Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles had felt this way for a while. He wasn't exactly sure when it had begun, but he knew it had gotten worse when Scott got bit and shit went down. Sometimes he wasn't sure what he was feeling, other times he was sure that whatever it was, he hated it – hated everything sometimes. Sometimes he felt completely numb and sometimes he cried and didn't even know why.

The catalyst was when he lost his friends, his support system and connection to the world even if they hadn't realized that's what they were for him. His father had gotten tired of him always being in danger, so he'd sent Stiles to New York. It was almost laughable, really, sending him away to a city that seemed to be plagued with alien attacks and who knows what else. The fight that had occurred between Stiles and his father over this had been huge and the Pack was too busy dealing with each new monster of the week to keep in touch with him outside of the occasional “how's things going?” to which he always responded with the appropriate response of “fine” or “a little boring without you but pretty cool” or something else that made it seem that he was normal, that nothing was wrong with him. Stiles was fine, he was totally fine. He had to be.

But no, it wasn't true no matter how many times he told himself the lie. Stiles felt even more alone now and he wasn't sure what to do about that. He was in a strange city, living with a distant relative that he didn't know and who didn't really care about him or what he did, going to a school where he was even more isolated and alone than he had been in Beacon Hills, where he'd at least had Scott, and he just didn't know anymore. Ever increasingly he wished he couldn't feel anything, not the guilt, the pain, or even the numbness that came more and more often.

-

It was a Friday, after school, and instead of going 'home' Stiles walked without making a conscious decision of a destination. He ended up on a bridge. He honestly wasn't sure how he'd gotten there or where he was, just a random bridge over a rushing river in what seemed to be an isolated and mostly untrafficked area.

Stiles let his backpack drop beside him and leaned heavily against the barrier in front of him, crossing his arms and resting them there. He stared at the water below with a concentration that didn't carry over to his brain, which was going everywhere and nowhere at once. Stiles felt blank, empty. He felt guilty and broken inside and was tired of living with the thoughts inside of his mind.

It was a good fifty feet down to the water below. As he stared, Stiles contemplated the meaning of life, no lie. He honestly didn't see the point of much anymore. He wondered, if he was still in Beacon Hills would anyone have seen how he was feeling? As it was, Stiles felt completely transparent in his feelings, like it should be so obvious and the people around him should have noticed. Maybe they hadn't, it was possible he was a better actor than he'd given himself credit for. But maybe they had noticed and they just didn't care.

Stiles could hear the wind barreling around him, a loud harsh sound that consumed him. Without giving it any more thought other than a simple 'it'll finally be over', he climbed onto the barrier and jumped.

Stiles' mind was again going everywhere and nowhere at once. He felt free. He felt regret. He felt relief. He felt panic. He expected soon that he'd never have to feel anything again. It would finally be over.

But then Stiles wasn't falling anymore. The harsh sound of the wind had gotten even louder, but it wasn't the wind. It was apparently the sound Iron Man made when flying, Stiles distantly noted.

Meanwhile all he could think was that it was supposed to be over. He was wavering between confusion, while his brain tried to catch up with the situation, and anger that he'd been stopped, unable to complete his mission, accomplish the thing he wanted so badly.

When he finally settled on anger, Stiles began struggling. He fought to get out of the arms he was in. A superhero's arms who had no right to butt into his life like this. “Let go of me,” he shouted, “Let me go!” Stiles couldn't get out of the man's arms though. He was still struggling when they landed back on the bridge and he was finally let go. “What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?” Stiles screamed as he backed away from the superhero. It was so easy to latch onto his anger at someone else over anything else he was feeling.

“Kid, I'm not the one who just jumped off a bridge,” the superhero said as his face shield retracted to reveal the face of Tony Stark, “I should be asking you those questions, not the other way around.”

“It was supposed to be over! Everything finally would've been over,” Stiles realized there were tears streaming down his face as his voice broke the second time he said 'over'. He was trying so hard to keep his voice angry and not to break down sobbing. Stiles didn't think he was succeeding.

He was proven right when his knees gave out and the only thing that stopped him from falling to the ground was strong arms wrapping around him once again. Stiles' body wracked with sobs and he could feel the arms tightening around him. “There's always another way, kid,” was whispered to with quiet determination, “There's always another way. It will get better, but you can't give up. You have to keep fighting.”