Sterek Oneshots

I'm Not Pack

Stiles Stilinski acts like he's okay. Like the fact the pack does stuff without him doesn't bother him. Except it does. It bothers the hell out of him. He has trouble sleeping and he's been religiously taking his Adderall in an effort to stop being so spastic. He stops talking as much until he barely talks at all. After awhile, the pack seems to notice.

Warning: mentions of a suicide attempt.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

*Stiles' POV*

"So... it's a god? In Beacon Hills?" Jackson asks. "That's why people are spilling the truth to everyone? Why people are killing themselves and each other?"

I nod in reply.

"Why hasn't everyone been infected?" Lydia asks.

I shrug.

"Are you ever going to talk?" Derek asks rudely. I avert my gaze to the ground. "You haven't said a word all meeting."

"Now that I think about it, you haven't said a word all week," Scott pipes up.

I roll my eyes and huff. I get to my feet and start towards the front door.

"Stiles, sit down," Derek demands.

I let out an indignant scoff and continue forwards.

"Stiles, what are you doing? Where are you going?" Lydia asks softly.

She probably thinks since I had a crush on her that I would listen to her.

I don't answer. Instead, I place my hand on the doorknob.

"Stiles, wait!" Scott pleads. "There's something--"

The rest gets cut off by a loud bang.

•••

I wake up in a basement, hands tied in the air. Rope dangling from the ceiling is wrapped around my wrists tightly and my shoulders ache like hell. My feet are off the ground, just hanging in the air.

I take in my surroundings: six pillars of stone are in front of me. Each holds a member of the pack: Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Scott, and Derek. Derek and Scott are in front of me, Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac to the left of Scott, Erica and Boyd to the right of Derek.

All of them are incapacitated. I glance around the room, looking for anyone else. There's nobody.

I struggle with the rope, tugging on it uselessly. It rubs my wrists, chafing the skin underneath. I start to panic, knowing that death is inevitable. My breathing speeds up and my vision turns blurry.

I struggle for breath, pulling on the rope even harder now.

"Stiles! Stiles!" Scott shouts. "Breathe! Come on, look at me. In... out. In... out." I follow his instructions, desperately searching for air. We continue with this for a couple minutes until I can breathe properly. I groan, blinking away the tears. "Stiles, are you okay?"

I nod furiously in reply.

"Oh, good!" A lady exclaims. "You're awake!"

"Let him go," Derek growls out.

I grab onto the rope above me with both of my hands and try to spin myself to face her. I catch sight of her clothing and groan in frustration. Roman. Of course the goddess of truth would want to capture a pack of werewolves before they could figure out a way to kill her.

We weren't that far into the meeting, meaning I'm the only one who knows how to kill her. This won't end well.

"Now why would I want to do that?" She asks, gripping my waist and turning me to face the werewolves once again. She keeps her hands on my waist, peering at me from behind. "He looks like he has some juicy truths. No doubt from running with wolves. I suppose I have you to thank for that."