His first immediate plan was follow. He did his research, 6th ranking city in the nation for job density, well that explained Melissa's plans to up sticks...
There were undoubtedly a lot less Sheriff jobs bouncing around but maybe his Dad was looking for change of employment scenery?
Plenty of bridges, city of bridges even. Stiles could walk a bridge or two no problem, and maybe his Dad's been waiting all this time to fully unleash his architectural creativity and all he needs is a push from his loving son?
Well, how could he not at least give him the opportunity?
"Stiles..." and it was that resigned tone edged with concern that had him violently backtracking, hands pushing at the air around him, trying to distance himself from the whole idea.
"Whoah, whoah, hey, just a thought. Not even a thought really, a mild musing, a momentary madness. Hey, I know, you have work and I have... Ah, Adderall. And cross-country, I mean, not that we couldn't use a father-son roadtrip, we could hire a minivan and fish, and spit and shave and knock out dry wall, sleep under the stars like the men of yore. But yeah, no, Pittsburgh, bad idea, off the table, never even on the table, don't look at the table it has no idea what you're talking about. I'm gonna go... shower."
And he was out of the room, a mess of limbs throwing himself up the stairs and away from the troubled expression on his father's face.
Ok, so he never saw Pittsburgh as a particularly viable option, but it was at least worth considering, to the point he still found himself plotting scenarios in which he could sneak into one of Scott's moving boxes and start a fresh life out on the mean streets of steel city.
The thing is, Scott needed him too. He did. He knew it right down to his core. Sending a slightly dopey wolf-boy to the other side of America without his full-time carer was a disaster waiting to happen.
Scott didn't seem to see this the same way, though to be fair Scott didn't seem to see anything the same way as Stiles, it was how they worked. Scott's primal concern was the separation anxiety he was currently facing with Allison, which, yeah, sure, was another extremely bad story in wolf news, but was it too much to ask that old Stiles got his fair share of that anxiety huh?
He'd only put his throat on the line how many times for his furry little problem? The least he deserved was a little share in that frown creasing Scott's face, setting deeper and deeper as the days passed.
But he understood. That was reserved for Allison. Allison was his ladylove and Stiles, he didn't even have boobs. If he had boobs it would no doubt be different.
Life would be very different. Very distracting. He'd wear more tank tops... Invest in a whole wardrobe of cleavage attire for all-day entertainment.
But cleavage wasn't going to help this mess, he thought, sitting on his bed bunching his chest together with his upper arms. It would at least make it easier to bear though.
So plan B was Allison. Stiles liked Allison, she was pretty easy to like, and she didn't seem to mind Stiles like the others did. She couldn't up her life and follow Scott either, which must be even harder, he thinks, considering she's always upped and moved to follow werewolves before. The one howler her family is suddenly entirely uninterested in violently killing. Figures.
Allison was another pack add-on, technically, another human in a gang of werewolves tied in by emotional value to Scott. He almost tricked himself into believing they were in the same boat, the same outsiders, until he remembered haltingly Scott wasn't the only member of the pack that held her in their emotional esteem. She had been Lydia's friend from the start, and his eyes didn't deceive that Jackson regarded her slightly more pleasantly than the majority of the student body he outwardly despised, Stiles included.
It struck him slightly coldly that in the space of a year she had managed to create far stronger bonds with a variety of people than any he had ever made outside of Scott. And she was a fight-trained, bow wielding, killing machine from a family of hunters whose alliance created safety for the pack. Suddenly he didn't feel so sure about her getting the same rejection treatment he was gearing himself up for. The pack barely tolerated him as it was with Scott at his side, regardless of the amount of research legwork he could put in and the countless times he spent saving their lives, even his expert sleuth skills and willingness to make the hard decisions didn't quite make up for his severe character defects.
He could just see it now, school would be harder without Scott to sit with at lunch and hang out with outside of class, he had acquaintances, sure, but no one who wanted to spend extended periods of time with him. Lacrosse would suck. At least before he had a reason to sit watching the first line team practice, he was number one moral support, he was not just a cheerleader but an ensurer of safety, keeping an eye on the three wolves who didn't seem to want to challenge their new energies into something simpler like dance, or painting. Now he'd just be a chump in bulky uniform shaking from the cold, or the twitches, probably both. But what would make it harder would be Jackson's enjoyment, his mocking and his glares might actually have an effect now he had no one to glance it off with. It might actually matter now he had known the sweet other side of it where they'd actually been a part of a team together, when Jackson had needed him and sometimes, rarely, even listened to his genius.
And then there was Lydia, he was actually sort of getting on with Lydia. They could be together in the group without her sneering at him. There were even the few, gratifying, rare occasions when her guard slipped almost entirely away and she'd talk to him about her translations and discuss the possibilities and probabilities of different aspects of were-lore he'd researched. (He'd moved past the Hollywood interpretations pretty much everywhere you looked but some of the sources could still have extremely accurate information peppered with utter baloney: he didn't want to ask, but he was pretty sure Scott had never felt the urge to perform ritual sacrifice, nor offer his mother up to Satan)
Sometimes in the dark living space of Derek's ramshackle abode he and Lydia would find themselves sitting together around the best light to read their separate works in amiable silence. They were even considering looking into Wolfsbane properties to work out some sort of effort of resistance. Her manner towards him in the corridors hadn't changed, but it didn't matter then because they had a world outside of that, a world beyond it even. He didn't like to think how it would feel with that gone.
By the time Scott had gone Stiles' faith in plan B was wavering, but, he didn't have any options if he didn't want to eat lunch alone, or spend every night and day rotating between attending school and sitting holed up in his room. So Allison was about to get a whole lotta Stiles' attention, and, hopefully, she'd appreciate the company of her boyfriend's best friend. Hopefully she'd at least be grateful of someone to talk to about it. Hopefully she'd at least be able to put up with his nearby presence. Hopefully she wouldn't mace him.