt to stabilize himself. He was fully panicking now but it was different than earlier - he wasn't out of his body trying to hurt himself. He was entirely present and detached, watching himself panic while simultaneously feeling nothing. 

     Suddenly he was staring across the room at himself. It was the him from hell, just as he had looked the last time he had seen his reflection in one of the hell pools. One eye hung out of his head and half the skin was flayed off his naked body. The hell him stared at him, not saying anything. Stiles understood anyways. That was what he was on the inside, and nothing could ever change that. He had tried to fit in with his family, to pretend that he had just been in hiding. He hadn't even lasted a week. 

     The door burst open but Stiles didn't notice. He watched himself, watched the blood drip down his own legs and the flies laying eggs in his own flesh. Nothing he had done mattered. He would never be free (You're mine, Stiles, inside and out!). 

     A pair of warm arms slid around him. They didn't hurt. 

     "It's okay Stiles," a deep voice rasped in his ear. "I'm here now. I'm sorry I left you." 

     Stiles struggled to pull himself out of his head. Someone was speaking to him. Someone who he loved. 

     "Derek?" He asked weakly. 

     A surprisingly gentle hand cupped his cheek, turning his head away from his (hallucination?). Derek's face appeared, with a worried look on his face. He ran his hand along Stiles' face and down his chest, picking up one of his arms and checking the scratches. 

     "Are you okay?" He questioned.

     "Why are you here?" Stiles ignored his question. (He was not okay, thank you very much.)