Shadow [Stiles Stilinski Fanfic]

|Chapter 5|

*video on side*

|Chapter 5|

           

            "...iles! Stiles!" He heard a familiar voice shout. Everything felt hazy, almost like a dream. Was he dreaming? He wouldn't be surprised.

            "Please, Stiles," The voice begged. Wanting to know what was going on, Stiles opened his eyes, almost having a heart attack when he saw where he was.

            His back was slumped against the kitchen floor. He winced as he felt glass dig into his partially bare legs. It was still dark outside, giving the impression that he hadn't slept through the night. He glanced upwards, seeing Malia and his father perching above him, both looking extremely worried. It was only then that Stiles realized that he had a large, pointy knife in his hand, and it was pointing right above his stomach. He could feel the small poke of the acute blade easily through his thin shirt.

            "What happened?" He shuddered, dropping the knife. It pierced his ears like, well, a knife. His hands were shaking as he came to the realization that he could've died just then. He could of been dead.

            He couldn't breathe. His heart pounded fast in his chest, almost like a time bomb ready to explode any second. His vision became hazier by the second, and he felt like he was on one of those no gravity rides at an amusement park. He gasped for air unsuccessfully.

            "Hey, you're okay," Malia whispered, forehead meeting his. "Shh, just breathe with me." Meanwhile, his father held his shoulder firmly, yet oddly comfortingly. He did as he was taught to do: tried to match his breathing. He tried to focus. It rewarded him with the feeling of air going into his lungs for a split second.

            He wheezed, trying to get another breath in. He continued on, trying to just get as much air in as possible. Slower than he was hoping for, Stiles was able to take bigger, longer breaths, and his heart was no longer at rabbit pace. He sighed, head lolling against his father's shoulder. Panic attacks always took a lot out of him.

            "I--" He started, swallowing heavily, not sure what to ask. Tiredness was taking over already.

            "We'll talk about it later," his Dad told him. "Right now, you should try to get some sleep, kiddo."

            Stiles shook his head back and forth frantically. "No, no sleep, I can't. What if I try to hurt myself again, or someone else? What if I hurt you or Malia?"

            "It will be fine," Malia promised. "I'll watch over you. Remember, werecoyote here! Don't worry, you'll be safe. I will not leave you. Now come on, let's get upstairs."

            They both helped Stiles up onto his feet. He wobbled a little as he walked, but Malia's hand in his and his father walking behind him closely was enough to keep him upright until he arrived in his room. Then, he fell back onto his bed, curling up under the sheets. He glanced up at his girlfriend, and she looked warily at his father before climbing in with him.  He shivered, pulling her closer, not wanting to ever let go.

            "Thank you," Stiles whispered.

           

            It was true. When he woke up, Malia was still there with him. She wasn't sleeping, instead she was running her hands through his already messy hair. He smiled slightly, and Malia smiled back.

            "How long was I asleep for?" Stiles questioned her.

            She shrugged, "I'm not sure, seven hours, eight hours, somewhere around there. Did you have any nightmares?"