It was never in Stiles’ plan to acquire power. He was not a hero. He was the sidekick, the best friend, the one being rescued when he wanted to help. The one nobody remembers because he’s here in the middle. Not the problem nor the solution, just the state in between, the one letting the hero have time to come.
So when he started to have those feelings, he really didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as if he knew what to do, or even what IT was. Just that it was here and he couldn’t escape it. So he did what he does best and research the hell out of it. And after three nights and days (thank god he had finished high school and didn’t have classes!), he came to a conclusion. Simple, evident, but oh so complex: empathy. All those things he was feeling weren’t his own but others emotions, feelings, moods.
Now, one would think that it’s not that bad of a thing. He can sense when you are angry? So what? But multiply this by hundreds of minds, all the people he knew, and you get a hell of a headache.
And if he thought that his pack of werewolves would be of any help, he was strongly mistaken. Scott didn’t believe him, accusing him of wanting attention, never even questioning why he would need to seek attention. The others, the few who believed him, were afraid of him. Feelings are intimate, personal. Knowing someone have access to them is terrifying. Especially when you spend your time only saying half-truths.
The solution came from an (un)expected source. Not that unexpected, except for Scott maybe. Derek had a long time ago became the older sibling Stiles didn’t have, the sibling Scott wasn’t anymore. So Derek believed Stiles and he never once expressed fear. Because feelings are things he had problem expressing. So having someone knowing it without talking? It was heaven for him. That someone being Stiles, the person he has the most confidence in, the one he trusts above all? Even better! If it weren’t for those headaches he couldn’t help with. Or those overwhelming feelings his brother was experiencing. So he tried to find a solution. Looked everywhere, asked Stiles again and again what it felt like. Only for the solution to present itself.
They were at the station, Derek finishing his service, Stiles here for diner with his dad, waiting for him to come eat with them. The look of pain on Stiles’ face was unbearable. But when the new deputy, a gorgeous woman, extremely competent but so talkative, appeared and collided with Stiles, they discovered the exception. She apologized, Stiles doing the same. Then she parted ways, red on the face while Stiles came to Derek, embarrassed and telling him how he couldn’t believe he made a fool of himself and that she probably wouldn’t ever talk to him after that.
The thing was, Derek heard her clearly, thanks to his werewolf hearing, asking who the gorgeous young man was and if someone could give her his number. On one hand, he had an empath complaining about never seeing a girl again and the same girl saying she was gonna tap that (too many details about his “little brother”, thank you very much!) on the other hand. Something wasn’t right here. So he observed. And after two weeks, he had that solution. Stiles was overwhelmed by the feelings of people he was connected to. But the one he wasn’t? It was tolerable. Like a buzzing under his skin.
So they discussed it, tried things and ended up deciding to get Stiles somewhere he didn’t know enough people to be overwhelmed. So New York it was, house of superheroes and former home of Derek, who was coming too, agreeing with the sheriff about being needed there.
And if the pack didn’t even know of it because they never tried to contact him in two whole months? Their loss. They packed and went to the city, finding a flat and settling in. It took two years for Beacon Hills to need Derek again. Two years of peace for him and Stiles. So they took a plane and went. And in three weeks the problem was solved, Derek finding a new home there, acquiring a little girl and his alpha power back in the process.
So Stiles went back alone, not able to live there any more than he was before leaving. And things fell back in place again. He took a job editing things from home, proofreading, doing research on obscure subject for author in need of materials, never going out enough to be close to people again. Lonely.
Until one afternoon, when the feeling he was having for weeks came to a paroxysm of despair. He didn’t know who was going down, but they were going fast. He didn’t even know who he was connecting with to feel their distress. But he went, following those feelings, until he reached the Brooklyn Bridge, seeing a man contemplating the water.