Hello everybody, this is my very first attempt at a fanfic thing so I apologize if I completely suck at it. I have been addicted to Sterek though, so I figured why the hell not. If this sounds like a cliché kinda situation I apoligize. Whatevs though. Please please please please Review AND Comment! I would like to know how to actually write fanfic!

Stiles' eyes jolted open after yet another quickly vanishing nightmare. His sheets were damp with sweat, and there was no other sound save for the wind rustling through the trees outside, his racing heart, and his panting. Rolling onto his side, he gazed at his alarm clock on his desk.

4:00am…

Fuck…

Stiles turned again trying to find a comfortable position, only to find it as uncomfortable as the first. Sighing in exasperation he threw his comforter off his still sweaty body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands. Today is going to be yet another long ass day…he thought to himself. Getting up from his bed, Stiles stalked off to the bathroom down the hall, closing the door before he flicked on the light. He stood over the toilet, relieving himself, before he turned to the sink. Turning on the water to a scalding temperature, he began to scrub his hands, letting the water sear his mind into focus.

Only when his hands and fingers were raw, red, and throbbing did he cool the water down, and splash his face, wincing as the water stung his still bruised cheek. Ugh… that fucker. Gerard Argent's face flashed across his memory, and his cheek throbbed in remembrance of being beaten by the old man.

Stiles sighed. The memory served to stir something from his nightmare back to mind. Something about running through the woods, trying to find something while being chased by something else. Stiles had no idea why, but whatever he was looking for in the woods seemed direly important—so important that he was willing to risk his safety to get to it… regardless of what chased him.

Just let it go…It's not worth dwelling over, Stiles thought. He looked in the mirror, his eyes trailing over the bruised cheek, chapped lips, pale skin, and dull eyes. The violet shadows under his eyes were becoming more prominent with each passing day. It had been two weeks since Gerard's disappearance, two weeks since Jackson ceased to be the Kanima, and two weeks since everything returned to "normal".

That's the thing, Stiles chuckled to himself. Everything is normal for everyone else… all except for me. Allison decided that she couldn't be without Scott, so the happy couple was now back to being attached at the hip. Lydia reverted back to pretending Stiles didn't exist, and was now on Allison's level with Jackson. Jackson was thrilled about being a werewolf, and unfortunately sought every opportunity to make his abilities known to Stiles. Then there was Derek, who was being…well Derek.

Derek had been avoiding the group of teens, hiding out in his burnt out shell of a house with Isaac as his only companion. He was upset about Erica and Boyd leaving, but hell, there was nothing anyone could have done about that.

Stiles was surprised to find himself a bit angered that Isaac was alone with Derek, probably being able to be let in on secrets, getting praised for the fight against Gerard and the Kanima, being in Derek's presence.

Derek… Stiles pictured those hazel eyes, the obsidian black hair, the strong jaw, broad shoulders…Derek…He inhaled deeply. Derek was someone completely foreign to Stiles, and he had no idea why. Not that Derek would give him the time of day. Stiles looked back at himself in the mirror. Why would anyone give me the time of day? There's nothing special about me. Hell I got the shit kicked out of me by a seventy-year-old man… I'm weak…incompetent…ugly…weak...stupid…clumsy…weak…sk inny…useless…human…weak...
imperfect...

The negative stream of thoughts familiarly fluttered through his head with ferocity. No one would give him the time of day. He didn't deserve it. He was unworthy of it. Obviously that was why no one bothered to find him when Gerard took him. Obviously that was why he didn't exist to anyone…Not to Scott, not to his friends…Not to Derek.

Stiles could feel the tears building. Before they could spill over he slapped himself on his good cheek. Immediately, he left the bathroom and crept back to his room, avoiding the creaky floorboards so he wouldn't wake his dad. He needed his usual distraction. Stiles lumbered over to his desk finding the familiar small box next to his computer. The moonlight that had glimmered through the window provided more than enough light to allow him to see. Lifting the lid of the box, Stiles spied the object of his desire.

It looked so beautiful—beautiful and delightfully threatening. The glinting object could offer him his release. Gripping the razor gingerly in his hand, Stiles inhaled, and brought the blade to his bare ribcage.

P…

The pain seared wonderfully as Stiles carved the first letter into the flesh of his side. Blood began to trickle down, and with it Stiles could feel his self-loathing flow with it.

E…

The pain grew more intense.

R…

Stiles whimpered in agony as he dug deeper and deeper into his flesh with every slice of each letter, but he didn't dare stop. The relief was so far beyond worth the minor pain.

F…

E…

Stiles dug deeper. Holy fuck this hurts. This wasn't the first time Stiles had cut, but before it was only one or two minor scratches. Stiles had never even drawn blood with his previous attempts. He never had reason too. Now, however, Stiles had to prove to himself that he could take pain. That he could forget about being forgotten each and every day of his miserable life. He had to scar perfection into his flesh, so that maybe one day, he actually would be perfect for someone…anyone… Not the worthless shell he is now.

C…

T…

Stiles let the blade fall from his hand, and inhaled deeply. Blood trickled down his side in multiple tides. Crimson forked the right half of his torso, staining his briefs and dripping onto the floor. Shit, now I have to clean that up.

He stalked angrily to the bathroom, returning after a quick rummage in the cabinet under the sink, bringing back his first aid kit, some paper towels, and some all-purpose cleaner.

After he had patched himself up with some gauze and bandages, and the blood was clean from the floor, Stiles collapsed on his bed. Maybe things will be different today…Maybe I will matter. Who was Stiles kidding? Nothing would change. He was sure of that. Lydia was gone, Scott was gone, and Derek was gone… Derek…Derek…

Stiles couldn't get the werewolf out of his head. Sure he had been attracted to other guys before like Danny, and of course there was Lydia. Stiles had even had a thing for Scott for the earlier part of their childhood. But Derek… He was something completely intriguing to Stiles—something intriguing and off-limits.

Stiles crawled under his sheets, and sighed. Derek could never, and would never want someone like me. No one could. Not until I'm perfect.

With that last thought, Stiles gripped the bandages on his side, and slowly turned over wincing as they stung. He began to hum the familiar lullaby that his mother used to sing to him as he prepared to wait out the rest of the night.