Stiles was the little boy with none of the answers and all of the questions. Still, he couldn't help but be a known it all. It was just in his nature. His father and mother believed the questions were innocent ponderings at first, but then the boy started to ask more about people and less about the world around him.
"Mama, why does that boy look so sad?" The six year old had asked after an afternoon spent playing in the ever ant infested sandbox, he pointed at a figure sitting alone on the swing set. The boy in question was young, with a drawn up little frown. Claudia knew him as Scott McCall, the son of a woman she knew faintly due to the small size of Beacon Hills.
"I don't know darling, maybe you should try and cheer him up."
"Why?" His eyes were clear despite their murky color and sometimes his mother swore that if she looked long enough, she could see his whole future. She saw his bright beautiful future full of supporting friends, endless adventures, and happiness without bounds.
"Because that's the nice thing to do, honey." Stiles just nodded and toddled up to the lonely boy on the swing set while Claudia just smiled.
The two children talked nonstop until late in the evening, before their mothers exchanged phone numbers, promising to call for a play date. As Claudia walked a blabbering Stiles home, she couldn't help but feel a headache coming on.
Stiles was the broken ten year old that the world pitied for being left behind. But he was also bright. Smart enough to be considered a nerd, yet normal enough to be unaccepted among geeks. It didn't matter anyway, Scott was the wannabe jock with the unruly curly hair and stupid grin. They fit together like some ragtag puzzle.
He tried to keep his head up, but his soul often rose up into his chest, taking over his vocal said things he didn't want others to hear. And middle schoolers are cruel. Still, he dared to adore one of them, a redheaded goddess with wit and brains far beyond his own. She was out of his league, but everyone had to start somewhere...right?
His father was struggling himself, getting over the loss of a woman who was more than a human to him, but the ground beneath his feet. The poor sheriff was floating in the ozone while Stiles was drowning in self-loathing. Scott tried to pull him out and now and again, succeed, but Stiles was persistent.
After all, what good is an intelligent mind if it can't save what really mattered?
Stiles was the young man who pretended like he didn't understand. The truth being, he understood everything. The world was a book that he had read over and over again. He understood his best friend was a stranger who he pretended to know, though every time Scott's eyes glowed red, Stiles felt the boy slip farther away. He understood his father was growing older and tired while Stiles stayed the same on the inside, weak and unable to keep his heart guarded. He understood the less normal his life became, the more stable it felt. Like it was repentance for some sin he was birthed into. And mostly, he understood that love and adoration where different things, but he still tangled the ribbons up around a girl he knew he could never truly hold.
Stiles is the man trapped inside his mind. Forced to watch some unknown evil take his body and contort it to his will. He is so worn out and his brown eyes only tell of a future he wasn't prepared for.
He's cold and he is lost in the echoes of his heartbeat. And it is so dark, oh so dark. Quietly he awaits a rescue, knowing that not for the first time, he is unable to be the hero he wants everyone to see. He feels his soul is trapped in his throat again and swallows it back down. Wolves aren't the monsters, truly. Neither are hunters or banshees. In fact, all they are is defined in their names. It is humans who are the monsters. So much undefined potential is written in the subtext of Homo-sapiens.
And Stiles was nothing but human.