Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4450889.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Original_Male_Character(s), Lydia_Martin/Stiles
      Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Original_Male_Character(s), Scott_McCall, Lydia_Martin,
      Isaac_Lahey, Kira_Yukimura, Sheriff_Stilinski, Melissa_McCall, Derek
      Hale, Peter_Hale, Alan_Deaton, Danny_Mahealani
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt_Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Kidnapping, Kidnapped
      Stiles, Post-Nogitsune_Stiles_Stilinski, Post-Season/Series_03_Finale,
      Dead_Allison_Argent, Malia_Doesn't_Exist, Stiles_Stilinski_Self-Harms,
      Claudia_Stilinski_Memories, Sheriff_Stilinski_Feels, Protective_Scott
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-29 Chapters: 1/? Words: 2191
****** Lay Me Down ******
by bluegingham
Summary
     Everything changes after the Nogitsune terrorized Beacon Hills.
     Stiles can't forgive himself, Lydia mourns her best friend and Scott
     tries to hold the pieces together.
     To make matters worse, a dangerous human is now obsessed with Stiles
     and will do anything to make him his own.
     Many triggers, please read with caution.
Notes
     After thinking over the concept and logistics for months, I have
     finally translated this fic into words and I'm very excited to keep
     going!
     Please let me know what you think :)
“Come on, it’ll make you feel better to get out and see people,” Scott said
tossing one of Stiles’ favorite plaid shirts at him playfully.
The shirt landed on his chest as Stiles stared disinterestedly out his bedroom
window.
It had been two months since they finally expelled the Nogitsune from his body.
Two months since he was forced to hurt his friends mentally and physically. Two
months since Allison died in Scott’s arms.
Things did not go back to normal right away like some TV sitcom. There were
many loose ends to attend to. Allison’s funeral was one of them. Almost the
entire town showed up at The Beacon Hills Cemetery to say goodbye. Stiles
tried, but he couldn’t get himself out the door. He couldn’t look Chris Argent
in the face knowing that it was his fault his daughter was dead, at least in
his mind. He couldn’t look at anyone. Scott, Lydia, his father. There was too
much guilt there.
It was guilt that led him to attempt to hang himself from his ceiling fan with
a leather belt. The Sheriff found him before he could kick the chair away. Ten
minutes later and he would have been faced with a dead son instead.
Not wanting to put him back in Eichen House for obvious reasons, they opted for
a facility in Fresno that specialized in trauma. They even took the Stilinski’s
insurance. Stiles spent two weeks in the brightly lit hospital attending group
therapy, private therapy and sitting out in the gardens surrounded by
intimidating walls all while wearing pajamas. However, it wasn’t as if he could
be completely honest with them in his treatment. Telling the truth would only
earn him a lifetime in the nut house.
He left two weeks later with a prescription for an antidepressant he couldn’t
pronounce and an appointment with a therapist in Beacon Hills. Stiles felt
better than he had when he was first admitted, but nowhere close to his former
self.
Now it was the weekend before he would return to school. Danny was throwing a
party to celebrate the beginning of lacrosse season. In truth it was Scott’s
idea, but he decided Stiles didn’t need to know that detail. It was the perfect
excuse to get him out of the house. It was no secret he was avoiding his
friends.
“Scott, please…” Stiles begged, still gazing out the window.
With a sigh, Scott planted himself on the end of Stiles’ bed and stared him
down.
“You know none of this is your fault right?” Scott started with the whole true
alpha sincerity.
Stiles ignored him and started playing with a loose piece of thread on his
comforter.
“You were a victim Stiles. You didn’t ask for this to happen and nothing could
have prevented it,” Scott urged.
“I know Scott, I know,” Stiles rasped with a sigh as he closed his eyes in
fatigue.
Scott was repeating a mantra similar to that of his therapists. They all wanted
him to understand that he was as much a victim as anyone else. He saw one of
his friends die in front of him. But all he saw was his doppelgänger’s henchmen
killing his best friend’s high school sweetheart.
“So come with me,” Scott said, putting a hand of support on his best friend’s
leg.
Stiles pulled his leg away. He instantly regretted it, knowing he was pushing
his friend away at a rapid pace.
Scott ignored his body language.
“Everyone misses you! Lydia, Kira, even Derek keeps bringing you up,” Scott
encouraged. “And the whole team is going to be there tonight. And food! You
love food! And drinks and-”
“Scott, SHUT UP!” Stiles exploded.
Scott looked like someone slapped him across the face.
“I don’t want to go to the party and I don’t want to see anyone. I just want to
be left alone! Why don’t you guys get it?” said Stiles with a feral intensity
in his eyes that Scott didn’t like at all.
“Okay,” Scott said bluntly, getting up from the bed. “Fine.”
He went to walk out the door, but stopped with a thought.
“You know what…” Scott started, seemingly at a loss for words.
“What?” Stiles uttered coldy.
With that Scott just shook his head and left, slamming the door behind him.
Stiles froze and heard his friend go downstairs and slam the front door. The
sound of a motorbike signaled Scott’s departure off into the night.
Though teary, Stiles’ did not fully submit to his emotions. More than anything
he just wanted to scream and cry, prove to himself that he was still alive,
still human. Instead he remained stoic.
Shower, he thought to himself as a solution.
He had been showering more than usual since he got home. He would let the
boiling hot water shoot down at him at full pressure. By the time he was done
he was red and raw.
Stiles made his way to the bathroom. His Dad returned to work a couple days ago
and the house was eerily quiet. It reminded him of how it was right after his
Mom passed. The house sounds were suddenly gone. No running water, no dishes
clinking, no stairs creaking. At least not as much. There was just
uncomfortable silence that he had to face alone.
Once inside the small space he shared with his father, he locked the door. It
was a ritual he did ever since he saw Psycho when he was 10. While he didn’t
exactly find Norman Bates dressing up like his dead mother that intimidating
anymore, he still never felt safe without it secured. However, now he knew
first hand that locks couldn’t keep everything out. Actually, they couldn’t
keep anything out in Beacon Hills. That’s why he had a bag of mountain ash in
his room. He asked Deaton for some after he got back from Fresno and the vet
happily obliged. Kanimas, evil Alphas and nogitsunes, he wanted them all to
stay the hell away from him. But as always he was faced with that binding
Catch-22; The only way for him to get away from the supernatural would be to
leave his friends behind. And despite everything, that was one thing he would
never do.
Borderline boiling water licked his skin as he turned the shower on and he
remained without flinching. He knew it was a form of self-harm. The orderlies
at the hospital always made sure the water in the showers were just above
lukewarm, but once they left him to his own devices he would just turn the
lever counterclockwise. Still, he didn’t do it to hurt himself necessarily.
When he was possessed he was always cold, no matter what. While some of his
memories were still stored away to maintain his sanity, others leaked out. What
he remembered was a surreal feeling of being and not being, almost like always
being at the cusp of falling under anesthesia. But there were times when the
monster made him fully conscious – like when he stabbed Scott. He also
maintained a connection even when they were two separate bodies. That’s what no
one understood. He had felt everything the nogitsune was feeling when it
committed mass murder in the hospital and at the police station. It was
unbearable anguish.
However, a logical side of Stiles remained fully intact. It was that side that
gave him the hope that going back to school would be just what he needed, what
they all needed. Sure he was scared, they all were. Scott could barely touch
Kira, Argent left town, Derek was MIA, and Lydia… well, Lydia was another
story. She was probably the one person who he actually wanted to talk to these
days. The only problem was she was avoiding him. Ever since the sacrifices a
bond had formed between them and they both knew it. He overheard Scott telling
Kira that the banshee could still feel his panic attacks when he woke up in the
middle of the night. But she hardly ever came around and he knew why. She was
afraid to look at him. Who could blame her after all the horrible things she
saw him do? He missed her, though. Too much.
When he finally switched the shower off, his skin was extremely red. Good, he
thought. The less I look like myself the better.
With nothing left to do with himself, he started to feel guilt. Scott had meant
well and he just tossed it back in his face. Stiles knew the party was being
thrown just for him, but the thought of being the center of attention send a
sharp pain to his heart. He didn’t know why he couldn’t have just put that into
words. He would have to apologize tomorrow. Yeah, that would do. But for the
time being, his bed seemed like a great idea. It only took him moments to fall
asleep.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The man lay perfectly still under the bed. Everything was going according to
plan. Once that friend left it was easy to quietly open the door and wait only
minutes before the boy stalked off to the bathroom.
He had everything he needed with him in his black duffel. All he needed now was
for the boy to go to bed. He’d thought about being in this very room so many
times, but nothing could have prepared him for the exhilaration he felt only an
hour or less away from finally touching his beloved.
The shower took longer than expected and he had to fight back the urge to sneak
out and get a glimpse of the boy he dreamed of for so long. But he had to
remain in control. It would all be worth it soon.
When he heard his pet return, dripping water onto his bedroom floor, his heart
fluttered. He was getting closer and closer. By the time the boy dropped onto
the bad he was hard. It was so close.
Now it was time for the mirror. He wasn’t quite sure where he picked up the
trick, but when he tilted the small mirror in his hand at the right angle he
could see that sweet, sweet boy lying on his side, eyes closed and in a deep
sleep.
The time was now.
Like a cat, he furtively rolled just the right distance to end up right beside
the bed. His muscles were cramped from being under that thing for an extended
time, but he would be getting plenty of exercise soon to relieve the aches.
He quietly dragged the black duffel bag from beneath the full bed. The most
important ingredient for tonight’s success was securely wrapped multiple times
in saran wrap and plastic bags. Chloroform. Not many people knew how to use it
correctly. In movies and T.V, the criminals that used the chemical had no sense
of measurement. But he had everything planned out just right. He didn’t want to
kill his own pet after all. After unwrapping it he grabbed the fresh washcloth
and poured just the right amount on it. Even his fingers were tingling in
excitement. He couldn’t even imagine how exciting this would be without the
necessary chemical. Soon, he thought.
This was it. He carefully placed the cloth just inches away from the boy’s
mouth. With perfect timing, the boy drew a breath and became a tiny bit more
still. He was sure enough that it worked to test it.
He gave the boy a light shake and to his joy the boy remained in a deep, deep
sleep. He could have jumped with glee, but he refrained. There was so much to
be done.
First he undressed himself and folded him clothes right on top of his bag. Then
he could finally undress the boy. It was easy enough. He was wearing a thin t-
shirt and blue pajama bottoms. He slid them off as well as the boxers hugging
his hips. He nearly came in the excitement of finally seeing what lay beneath
his pet’s clothes. The man stroked the boy’s member a few times before fiercely
making out with his sleep-ridden face. When he was through he rolled the boy
onto his stomach.
His behind was absolutely perfect and spotted with a couple of truly adorable
moles. It was going to be harder for him to control himself than he thought.
Spreading the boy’s cheeks every so slightly, he stole a look at his hole. He
didn’t even need to put a finger inside to know he was perfectly tight and
untouched, but he did anyway. The man’s erection was getting worse. He needed
to get things started.
The last ingredient was the lube. He didn’t want his precious, precious boy to
wake up in too much pain. That and he might get suspicious. However, the man
was sure the boy would be more suspect of the typical supernatural madness that
surrounded him than an ordinary man.
When he worked the lube well enough in his hole with a couple of fingers, he
smiled. It was time to fully enter his beloved.
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