Stiles is a Winchester

Chapter XIV

This pains me but I realized I've been writing this for 4 years now. That's embarrassing; so I'll be trying to write more now. I think I'm "struggling" with mental stuff, but I don't want to say I actually am because I might just be extremely stressed and I don't like feeling like im self diagnosing lol.

The next day
Stiles POV

I don't know what's happening. I'm back from the dead, surrounded by people that want nothing to do with me. I also don't know why I'm even alive. I wish Castiel was the one to stay with me.

The room is dark. Its the middle of the night. I had another nightmare, but I guess this time I didn't wake up Sam and Dean.

I am, however, covered in sweat, which feels gross. The fabric of the blanket sticks to my bare legs when I push it off me, and my mouth tastes bad when I swallow. I creep into the bathroom and close the door quietly. The light casts a yellow tint over the bathroom.

If I didn't think it would wake Dean, I would take a shower. Instead, I splash water on my face and then rub it down my neck. I make eye contact with my reflection in the mirror; if I were to compare it with the photo that's still by the couch, I could count the differences.

In the photo I was happy. I wasn't smiling very big but I could tell. Now, looking in the mirror, I can see that I look way different: my eyes have purple circles underneath, and my skin is paler. Actually, it almost looks like my cheeks are sunken in if that's possible, but I might just be imagining it.

I hate to think about it, but I notice the similarities between Dean and me. Similar cheekbones and face shape, similar eyes. I wonder if Dean's noticed them too.

A thud sounded from the next room, and soon I heard Dean waking Sam up, and a few more sounds. Before I had the chance to see what was going on, the bathroom door slammed open to reveal a panicked—and really mad—Dean. The shock caused me to stumble back almost into the shower.

Upon seeing me, Dean visibly relaxed, letting his shoulders fall slightly and exhaling audibly. Instead of saying anything to me, he turned to Sam. "Never mind. He's here."

I breathe and collect myself, and I shuffle out the bathroom into the bedroom. Dean tosses his gun onto the bed and rubs his face, and Sam is sitting on his, probably not having gotten up yet.

"The sun has barely come up," said Sam. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

Dean continued to walk around the room, getting some clothes together as if I didn't exist. That's fine. I ignored him, too, and I went back to sitting on the couch.

No one talked after that.