Title: Not Just Another Day
Pairing: Gen with future Sterek undertones
Characters: Stiles, Scott, Allison, Derek
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's not just another day, not for Stiles and his dad.
"Grief is one of the great common experiences of human beings and yet sometimes we feel so alone in our sadness."
-Martha Withmore Hickman
When May 12th rolls around, Stiles wakes up feeling depressed. And then he gets angry that he's depressed, and then gets depressed even worse for letting himself get angry, reminding himself that he is legitimately allowed to be depressed on today of all days. He lies in bed, not wanting to get up and face the world and waiting with clenched teeth for his Dad to show up at his door. Remembering that today is Saturday comes as a relief. At least he doesn't have to talk his dad out of calling him in sick, and then deal with trying to make it through the whole day pretending that everything is normal. Both of which really really suck.
So, it's Saturday, and his Dad has the day off from work, but somehow Stiles doesn't think they'll spend the day doing what they always end up doing on a Saturday where his dad isn't working, and Stiles has no unexpected pack related emergencies to deal with.
Stiles knows how this day will go. His dad will be quiet and sad, and he will get consistently more quiet and more sad as the day goes on. Sometime around 6ish his dad will disappear into his room with the bottle of scotch, and Stiles will let him, because he doesn't have the strength to argue with him. His dad will not come out of his room until the next morning when he will pretend that he is not hung-over and Stiles will pretend like he hadn't spent half the night listening to his dad cry from down the hall.
May 12th sucks.
The only thing that makes May 12th the least bit bearable is Scott. Because Scott might not understand how Stiles feels but he at least knows that Scott doesn't want to be alone. Usually he shows up, uninvited in the early afternoon. They hole up in Stiles' room or alternatively the basement watching stupid movies and pigging out and not talking. Because Scott knows Stiles, even if he doesn't know this feeling and Scott is a good friend.
When Stiles gets the mass text from Isaac he almost ignores it. He's not in the mood for a pack meeting. Not now. He doesn't want to hear about the Alpha pack, or the search for Erica and Boyd, or watch Scott stare at Allison from across the Den, like he wants nothing more than to have her curled up against his side. He doesn't want to watch Peter be smug, or Lydia and Jackson being sappy. He wants to curl up and wait for May 13th to arrive. But Stiles is loyal if nothing else, and he's smart enough to know that knowledge is power and he doesn't trust Scott to remember everything important when he fills him in later. So Stiles pulls himself out of bed, into clean clothes, out of the house, and into his jeep.
He's the last to arrive, and it looks like they've started without him. He slumps into a chair in the corner, ignoring Lydia's annoyed glare. Everyone is there, listening to Derek and Peter explain alpha pack dynamics, and their movements on the far side of town. They've been keeping clear of Hale land, but they're inching closer every week, and Stiles can tell by the tenseness of Derek's shoulders that he's expecting a confrontation at any moment. Scott hates these meetings, Stiles knows. Mostly because he doesn't really consider himself a part of Derek's pack. But he comes anyway, because if they've learned anything in the last 8 months, it's that allegiance means nothing when someone considers you a threat. It doesn't matter to most hunters whether you've ever hurt a human. It doesn't matter to Alpha packs, whether you're a beta or an omega, or just a friend to one. They have strength in numbers this way.
When the meeting breaks up, Stiles stays slumped in his seat. He's watching Scott. Watching Scott watch Allison. Allison is on the other end of the Den talking to Lydia, and even Stiles can see she's upset about something. Her eyes are tearing up, and her face is flushing, and Lydia is talking in quiet soothing tones, her arm around Allison's shoulder. Scott starts in her direction twice before giving in and walking towards her. She breaks down as soon as Scott touches her, curling into him and crying just a little. Scott hugs her close, and Stiles sinks lower, closing his eyes in preemptive defeat. He can see where this is going. Stiles pulls his eyes open and he watches Scott whisper to Allison quietly, and she nods, letting her hand lace through his. She nods again and then turns and hugs Lydia. Lydia smiles at her, and it's more tender than he's seen Lydia act toward anyone but Jackson in what feels like years.
Then Scott's leading her toward the exit, heading toward Stiles in the process. He steels himself for the apology, the pleading puppy eyes, and the promise to come by as soon as he can. But Scott doesn't say anything, he walks right past.
"Scott," Stiles says, turning his head to watch them go. Scott swings around, surprise on his face.
"Shit! Stiles you scared me!" he smiles as he says it. Allison sniffs, and rubs a tear off her cheek, and Scott tugs her closer.
"You coming by later?" Stiles asks, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing heavy and achy.
"I don't know, man. We were gonna study for Chem right? I might have to take a rain check. Maybe tomorrow night?" Scott asks, and Stiles nods, forcing a smile on his face.
"Of course," he says. Allison makes a face.
"I'll be fine. You need to study, Scott. You can't fail this test or you're going to be stuck in summer school all vacation." Allison crosses her arms over his stomach, and Scott shakes his head.
"There's plenty of time. Tomorrow's fine, right Stiles?" Scott asks. Stiles diverts his eyes and nods.
"Yeah, definitely. Don't worry about it," he says, pulling himself up out of his chair. He digs his jeep keys out of pocket, and bounces them in his hand to avoid looking at either of them.
"Are you feeling ok, Stiles?" Allison asks. "You've been awfully quiet today…" This is why it's impossible to hate Allison. It's impossible to even dislike her. You know, when she's not actively trying to kill your friends during moments of grief.
"I'm fine. Just tired," he tells her. She smiles at him.
"Don't study too hard, ok, Stiles?" she says and he nods at her.
"Feel better." He looks down at the keys again. "I think I'm gonna head out. See you Monday," she nods, and turns away, Scott walking close beside her. Stiles feels his throat get thick and swallows compulsively in response.
"Why are you lying?" Derek asks, and Stiles turns to look at him. Derek is looking at him like he's an interesting puzzle that needs solving, all dark brooding eyebrows and manly stubble. Stiles shrugs.
"Everybody lies sometimes, Derek," his mouth quirks up in a smile, that he knows doesn't look at all real, but it's the best Stiles can do just then. He checks his watch. 3pm. Only 9 more hours until May 6th. He'll be fine. "I got some stuff to take care of." He heads towards the exit, and calls over his shoulder as he leaves "I'm taking the night off. Don't call me unless someone is legit dying and I'm their only chance of survival, ok, Derek?" He doesn't wait for an answer.
He stops for curly fries and a burger on the way home. His dad's already locked himself in his room by then, and Stiles is left to his own devices for the afternoon and evening. He picks at his early dinner, finishing his fries, but leaving half his burger untouched.
Flopping backwards on his bed, he stares up at his ceiling, ignoring the single tear crawling down the side of his face and into his ear.
His mom, before she died, had been amazing. She was like the perfect mom. He knows that isn't just nostalgia talking. He remembers how great she was. How she looked after him and his dad. How she was sarcastic and funny, but always loving. How awesome her hugs were, and how good her cooking was. The way she always greeted him after school with some sort of snack, and routinely took the time to help him with his homework. She could make anything, even school work, fun. And she'd loved him. Like really loved him. She never ran out of patience when he was hyper and bouncing off the walls, and she let him be a kid, messes and all, without yelling at or spanking him. She was just… awesome. And he misses her every single day.
Sometimes it's hard to remember that for the rest of the world May 12th is just another day on the calendar, when for Stiles and his dad, it's like the world is ending all over again. That's the only reason Stiles isn't mad at Scott. Because May 12th means a lot to Stiles, but to Scott it really is just any other day. It's only ever mattered to Scott because it matters to Stiles. And lately more and more of Scott's brain has been focused the most on what matters to Allison. And really that was the way of things wasn't it?
Stiles isn't going to sit and mope about Scott. Not when he has other things to be miserable over. Stiles is old enough to get through today on his own. At least that's what he tells himself.
He lies on his bed for another ten minutes before deciding he has to move. He has to do something.
There are families here and there throughout the cemetery. It's a nice day, bright and warm and sunny, and a Saturday to boot. It all adds up to just make Stiles feel worse.
His mom's grave is right in the middle of it all. He doesn't hesitate to sit down in front of her tombstone. The grass is lush and green, neatly trimmed. No weeds or sticks or leaves to be cleared away from the marker. So he just sits and stares at it for a while. Tracing the words and numbers carved into the stone. Watching the sunlight shift across it's shiny surface and ignoring the text messages making his phone buzz in his pocket.
He doesn't hear his name being called. Not until Derek's shadow falls across the grave marker.
"Stiles," Derek says. Stiles looks up at him.
"Is someone dying?" he asks. Derek's forehead furrows.
"No," Derek replies.
"Then go away," Stiles says, looking back down. Derek ignores him, sitting down beside him, close but not touching.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek asks. Stiles ignores the question.
"How'd you know I was here?" he asks instead. Derek huffs.
"Isaac works here," he says it like this should be obvious. Stiles is tempted to roll his eyes. "Where is Scott?"
"Allison was upset," Stiles replies. "You know that. You were eavesdropping, remember?" He turns his head to look at Derek, but Derek's eyes are focused on the tombstone in front of them.
"He should be here," Derek says quietly. Stiles shrugs. They sit in silence for another ten minutes, and Stiles is warmed by the company, dark and broody as it may be.
"She was a good mom?" Derek asks out of the blue. Stiles nods.
"She was the best."
"How'd she die?" Stiles takes a deep breath to steady himself before answering.
"Ovarian cancer. She was 34," he replies.
"She'd be proud of you," Derek offers. Stiles blinks rapidly, turning away.
"You didn't even know her," he whispers, throat tight.
"I don't have to have known her. I know you." Stiles fights not to scoff, irrationally angry at Derek just then.
"Yeah, lots to be proud of. A mediocre student, with ADHD and behavioral issues. A teenager with little to no social life, who can't even make first line in lacrosse unless half the team is injured, on academic probation, or have gone missing. Yeah. She'd be so proud," Stiles sneers. He climbs to his feet, wiping at the damp grass sticking to his ass, as he turns away.
"That's not what she would see. That's not what any mother would see," Derek says, voice steady. "You're smart. Loyal. You work hard. You look after your dad, and you always try to do the right thing. I didn't know her. But I know she'd be proud." Derek says. Stiles doesn't look back at him.
"I have to get home," he says. He doesn't wait for a response.
The house is quiet when he gets there. He heads to his dad's room, listening closely with his ear pressed to the door. But he hears no sounds coming from inside. No rustling, no crying. Easing the door open he finds his dad passed out across the bed. The bottle is 1/3 empty, and he's drooling on his pillow. Stiles is fairly sure that he's not going to die of alcohol poisoning in the night, but he takes the rest of the bottle of whiskey with him anyway just to make sure. When he gets back to his room, he finds Derek sitting in the armchair in the corner. Stiles' shoulders slump. He sets the bottle of alcohol down on his desk with a loud clunk. Crouching down, he yanks open the bottom drawer, and starts digging around.
"I don't want to talk. And since when are you Mr. Chatty?" he asks. He doesn't look at Derek, he just keeps rearranging things in his drawer.
"I'm not here to talk," Derek says. Stiles frowns, grabbing up the bottle and checking that the top is on tightly. He drops it into the drawer, covering it up neatly with wads of paper, and pens, and an old broken stapler. He closes the door and stands up, turning to face Derek. He lets himself drop into his desk chair.
"Then why are you here?" he asks. Derek looks at him a long moment before answering.
"No one should be alone on a day like today."
Stiles feels his throat burn, and he looks away. He doesn't want Derek's pity. He doesn't want his charity or his sympathy. He's dealt with most of the town's pity for four years. He doesn't need any more.
"You don't," he looks back at Derek and the words stick in his throat. He doesn't finish the sentence because if anyone can understand, it's Derek freaking Hale. Derek, who lost almost his entire family in one night, and then a few years later lost the rest of it. His mouth clicks shut and he nods. "How do you feel about science fiction?"
It's two hours of classic Star Trek later that Derek sits up from his spot slumped on the couch and turns his head toward the front of the house.
"What?" Stiles asks.
"Scott," Derek replies. "I think he finally pulled his head out of his ass." Stiles takes a deep breath and sighs.
"Thanks," he says. "I mean, you didn't have too…" he trails off. Derek meets his eyes and nods.
"I'll see you later." He stands up off the couch, pulling his jacket on. Stiles jumps up after him, following him to the front door. They reach the foyer just as Scott does, knocking loudly.
"Hey, Derek," Stiles says as Derek's reaching for the knob. He turns to look at Stiles, his face open and questioning. Stiles swallows thickly. "You don't have to be alone on a day like this either," Stiles offers. Derek looks down, his forehead creasing with what Stiles thinks might be pain. The expression clears, just as Scott pounds a second time.
"Stiles!? I'm sorry! Let me in! Please!?" Scott calls. Derek looks toward the door before glancing back at Stiles.
"Yeah? I'll keep that in mind," he flips the lock and yanks the door open, Scott stumbling inside in shocked surprise. "See ya," Derek says, stepping past him and hoping down the stairs. Scott stares after him, looking even more like a puppy than usual.
"You ok, man?" he asks Stiles. Stiles watches Derek disappear down the street, and nods at Scott.
"Yeah. I think I'm ok," he replies, stepping back into the house.
Scott gives him a sort of sad speculative smile.
"So video games or monster movies?" he asks. He holds up his bulging backpack. "I brought over like everything I had." He smiles so hopefully than that Stiles can't even be mad at him anymore.
"Why don't we start with video games? And save monster movies for the second half of our evening?" he suggests. Scott nods.
"Good plan. You want pepperoni or sausage on the pizza?" he asks over his shoulder heading toward the big screen in the back of the house. It's a lifelong argument between them: Which is the better pizza meat? Scott favors sausage, Stiles pepperoni.
"It's your turn to pick," Stiles answers, smirking a little.
"Fine then. I'm in the mood for pepperoni," Scott answers and he gives a look to Stiles that as Scott's best friend, he does not need explained. It's Scott's I'm-sorry-I'm-a-huge-dick-please-forgive-me look. Stiles quirks an eyebrow at him and smirks.
"You've finally seen reason then? I knew this day would come. Pepperoni prevails!" Stiles pushes past Scott, pressing him into the hallway wall with a hand to the chest.
The underlying intention is clear: Scott's a giant doofus, but he's also forgiven. Because he might have been a douche earlier, and he might have been late, but he'd shown up. He was there.
The next day, when Scott is gone, and Stiles' dad is wandering around the house, hung-over and regretting the previous night, Stiles will sit down at his computer and look up the date of the Hale House fire in the archives of the local paper.
He'll commit the date to memory. It's the least he can do.