BITCH! ( stiles stilinski ) ²

chapter fifteen!

𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍, 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

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( 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 )

Stiles fiddled with his Lacrosse stick as he sat in the counsellors office at the school. His mind flashing back to Matt drowning. "You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's - it's actually kind of peaceful."

Ms. Morrell studied Stiles carefully. "Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?"

Stiles met her eye contact, "I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

Stiles sighed and placed the stick horizontally in his lap. "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one. And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer. And not just of her though. I mean, he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. You know, like he had built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."

Ms. Morrell raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly. "One positive thing came out of this, though. Right?"

Stiles sat back, "Yeah-" he thought back to his dad getting the Sheriff position again, "Yeah, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us. I don't know. It's just like tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott."

"Have you talked to him since that night?"

Stiles shook his head and began messing with the net again. "No, not really. I mean, he's got his own problems to deal with though. I don't think he's talked to Allison either. But that might be more her choice, you know. Her mom dying hit her pretty hard. But I guess it brought her and her dad closer. Jackson? Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. Actually the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia and Isabelle are the ones who seems the most normal."

"And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?"

"Why would you ask me that?" Stiles looked at her widely before remembering he had the lacrosse netting strings in his mouth. "Ah. Uh, no. I-I never actually play. But hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one's missing, who knows, right?"

"You mean, Isaac. One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you?"

Stiles was quick to change the subject, "How come you're not taking any notes on this?"

Ms. Morrell nodded slowly, "I do my notes after the session."

Stiles raised his eyebrows, "Your memory's that good?"

"How about we get back to you? Stiles?"

Stiles sighed, "I'm fine. Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible's about to happen."

"It's called hyper-vigilance, the persistent feeling of being under threat."

"But it's not just a feeling, though. It's - it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."

"Like you're drowning?"

Stiles looked down, the crushing feeling building up, "Yeah."

"So if you're drowning, and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

Stiles shrugged, trying to not think about it too much, "You do anyway. It's a reflex."

"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"

Stiles leant forward, intrigued. "Not much time."

"But more time to fight your way to the surface?"

"I guess."

"More time to be rescued?"

Stiles scoffed, his chest tightening again, "More time to be in agonizing pain. I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"

"If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?"

Stiles looked down, "But what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and then - and it's just hell later on?"

"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said- 'If you're going through hell, keep going.'"

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In the veterinary, Deaton was preparing a shot for a for a dog while Scott cleaned up the side counter when a bell rang out. Deaton turned to Scott, "Do you mind seeing who that is?" Scott nodded and walked out the surgery room.

Suddenly, all the dogs in the back began barking, and worry began to flood Deaton and Scott. They shared a look and Deaton put down the needle. They both made it out the front to see Isaac stood there with his head down, looking uncomfortable, as if he didn't want to interrupt anything. Deaton stepped forward, "It's alright Isaac, you can come in." He opened the latch for Isaac to be able to walk through, breaking the mountain ash barrier.

Isaac screwed up his face as Deaton injected the shot into the dog and Scott held it down. "Why does it smell like that?" Deaton and Scott looked at each other and gave a slight chuckle, "What?"

Deaton put down the needle. "Scott said almost the same thing to me a few months ago. One day he could somehow tell the difference between which animals were getting better and which were not."

Isaac studied the dig as it whimpered and Scott fussed it try to calm him. "He's not getting better, is he?" Deaton shook his head sadly. A muscle in his jaw clenched then released, "Like cancer?"

"Osteosarcoma." Deaton corrected. "It has a very distinct scent, doesn't it? Come here." Isaac walked around the table shyly, with his hands buried into the sleeves of his shirt. "I know you're well aware of what your new abilities can do for you. Improved strength, speed, and healing. You ever wonder what it could do for others? Give me your hand." Isaac he,d his hand out like Deaton asked and watched curiously as it was put onto the dog's stomach. "Go on."

Isaac gasped with delight as the veins in his hands grew black and he felt the dog relax slightly. Then a pain to his arm came and he withdrew his hand slowly. Scott watched knowingly as Isaac stared at his arm that had black veins on it, "What did I do?"

Scott smiled at him softly, "You took some of his pain away."

Deaton, with a kind smile, explained it to him. "Only a little bit. But sometimes a little can make quite a difference."

Scott saw Isaac move his hand up to his nose, wiping away any tears that fell from the emotional experience. "It's okay. First time he showed me, I cried too." Isaac looked at Scott with a sincere smile and let out a choked laugh as he watched the dog.