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Stiles woke up with a loud scream, sitting up unconsciously and breathing heavily. He was covered in a cold sweat, his hands were shaking, and the shivering was slowly spreading throughout his body, making his breathing harder and more labored. The blanket on his legs felt too heavy, and the sheet under his palms was too wrinkled and damp, making him feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic. He leaned forward, trying to steady his breathing, but the sensations were too strong, not allowing him to calm down. He wanted to crawl out of his skin to wash away all this sweat and nightmare, but he couldn't move; his mind was becoming a fog. Now he could only hear his breathing, the noise of which was beginning to irritate him.
It seemed like an eternity had passed when Stiles began to feel something else. The fabric of the sheet, which he was clutching tightly. A warm hand slowly stroking his back. His father's voice whispering something. Stiles clung to anything that could bring him back to reality. His body was still trembling, but his breathing and heartbeat were getting calmer.
The boy turned his head slightly to hear his father's voice, who was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. Noticing his son's movement and calmer breathing, Noah pulled him to his chest. “It's okay, I've got you.” He whispered, gently running his fingers through Stiles' hair.
“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to wake you.” Stiles said in a tired and guilty voice, trying to relax in his father's arms.
“You don't need to apologize, it's just a nightmare, it's not your fault.” The sheriff's voice is careful and soft, and the boy buries himself in his father's arms, needing comfort and safety. His body is still shaking, and he feels like he's about to break down.
The nightmares were constant. Every night he would wake up screaming, and every night his father would come to him to comfort him, making Stiles feel ashamed and guilty. His father gives everything he has for him, has taken out loans and now works harder to pay them off, and he tries to spend almost all his free time with his son because he is afraid he will miss something again, something that will break Stiles even more, and he can't be normal and give his father a break even at night.
Stiles feels his eyes slowly start to get wet, and he tries his best to hold back a sob. He is so tired of this. He is so tired of feeling like a burden to everyone. Now Stiles is not going back to school; he is ignoring his friends who initially tried to reach out to him and convince him that everything is fine.
But everything is not okay.
Alison is dead.
So many people died because of him. Because he was so weak and couldn't resist the demon that possessed him.
Every night, he hears Lydia crying for Alison.
Every night, he dreams about Scott hating him and kicking him out of the pack.
Every night, he dreams about how Chris Argent wants to kill him.
Every night he dreams about all the people who died at his hands, Nogitsune.
Every night, he dreams of Nogitsune coming back and killing his father and the people he loves.
Every night, when he wakes up, he wants to die.
Every second he thinks that he is still in his mind, waiting for the right moment to return.
Stiles begins to speak softly against his dad's shoulder, his voice trembling. “I... I can't shake the feeling that he's still out there, Dad. Watching. Waiting. Like a shadow that will come out when the light comes.” He hugs his father tighter.
The sheriff begins to slowly rock Stiles like a small child. “He's not coming back. We won, we locked him in a box.”
Stiles wants to believe this, but trauma and fear make it hard. “What if... what if we missed something? What if he finds a way back?”
“Then we'll find a way to defeat him again, too, for good. I won't let him take you away from me again,” the sheriff says firmly with a tinge of protection.
The boy tries to hold on to his father's confidence, but a tear still slides down his cheek: “I just want to be... normal again. To be able to sleep without waking up to something terrible.” His voice cracks with repressed emotion.
Noah sighs softly; it hurts him to see his restless son so broken and fragile, as if he is going to fall apart in his hands and he will not be able to put him back together. “Let's be honest, you were never normal,” the sheriff says, smiling slightly, trying to lighten the mood a little.
His dad's words make him smile lightly and moistly. “You're the most normal thing in my life, Dad.”
The sheriff smiles and whispers. “I'm so sorry I couldn't save you from this madness, that I can't take all this weight off your shoulders.”
“I should have been better, stronger...” He shakes his head, feeling the tears start to slowly flow down his cheeks. “I'm sorry, I just don't know how to be strong all the time.” Stiles says, burying his face in his dad's chest, breathing in his scent.
“You don't have to be strong all the time, you're just a... A child. A human being. It's okay to be vulnerable and feel like you need help and support... Strength is not always about being unwavering. It's about getting up, even when it seems like you can't move anymore. Just know that I will always be there for you, and we will get through this together. I will never leave you.” Noah rested his chin on his son's head.
“I just feel... broken. Like something in me is damaged forever.” His voice is barely above a whisper, a sob escaping his lips.
“Shhh, it's okay,” the sheriff says, kissing his son softly on the head, rocking him in his strong arms as he cries incessantly. “We'll get through this. Everything will be fine. I love you, son.”
He easily lifts his tearful and red eyes to his father, his gaze full of unspoken questions and uncertainty. “Why don't you hate me? You should hate me. You should be angry with me for always getting into trouble, for always being a burden, for being weak.” He stops talking, his thoughts spinning in his head. “I killed people. I'm a monster.”
The sheriff frowns: “You're not a burden, and above all, you're my son. I had bigger problems than a pubescent teenager who pokes his nose in everywhere he shouldn't and doesn't listen to me. And ” He stumbled over his next words.” You're not a monster. It's not your fault. You were under the control of the bastard who did it, you didn't do it, he did. You tried to fight back, you helped stop the madness, you're sorry that people died, that's what makes you different from him.”
He buries himself in his arms again, burying his face in his father's chest. He wants to believe these words; he really does, but he can't. The overwhelming feeling of enormous guilt and the blood on his hands (even though there is no blood on this new body) makes him feel miserable, useless, and never deserving of forgiveness. He doesn't deserve to live when so many people have died. He doesn't deserve Scott and Lydia after Alison died. He doesn't deserve his father. Stiles' voice is muffled but unemotional: “You'd be better off without me...”
The sheriff's body tenses, and his heart skips a beat at his son's words. It seemed to him that something inside him was also broken to the point where it would be impossible to fix. “Don't say that. Don't ever say it or think it, do you understand?” His voice is firm but trembling: “You are all I have, and I don't know what I would do without you. I know I haven't been the best father since your mother died, but I will burn the world for you if I have to. You're my son. I am your father. I will always take care of you and love you, no matter what. Do you know what scared me the most in all of this? Not the deaths of people or the chaos that was happening, but the fact that I would lose you. Forever. That I would never be able to talk to you, hug you, hear your laugh... To tell you how much I love you and how proud I am of you.” Tears stream down Noah's cheeks, and he pulls Stiles closer to him, resting his head on top of his head, wanting to never let go of him again.
“I know it's not going to be easy to fix this, but we're going to try to do it. I will always be there for you, okay? No matter what, I'll be here, and I want you to stay with me, too.”
Stiles doesn't answer, his lower lip trembling as his dad's words cut deep into him. His body begins to shake, too, and he doesn't know if it's from emotional exhaustion or from the cold that permeates his nightmare-sweaty body. The sheriff senses the trembling and throws a blanket over his son's shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly. Stiles's arms tighten around his father, as if he is afraid that he will disappear if he lets go. He feels an overwhelming desire to stay in his father's arms forever, safe from the world and its horrors, while at the same time feeling unworthy of such unconditional love and understanding. “Dad?” He sniffles, his voice hushed against his father's chest.
“Yes?”
“Can I... Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Please?” he asks in a quiet and uncertain voice, hating how childish he sounds but unable to do anything about it. He needs closeness—the security that his father's presence brings. He needs to feel protected, to feel whole again.
“Yes, of course,” Noah answers without hesitation. He had no desire to leave his son alone on this terrible night, especially when he had opened up to him so much, so when Stiles suggested it, the sheriff even breathed a sigh of relief.
Stiles buries his face in his father's chest, and he feels strong arms wrap around him, holding him close as they sit in the silence of the night. “I love you too, Dad... You're all I have, too.”