Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Home (Part 5) // Stiles Stilinski

You gained consciousness once more, only to jolt in fright as you felt a hand grasp your shoulder. Allison made herself visible in your line of sight. "It's just me." Her soft voice brought you at ease. "How was it? What happened?"

"A whole hell of a lot happened." You chuckled dryly, your heart wounded all over after having Stiles ripped from your fingers once again. Your chest felt heavy and you held in the urge to cry; crying wouldn't get you anywhere, not in this circumstance. "I saw him."

"So did I." Scott joined the conversation, both of you looking up at him. A sad smile adorned his features, and you could only wonder what memory of his he relived just moments ago. Was it happy? Sad? Did it leave him wanting more?

You turned to face the still unconscious boy beside you. Your eyes watered as you realized your plan must have failed. He would be awake by now if it would have worked. Had you done something wrong? Should you not have kissed him back in that weird simulation? Were you not quick enough?

Loads of questions piled into your head like cars in a traffic jam, trying so desperately to all get to their destination at once. Your head began to pound, and you felt a single tear slip down your cheek, flicking it away before anyone could see.

"I can't do this." You mumbled, slowly rising from the couch, your legs weaker than you had thought. Despite the pain, you ran up the stairs, the desire to be alone increasing rapidly. Whether it was to cry or just feel numb without anyone else to see, you didn't know. You ignored the desperate calls for your name as you slid your back against a wall and sat there. Staring at the wall before you, the paint was slightly chipped and you felt yourself relating to it more than you hoped to. Cracked, slightly damaged, and wearing away at the edges. The only thing you could apply those characteristics to in this moment was, well, yourself.

You had never hated your father so much other than in this moment. If he wouldn't have been so blood-thirsty and malicious you never would have resided in Beacon Hills in the first place. You never would have met the friends you had come to know, you never would have met Stiles.

Maybe that would be a good thing. You could just start fresh. Far away from all the heartbreak and dismay you've experienced in your short time here. You could solely focus all of your worries on education, maybe even try out for a sport or two. You still were a werewolf, after all. You always have and you always will be. You could use that to your advantage in more ways than one.

Train tickets weren't that expensive. At least you hoped they weren't. You just might be lucky enough to afford one with all the money you had saved up over the years. Yeah, maybe you could just leave. Go somewhere else where you couldn't get your heart broken again. Where you wouldn't have a father trying to kill your friends. Where you wouldn't have supernatural friends with weird powers that you were sure you didn't want a part in anymore. A one-way trip to paradise. To liberation. To freedom.

"Y/N!" A chorus of voices shouting your name broke you from your reverie. You slowly stood up once more and looked up to see Allison and Lydia. You didn't bother to dwell too much on their expressions, for you already knew what was yet to come. "Stiles is—"

"Yeah, I know." Your voice cracked, brushing past them and going back down the stairs. Avoiding the living room, where Scott, Isaac, and the decaying corpse of your lover most likely still remained, you exited through the back door. The second your sneaker-clad feet touched concrete, you bolted without so much of a second look behind you.

Goodbye Scott.

Goodbye Isaac.

Goodbye Lydia.

Goodbye Allison.

And most importantly, goodbye Stiles.

I love you all.