Principal Thomas and the Sheriff spend a decent amount of time chatting about Stiles like he's not even there, which is usually one of Stiles' least favorite things, but in this context gives him more insight into the type of person he is in this universe. It's not so much what they say, because they use a lot of the same phrases he's used to hearing, like "lack of focus" and "wasted potential." It's more the way they say it. Especially his dad. Usually, his dad is the first to defend him, but now he has this undertone of resignation. As if he's given up on Stiles amounting to anything but a problem he has to deal with. Like if he can just get Stiles to graduate, then he'll have accomplished a monumental feat.
Yikes. Is he really that terrible here?
In any case, the Sheriff's speech works (the hints that he has always been an advocate for Thomas' choice of school board members when it comes election time probably doesn't hurt either). Thomas agrees to withhold a suspension, but informs Stiles that he will be serving after-school detention and will be benched in the lacrosse game next week.
Suckers. Stiles is the bench-warming king back in his reality.
Which begs the question, is Darkest Timeline Stiles actually good at lacrosse?
Stiles is then released back into the hallways of Beacon Hills High to get to the second half of his third period class with a note excusing his late arrival. Except they didn't actually tell him which class he's supposed to be in, so he's just kind of wandering aimlessly around the halls.
And that's when he runs into Jackson Whittmore.
"Hey, there you are!" Jackson says, coming out of the bathroom smelling suspiciously like what Stiles assumes pot smells like. "Where have you been all day?"
Stiles flits through surprise, confusion, and annoyance all in the matter of a couple seconds. Of course Jackson is still around in this universe, because why send him off to London if he never turned into a kanima? And of course Stiles is friends with him, because everything about this reality is terrible. He rolls his eyes, but bites back his knee-jerk response to tell him to fuck off.
"Doctor's appointment," he says instead, holding up his note. Jackson could prove to be useful. He might at least know what class Stiles is supposed to be in right now.
"And what are you doing?" he adds in an overtly judgemental tone, because he can't help himself.
Jackson smirks and puts an arm around his shoulder, all buddy-buddy-like, and pulls him along as he walks. Stiles stiffens awkwardly under the touch and tries not to gag.
"You know, one of these days I'm going to get you to see the benefits of herbal supplements," Jackson says. He takes a piece of gum out of his pocket and pops it in his mouth, the spearmint not quite covering up the lingering smell of whatever he was smoking. "Really helps with stress, you know."
"I'm sure it does," Stiles answers, feeling surprisingly vindicated that his alternate self stuck to his D.A.R.E. training to just say no to drugs. Maybe he isn't a complete douchebag.
"Dude, you're such a nerd," Jackson says, punching him on the arm hard enough that Stiles winces.
He releases his hold around Stiles shoulders and opens the door to a classroom. When Stiles doesn't immediately follow, he glances back at him. "You coming?"
Okay, great. He's supposed to be in English, apparently. That answers that question. He follows Jackson into the room, handing his note to the teacher, who is thankfully not Miss Blake, the psychopathic former darach. Looking around, he sees an open seat right in front of where Jackson just sat down, but he really doesn't want to stoop to that level of desperation. Thankfully, Scott is in this class, too, and happens to have a seat open next to him, which Stiles makes a bee-line for.
If he's going to be stuck in this dimension for a while, might as well fix some of its biggest problems. The first of which being his friendship with Scott.
He flashes Scott a wide grin as he slides behind the desk. Scott responds in kind by looking at him like he's insane, but then pretty much ignores him because Miss Parker, the English teacher, is in the middle of talking about A Midsummer Night's Dream, which is evidently what they're currently studying.
Stiles doesn't pay much attention to the lecture because he's too busy watching Scott. He realizes pretty quickly that Scott is also not paying much attention because he's too busy stealing glances at Kira, who is sitting in the front of the room.
Oh, Scott. The simple fool.
So it seems the Scott in this reality is the same lovesick puppy as the one Stiles knows and loves. Which, he's not complaining. He kind of thinks that's one of Scott's best qualities—that he's such a hopeless romantic, and that he wears his heart on his sleeve. Sure, it can be annoying, like all the times Scott was on a date with Allison and thus ignored everything else going on in the world, no matter how urgent. And there were a few times it was urgent.
But his innocence and simplicity are also the things that make him so pure. With Scott, Stiles never has to worry about being backstabbed or manipulated, because Scott just wouldn't be capable of backstabbing or manipulating him. And when he's not hung up on making googly eyes at his latest crush, Scott is always there for him, willing to do whatever Stiles needs from him.
That hollow feeling in his chest is suddenly back. Stiles really, really misses his Scott. And not just because he woke up in an alternate reality today. He's been missing Scott for weeks.
Well, he can't fix things with his Scott right now. But he can fix things with this one.
Stiles is making a plan for the best approach to start a conversation with Scott after class when he notices that his friend is not the only one stealing glances. It's actually kind of comedic—anytime Scott looks at his notes, Kira peeks back at him. And then when she looks away, he's right back to staring at the back of her head. Like, how are they not catching each other doing it?
It's disgusting. And adorable.
And it also makes Stiles wonder what Scott's life would be like if he'd never been bitten that night in the woods. It's not the first time he's considered this, but actually seeing it play out with a nerdy, clueless Scott is different. It reminds Stiles of a time not so long ago when the two of them spent their days playing video games and trying to learn tricks on their skateboards. When the worst thing that happened to them was getting a giant zit on their face the morning of photo day at school.
What if instead of having to worry about alphas and nogitsunes and druids, Scott's biggest worry this year was how to ask out the girl he liked? What if instead of spending his junior year grieving the loss of the first girl he loved, he could spend it planning for prom?
In a lot of ways, Stiles thinks the bite did more for him than it did for Scott anyway. Hell, Scott had spent those first few months trying to track down Peter so he could get rid of his powers. And, sure, since then he's grown to accept being a werewolf, but he carries his powers more like a burden than a blessing. Like something that should never be taken lightly.
And then there's Stiles, who rides on Scott's coattails like his life depends on it. Because who is he kidding? He lives for the danger, the mystery, the drama of it all. It makes him feel important. Makes him feel like he's a somebody after so many years of being a nobody.
Who even is he outside of a werewolf's best friend?
The guy who let an evil fox spirit terrorize his friends?
The bell thankfully breaks him out of that particular line of thought as the students around him start gathering their stuff and shuffling out of their seats.
"Hey," Stiles says before Scott can leave. "You should ask her out."
Scott looks at him with a familiar befuddled expression.
He rolls his eyes. "Kira. She likes you."
"Oh." Scott's cheeks go a little red and he gets a goofy smile on his face as his eyes dart to the girl at the front of the room. He rubs the back of his neck shyly. "Uh, do you really think so?"
Stiles glances back to Kira, who is also doing an awkward blush thing and twirling her hair around her finger, having spotted Scott looking at her. "Umm, yes," Stiles confirms. "One hundred percent. Go talk to her."
Scott doesn't need to be told twice. He shoves his books in his backpack and begins to head for Kira. After a couple of steps, he hesitates, turning back. "Hey, Stiles. Thanks," he says, and then hurries to catch up to Kira.
Actually, maybe Stiles should talk to Kira, too. She'd just begun learning about her kitsune powers in his universe, but even so…
A smack on his shoulder makes him flinch. "You ready for the best class of the day?" Jackson asks.
"Uh, best class of the day? You mean econ?"
Jackson chuckles and smacks him again, and seriously, what is with the hitting? Stiles is pretty sure that's going to bruise.
"You're hilarious, Stilinski," Jackson says, leading him out of the classroom.
The "best class" turns out to be weightlifting, which Stiles didn't even know was a class. Had he known, it still wouldn't have made the top fifty in his ranking of high school electives. It's literally a bunch of meat heads showing off to one another in an attempt to overcompensate for their obviously insecure masculinity. Stiles feels no need to prove that he's a man by grunting louder and sweating more than his fellow seventeen-year-olds.
But he has to give weightlifting class credit for one thing, and that's his ability to talk to people. In fact, he doesn't lift one weight through the entire seventy-five minutes. He just sits on the various machines, pretending to move things around (he doesn't even know how to use half these things), while in fact he's actually grilling his classmates for information.
It helps that douchebag Stiles is popular, because pretty much everyone is willing to talk to him.
Unfortunately, he doesn't learn very much. No one remembers anything particularly strange happening in Beacon Hills the last couple of years. No freak animal attacks, no one mysteriously going missing, no sudden glow ups of any nerds that could be attributed to becoming "more than human." It seems this town has been the same boring place it was for the first fifteen years of Stiles' life.
Dammit.
He completely forgets about lacrosse practice until Jackson appears out of nowhere to smack him again (for real, that needs to stop) and remind him about it. Stiles is starting to wonder if alternate him is a masochist on top of being a jerk—this is entirely too much exercise for one person to endure in a day.
Interestingly, Scott is not present at lacrosse practice, which is funny because Stiles seems to recall that Scott is the one who convinced him to play in the first place. But while the team is missing its secretly super-powered captain, it's otherwise pretty much the same exercise in insanity he's used to. Coach Finstock is exactly the same, running drills and plays that Stiles theorizes he makes up on the spot to see how ridiculous he can make them all look.
To add to that, Lydia spends the whole practice sitting in the stands, pretending to do homework. He's convinced she's not really doing homework because she spends most of the time staring at the guys on the field with a particularly predatory look in her eyes. She even throws a few of these gazes his way, which would normally be a dream-come-true in former Stiles' wildest fantasies. But now he just finds them creepy. Not at all like the Lydia he's come to love and respect the last couple of years.
By the time practice is over, Stiles is completely wiped and very ready to go home. He wants nothing more than to crawl under his covers and pretend for a minute he hasn't been trapped in this wacky, backwards version of Beacon Hills all day.
He can see both Jackson and Lydia trying to catch his attention, and since he has no desire to talk to either of them right now, he bolts off the field and hides until they give up and leave. Thank God tomorrow is Saturday, because he doesn't think he can do another day of school like this.
Now, he just has to deal with his family.
As promised, Stiles' dad shows up shortly after lacrosse practice to pick him up, squad car and all. Stiles rolls his eyes when he sees Mikayla in the front seat, smug grin plastered across her face. He's barely in the backseat, the one behind the bars where criminals and drunks ride that smells like piss, before she spins around and assaults him with questions.
"So, what did you do?" she asks with glee. "Dad won't tell me, but it's got to be bad if he took your car. Did you skip school? Were you with Lydia? Were you guys—"
"Oh. My. God," Stiles says loudly, cutting her off. He is so not in the mood to be interrogated by a thirteen-year-old girl right now. "Don't you ever shut up?"
Her grin only grows wider. "Dad told me he'd get me a new video game to keep my mouth shut. What do you have to offer?"
"Mikayla," the Sheriff warns.
"What?" she says, turning toward him with a pout. "Stiles is the one who did something bad, why am I being punished?"
"Yes, Stiles is the one who did something. You don't need to know about it. Or say anything about it to your mother. Because it would ruin her big weekend, and we don't want that, do we?" The Sheriff gives her a look that says the conversation is over.
"Fine," she agrees begrudgingly. She glares over her shoulder as if Stiles personally wronged her by not letting her gloat in his misery. "You stink, by the way."
Stiles had forgone showering, or even changing out of his sweaty clothes, after practice. He'd been too busy hiding behind the bushes. "You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" he snarks back at her.
Mikayla sticks out her tongue at him and Stiles isn't too proud to return the gesture.
The Sheriff sighs and shakes his head. "Are you two going to be able to figure out something for dinner or should we pick something up on the way home?" he asks, changing the subject.
"You're not staying?" Mikayla asks, her face dropping.
"Sorry, kiddo. I need to go back to the station for a while."
"But it's Buffy night."
"I know, I know," the Sheriff says, and genuinely sounds disappointed. "I'm sorry. You'll have to watch it without me tonight."
Stiles can't help but feel a little jealous. "Buffy? You've never watched Buffy with me."
Mikayla turns to give him a weird look, which his dad emulates in the rearview mirror. "I thought you were too cool for that kind of stuff," the girl says slowly. "And it's not like you're ever home on Friday nights anyway."
"Okay, but can we please decide about food?" the Sheriff says, going back to the original topic. "If we're doing pizza, I need to turn here."
"No, we can make something," Mikayla grumbles. "We're eating out tomorrow."
"Great. Your mother will appreciate that."
Stiles tunes out the rest of the conversation, because he's been wondering what he's going to do with himself all evening and suddenly remembers that he has a computer with internet access at home. And, duh, he could've been Googling shit all day because he has a freaking smart phone. Well, he assumes he does. He didn't think to look for a phone this morning, so if he does have one, it's probably still in his room somewhere.
The Sheriff drops them off with a promise to not be home too late and another threat not to spill anything to their mother.
"Make sure you eat something green," Mikayla orders her father before he heads out, parroting a phrase Stiles himself has said on many occasions.
"Cross my heart," he calls from the open window, waving as he backs out of the driveway.
Stiles is left on the front porch standing awkwardly next to the girl, unsure exactly what to say to her. He feels like he probably shouldn't just run off to his room, but he kind of wants to do exactly that. "So, uh…"
She snorts at him and takes out her key to open the door. "Don't worry, I'll make dinner. As long as you do dishes later."
"Deal," Stiles agrees, recognizing an olive branch when it's offered.
His phone is indeed still plugged into the charger next to his bed, and he sees that he's missed seventeen texts and three phone calls throughout the day. Scrolling quickly through the messages, he notes that most of them are Lydia asking where he is and why he isn't answering his phone. He decides he can deal with that later.
He takes a quick shower before cracking open his computer, knowing that once he gets to Googling, he will probably be at it the rest of the night. He tends to get hyper-focused like that. At first, it seems he might not even be able to sign in since his laptop is password protected, but he's relieved to find that, like him, alternate Stiles keeps his password on a post-it stuck to the underside of his desk. Unlike Scott, he doesn't just use his crush's name as his username and password.
He starts by investigating the Laura Hale case, since that's freshest on his mind, but he doesn't get very satisfying results. Seems his dad wasn't trying to cover for anything—they really do think it was just a freak animal attack according to all the official press releases and reports he can find. Derek isn't mentioned anywhere, not even as a next of kin on the death certificate.
Next, he finds an outdated webpage for Deaton's veterinary practice, but it's just that: outdated. No forwarding address, no email, no mention of where the man may have gone, and it's not like Stiles would even know where to start looking for him. He puts a pin in that search.
He scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "This is gonna be a long night."
Some time later there's a knock on his door and he looks up to see his mom poke her head into his room.
"Hey, sweetie," she says. "Heard you were home. No date night tonight?"
"Uh, nope." He sits back in his computer chair and turns to face her as she pushes the door further open. "Decided to stay in. I have a lot of homework."
She wrinkles her nose in a smirk. "Homework on a Friday night? Who are you and what have you done with my son?"
He chuckles nervously at her joke, but she seems completely oblivious to the irony of her statement.
"Need any help?" she continues, squinting at the computer screen. "What's it on? Wolf sightings in California?"
"Um." He glances at the screen, which is displaying his most recent Google results. "Yeah. You know, for a biology project."
"Didn't you do a project about wolves in seventh grade, too? You made that cute little movie. Whatever happened to that?"
Oh yeah, he had done a pretty extensive project about wolves back in middle school, and had filmed an entire fake news segment in which he played all of the different reporters. There had even been a sports segment thrown in. He'd been pretty proud of it at the time, but had a feeling if he were to watch it now he would be mortified at how dorky his younger self was.
He rolls his eyes, though he is comforted to know that alternate him used to be a nerd. "Wherever it's buried, it can stay there," he tells her. "Don't think I'll be needing it for this particular project. Thanks, Mom."
Claudia nods, smiling to herself as her eyes meander around his room. Stiles, on the other hand, only has eyes for her. He can't believe he's sitting in his room right now, chatting with his mom. How many times has he dreamed about this?
Something must catch her eye, because she steps into the room and reaches for something on his bookshelf. "I didn't know you still had this."
She picks up a well-worn copy of James and the Giant Peach, running her fingers over the creased cover.
"Well, yeah, of course I do," he tells her, a little surprised that his other self had kept it. "That's our favorite book."
"'We are now about to visit the most marvelous places and see the most wonderful things,'" she quotes, a fond smile on her face.
He mirrors her smile, remembering the countless times she'd read those words to him when he was a kid. He had been completely obsessed with that book, and would insist on reading it over and over and over, which she never complained about. He didn't remember why exactly, just that he liked the story and the way she did the voices for the different characters. Even when she'd first gotten sick, she would read it to him every night. Until she couldn't anymore. Then he'd been the one reading it to her. Curled up next to her on her hospital bed if it was a good day. In the chair beside her if it wasn't.
On the worst days, he'd read it to himself in the hall and wish for a giant peach of his own.
"Hmm, I always liked the earthworm best," Clauda says, reading the back of the book now.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees quietly. "Me, too."
Claudia flashes him another smile, replacing the book on the shelf. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'll get out of your hair. Just wanted to check in and make sure you're doing okay."
In some ways, he's doing better than he has in a long time. "No worries. You're not bothering me."
She laughs, making to leave the room. "Well, thanks for humoring your old mom." Pausing in the doorway, she adds, "Your sister made spaghetti, by the way. In case you're hungry."
He glances back at the computer screen, biting his lip. At the rate his research is going, it's probably best that he keep at it. But, on the other hand, he hasn't really eaten anything all day, and a break wouldn't kill him.
"Sure," he decides, getting up to follow her downstairs. "I have to do the dishes anyway."
