𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍
deep inside where nothing's fine, i've lost my mind

THE GROUP BURSTED through a door that entered into a huge and beautiful building. From the outside, it had looked rundown and small, but it was the completely opposite on the inside.

There, in the middle of the room, stood a man with a lot of glitter.

Luke groaned loudly at the action, laying his head on Stiles' shoulder seeing as the boy didn't trust anyone else to help carry the older man.

"What happened?" The guy asked, rushing towards them, his eyes landing on Luke's hurt and weak form, both confusion and concern flashing in his brown eyes.,

"He was attacked!" Simon and Stiles exclaimed in sync.

The guy — Magnus Bane — glanced up at Stiles with curious brown eyes before putting all of his attention back onto Luke.

"He needs a warlock!" Clary exclaimed, her voice more high-pitched than usual because of the panic she feels. She looked at Magnus with wide, desperate filled green eyes.

Those green eyes reminded Stiles of Lydia Martin who he once had a huge crush on, but he had gotten to know her this past year and a half, and soon didn't feel anything for her other than friendship. Now, even though he is bisexual, he has a preference for boys.

"Put him here," Magnus' voice snapped Stiles out of his thoughts, the older man throwing a white sheet over the couch.

Clary and Stiles both pushed forests and gently laid Luke down on the fancy looking couch.

"Luke," Clary whispered as she bent down beside him, gripping his hand softly in here.

"I can't find you," Luke murmured in his unconscious state, moving his head back and forth as if he was searching for something.

"Luke..." Clary trailed off as Stiles stepped back, the reality of the situation hitting him.

He was buying his lip and drumming his fingers on his thigh. It was a nervous habit he has had for years, and he was sure as hell more than nervous right now. He was scared, nervous, confused, and tired.

"I can't find you. Where are... where are you? Where are you!?" Clary tried shushing Luke, but it didn't work. "Jocelyn! Jocelyn!"

"Luke?" Stiles questioned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Why was he acting this way? Why was his werewolf different? Why is everything so weird in New York? Is it always like this? Oh god, he rubbed his face, stress could be seen even a mile away.

"Where are you?" Luke asked loudly, his voice cracking. "I missed you. I've been waiting for you. Why? Tell me how to get you back." He paused a few seconds, his breathing picking up. "I can't. To save you? Jocelyn! Wait!" He started panting. "Jocelyn!" He jerked upwards, his dark brown eyes landing on Clary's form. "Jocelyn..."

The young redhead sadly shook her head. "No, Luke, it's Clary. Can you hear me?"

"Clary, listen to me," He spoke, his voice growing weaker. "Listen... You have to listen to me. I have to tell you, just in case..."

"No, don't even say it, don't." Clary shook her head, tears coming to her green eyes.

"No, listen to me."

"Luke."

"No, you need to know! Listen..." He trailed off, as Magnus looked at them with serious brown eyes. Brown eyes that reminded Stiles of Scott.

The Stilinski boy mentally slapped himself for thinking about him. But what else was hd suppose to do? All his life, he had known Scott and the McCall boy had always been there for him. Well, until now. Until Stiles screwed up. Until he ruined everything.

"Was he bitten by an alpha!?" Magnus asked, his brows furrowed together as he looked between Clary and Stiles.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles nodded his head, a strand of hair falling in forth of his widened eyes. His leg was bouncing up and down in a rapid motion. He so didn't want to lose another father figure.

When Noah Stilinski was going through a rough patch after his wife — Stiles' mother — passed away, he had sent Stiles to New York with Luke, Jocelyn, and Clary. After that, Stiles hadn't seen them, only talked to them over the phone but since everything has been hectic in Beacon Hills lately, he hasn't had the time to call or text any of them. So, technically been like a full year since any of them properly talked.

"Three, two, one..." Magnus counted down, looking at Luke, his hands on either side of the darker man's head.

Just them, the older man shot up, growling loudly with glowing green eyes.

Stiles' thought back to the other werewolves that had them cornered — they had green eyes too. Why were they green though? He has never seen them with green eyes before, especially ones that look like fireflies. What does that mean? How were they different than the ones in Beacon Hills? The green has to stand for something... right?

"Oh, my God," Clary gasped, backing up into Stiles who automatically wrapped his arms around her. He wanted to reassure her that everything was going to be alright. But, at this point, he didn't know if he was reassuring her or himself. Maybe both.

"Where do you think you're going?" Stiles looked up from a groaning Luke to find Magnus walking away.

"Hold him down!" Magnus exclaimed before reappearing with with a bowl with something in it.

Stiles flailed his arms around before trying to tried hold the in-pain-werwolf with his noodle-like arms.

"We don't have a lot of time. It'll take a few moments to take effect," Magnus explained to us, forcing something square in Luke's mouth. It was probably something he could bite down on for the pain.

"What's happening to him?" Stiles asked, letting go of Luke to flail his arms around in a wild manner.

"Random werewolf transformation. It's a side effect of the poison in the alpha bite," he explained with a panicked look on is face, looking down at Clary to find her trying to keep herself together.

After a while of Luke calming down, they all just stood around and looked worried.

"You okay?" Clary nodded her head, looking down at Luke with pained eyes.

Stiles sat down, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to calm himself. blocking out their voices. Seeing Luke like this, like he's going to die any second, it just reminded him of his own father.

Stiles saw him.

He was laying there in a pile of his own blood. A bite mark on his neck. Blood seeping from the wound on the back of his head.

There he laid. In a pile of his own blood, choking, wheezing, gasping for some more air. Just one more breath. That's all it took as Stiles held him in his arms, covered in his own father's blood. Hands shaking, pleading with him to just end it all right then and there. His eyes watering, the salty water dripping from his caramel eyes onto his father's dead body.

One last breath.

That's all it took.

"Stiles?" A shake on his shoulder pushed Stiles out of the memory of seeing his father's lifeless body. "Are you okay, Mischief?" It was Simon.

Stiles wiped his face once he realized that something was leaking from them. That 'something' was wet and salty. He could taste it in his mouth. Tears. He sniffed, wiping his arm across his face, using the sleeve of his flannel to wipe away the wet substance, as if it was never there in the first place.

Looking up through his blurry vision, there stood Simon in front of him with worried brown eyes.

Brown.

Brown eyes.

Every time Stiles see brown eyes, he thinks of the person who he trusted most who only stabbed him in the back in the end. Stiles was always there for him and everyone else, but once he actually needed him — needed them — they weren't there.

Isn't friendship suppose to be about the people who are always there for you? Well, he was always there for them so why weren't they there for him?

Is there something so wrong with I that people just keep wanting to get away from me? Am I some sort of disease that people want to get rid of?

Stiles got pushed out of his thoughts once again when the door to Magnus's place opened. Looking up, he noticed Jace first — the egomaniac. It was kinda funny that he figured him out so fast within only knowing him for a few short minutes. But, that was all because of the way he treated Clary and Alec.

Not only did it seem like he was way too obsessed with Clary, he also treated her like she fragile, like she needed saving, like she had to depend on him and no one else. And Alec — he treats him like crap, and seems to boss him around like he's some sort of slave.

So, because of that, Stiles wanted to get a rise out of him.

"Ooh, what happened to your face? Did your ego get in the way of your view and you ran into something?" Stiles asked and then clicked his fingers together. "You don't have to answer that. I already have the answer." He bit back a chuckle that built up in the back of his throat at the look he received from the blonde. "Okay," he sighed before turning around to occupy himself. There was no way that he was gonna be able to stay still any longer without crying, getting lost in his depressing thoughts or falling asleep.

You see, Stiles hasn't really slept much since coming from from his possession. But, his fathers death was like the cherry on top because now, he can't even close his eyes longer than five minutes without being plagued by the image of his dead father.

And not only twenty-four hours after his fathers death, the pack kicked him out. Like, who does that? He knows and understand what he did as the Nogitsune; he killed people, he hurt people. He tortured some and taunted other. He killed Allison for fuck's sake. He understands what he did and that he deserves to play for it. But, his father did not deserve that. He did not deserve to suffer and let his son see him right before he died. He didn't deserve any of that pain.

He didn't deserve to have a son like me — Stiles thought.

The Stilinski cleared his throat as he felt like hd was either about to pass out or cry himself a river. A literal river of tears. That is how much he wants to cry.

No, scratch that. He didn't want to cry anymore, he's done enough of that already. He wants to end everything. He doesn't want to feel anymore. He just wants the pain gone.

I just want everything to go back to normal! To the way it was suppose to be! I wasn't meant to be in this world.

Stiles shook his head, hands flying to his hair, tugging desperately as he tried o rein in his emotions and thought. His hair was greasy and he definitely didn't smell clean.

It was as if he hasn't taken a shower in weeks.

Which was kind of close to the truth. He hasn't been able to take care of himself as much as he should. Of course, he doesn't starve himself but he could eat more. He takes showers, but maybe not as often as he should.

But could you really blame him? He's been through so much.

He used to be this overly energetic kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut and went to a boy who was too afraid to fall asleep or even speak his mind anymore.

Why did this life have to be forced on me? Why did it choose me to lose everything?

He lost his mom, dad, his mind, any friends he had and his pack. He had literally lost everything that he held dearly to him. Except for Clary, Simon, and possibly Luke, you know, if he doesn't die from the alpha bite.

Ugh! Why did everything have to happen to me?

"Mischief?"

He looked up, getting out of his thoughts, barley noticing Jace and Simon leaving the room.

Her heart breaking at the sight of her vision, she pulled him into her arm, and crushed him in one of her gentle but reassuring hugs.

This was how she helps with his panic attacks without making anything worse.

He sniffles into her hair, not able to hold himself back as he cried.

Wrapping his arms around her, he looked straight at Luke's unconscious form to find Magnus doing some sort of magic or something — whatever Warlocks do.

"Everything is going to be okay, Mischief."

Is it really?