Note:
Yo! So I've got a couple of announcements.
I think this chapter's a pretty big step-up in my writing. It's the first one I'm actually happy with, so I've decided to re-write the first 3. The plot points will be the same, I'll just be (hopefully) writing them to a better standard.
Also, trigger warnings at the end.
Stiles rushes down the stairs, late for school, shoving an arm into his hoodie while buttoning his shirt at the same time. He almost brains himself against the bannister after almost tripping over his untied shoelaces, taking two steps at a time. It's not until he steps into the kitchen that he realizes his dad is still home.
Which is unusual, because if he's late then his dad's even later. He stops on the threshold of the door, staring at him father as he works by the cooker. The clock on the far wall tells him that he's in fact, fifteen minutes early.
Stiles coughs, catching his father's attention, whose face breaks into a warm smile at the sight of him. "Morning," he greets, before quickly turning back to the cooker.
"I thought you said I was late," he replies, leaning against the door frame.
"You were," his father answers him, moving towards him and stopping at the fridge. "For breakfast," he holds up the eggs, abandons them on the counter before checking on something in the oven.
"For breakfast," Stiles repeats disbelievingly, quirking an eyebrow at his father who nods. "Okay," he says slowly, not moving further into the room. He's about to turn around when his father looks back at him before he can.
"Well, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to start on the eggs?" Stiles doesn't move for a moment, and his father halts whatever he was doing with his hands to stare at him. He meets his father's eyes, and there's something different about them, they're strained, like he's pleading with him.
Stiles sighs before reluctantly making a start on the eggs. John smiles at him, his features smoothing out as Stiles joins his side, cracking the eggs into a jug to scramble them. They work in silence, but it's not exactly comfortable. There's a tension in the air, which isn't exactly new to either of them.
"Just thought we haven't sat down for a meal together in a while," he father says, his tone a little off. Stiles is saved from having to reply by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He abandons the whisk to answer it, and is both surprised and a little scared when he sees the caller ID.
"Hey, Danny," he tries for casual, swallowing past the lump in his throat and prays for his heartrate to calm down.
"We need to talk," is all he says, and that has Stiles truly scared. He figures it's a conversation his dad doesn't have to be around for.
"One sec," he says down the line, but when he makes a move for the door his father clears his throat to grab his attention again and points at the eggs. Stiles pauses for a moment, unsure what to do, before carefully walking back to his father's side.
He hopes it didn't look too obvious when he switches the phone to the other ear. He stands with a little more distance between himself and his father than before. "Go on," he says, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he gets back to work.
"So who's your new friend?" Danny asks because he's an ass, and Stiles' hand stutters as he mixes. He glances over at his father briefly, and he's standing in a way that says he's listening and he doesn't care whether or not he's being obvious.
"New friend?" he asks carefully, and his father's lips press together.
"Yes, Stiles, your new friend. You know, the one you've been meeting with for the last week instead of Scott?" Danny presses. Stiles winces, prays the volume on his phone isn't too loud as his father passes him to get to the fridge again.
"Oh. You mean Derek." He doesn't miss the way his father peeks his head around the fridge door at that, but Stiles doesn't acknowledge him otherwise. He pours the eggs onto the heated pan instead.
"So his name's Derek, huh?" Stiles sighs loudly down the phone. "Stiles, what are you doing?" Danny asks him seriously, his tone not as light or teasing as before. He looks over at his father, who's mouthing the word 'coffee' at him and he nods.
"Listen, I can't really talk right now, call me later." His father joins him by the cooker and takes the whisk from Stiles' hand, ushering him away to take over.
"Well, you tell Derek that he needs to get the timetable for when he can and can't sneak away. Dude's got me under pressure, man, Nate nearly saw him last time." Stiles swallows, and he can't help but wonder just how long Derek waits around for him every day.
"Will do," he says with forced enthusiasm. "I'll talk to you later, Danny," is all he says before hanging up the phone without waiting for a response. He approaches his father again, still confused as to what exactly is happening right now, but goes along with the show anyway as he takes his plate of eggs from his father.
Stiles sits at the table with his coffee, and his father joins him across the table with an extra plate of toast and bacon that he sets on the table between them. Stiles eyes him as he takes a slice of toast, mashing his scrambled egg onto it. It's just as the silence is increasing in awkwardness that his father speaks, and does nothing to defuse the tension.
"So, who's this new friend Derek?" he asks, and Stiles can barely contain the wince. He has half a mind to just run out the door, but he knows his father is trying right now, even if it might be too little too late.
"Hmm?" Stiles mutters around his toast. His father is too busy staring at his plate to meet his eyes, and Stiles guesses that he's pointedly doing so.
"This Derek guy?" his father finally looks back up at him, meeting his eyes and staring at him in such a way that Stiles can't help but answer him.
"Oh," he swallows, "It's just a guy from school, he's new in town." His father nods, and Stiles tries to think about how his father would probably know of all the new families that move here.
"What's his surname?" Stiles goes to answer him, opens his mouth until he realizes that he doesn't actually know Derek's last name. He swallows, putting a piece of bacon on his plate.
"I don't really know him that well. I mean, like I said, he's new," he finishes lamely, and his father just nods, ripping off pieces of his toast and eating it like that.
"You like him?" Stiles wills his cheeks not to turn red, and its times like these that he'd rather not talk to his dad. They've barely said a word to each other in years and now suddenly his father's cooking him breakfast and prying his way into his life like nothing's ever happened. Stiles almost wants to tell him where to shove it.
"He's nice," he says instead, a little more bitter than strictly necessary. It's true, too, Derek's a nice guy, even if he doesn't know much about him. He wouldn't say he really likes Derek, especially in the way his father is talking about, he's just a substitute, and Stiles really doesn't want to think about this right now.
"So, you're still hung up on Lydia, huh?"
"No," Stiles answers quickly. "She's one of my best friends." He hasn't felt anything for Lydia in years, not since Allison brought her into their little three man group and Stiles got to know her better. As amazing as Lydia is, she's just not who he thought she was, but he still worships her for everything that she is.
"Well, you tell Derek that he can come round for dinner anytime he wants." Stiles almost snaps at that, drains his coffee instead. His father doesn't have the right to act like this, not after everything he's done. He's not aware he's scowling until his father tilts his head at him.
"What's wrong? You look tired, have you been sleeping okay?" It's how genuine his father sounds that breaks him. He wonders if he actually cares, or whether or not the concern in his voice came from years of working as the sheriff.
"No, I-" can't sleep, "I was up late doing homework. Lost track of time is all," he scrapes up the last of his eggs.
"You doing okay? You're not over-working yourself are you?" Stiles shakes his head, grumbles out an "I'm fine." His father nods, not pushing the subject any further, probably sensing there's more that Stiles isn't telling him.
"I had a late one myself. We had a busy night at the station." Stiles doesn't ask, doesn't want to know who or what kept them busy that late at night. He'd rather not know what his dad does at the station anymore, it'll only end up with a fight.
He's taken from his thoughts when his eyes flick down towards his father as he grabs a piece of bacon. Stiles raises his eyebrows at him warning, but his father just shrugs and takes a bite anyway, the hint of a smile on his face.
"Don't give me that look," his father tells him.
"What look?" he asks. "There's no look." His father eats the last of his bacon and looks at him with an amused expression on his face. Stiles can't help but smile back at him, he's actually enjoying this.
"That's the 'vegetables for dinner look to make up for the bacon I just ate' look," his father says pointedly. It's true. They're having vegetables tonight, his father brought this on himself.
"And to think I wasn't even going to make them tonight. That's what you get," he blinks innocently, and his father sighs, not looking put-out in the slightest.
"Get your butt to school," he says instead, and a quick look at the clock says that he's going to be late if he doesn't get a move on soon. "Harris'll have your ass," his father says, but instead of telling him he doesn't have Harris until the end of the day he stands from the table and loads the dishwasher with the plates and cutlery they used.
"I can give you a ride, if you like," his father says hopefully, and Stiles almost says yes.
"No, I'm gonna go to Allison's after school so I should probably have the jeep with me," he lies, but his father won't be here after school to see him come home on time. His father just nods silently and pats his shoulder, walks him to the door.
"I'll see you later, dad," he smiles as he steps out the door. His father smiles back as he closes the door behind Stiles, and Stiles stops where he stands when he hears it. It's quiet, but it was there, and Stiles isn't sure his father intended on letting Stiles even hear it.
He presses his forehead against the door, sighs quietly against it as he takes a moment to compose himself. He swears the tears in his eyes and the lump in his throat are from something else entirely. And he's not even sure how he even feels about it, whether he feels angry or frustrated or even happy.
His father's words echo in his ears. He hasn't said it in years.
"Bye, kiddo"
::: :::
Derek's hungry. Which is why he finds himself walking down the hall towards the cafeteria. He's been up for about two hours now, and thankfully nobody's been around to his cell yet. Because they'd probably bring Isaac with them and he can't handle that yet.
Which is why he's been- keeping his distance. He wouldn't say he's been avoiding him. Kinda. Maybe.
His stomach growls as he walks, hoping nobody can hear his body betraying the sour, bad boy image he's gotten himself in here. He not to subtly checks over his shoulder to make sure nobody's within hearing range.
And then there's the job of actually getting past Isaac's cell without getting caught. Isaac's bed is directly lined towards the door, so it's kind of hard to not get noticed, especially if Isaac is actually there and not somewhere else.
His suspicions are met when Erica steps out of the door way, and Derek freezes in his place, only for someone to call Erica back in before she can see him. He sighs in relief, thanking whatever gods are out there when a group of wolves walk by him in the same direction. He catches him, sticking to the side where Isaac's cell will be blocked by the group of young girls.
He's only about fifteen feet away from passing the cell when Erica steps back out again, and he ducks behind one of the tall girls, crowding in close and hoping that none of them notice. He breathes a sigh of relief as they pass Erica without getting noticed, and promptly walks in front of the girls to keep himself guarded.
Okay, so he's avoiding Isaac.
Kinda.
Maybe.
He gets to the cafeteria in record time, and swiftly turns on his heels when he sees who's guarding the queue. Nate. Memories of what Nate said to him the last time they spoke flash through his head, of Kate being alive and free. The thought doesn't sit well with him, it's been haunting him every day since.
He has some questions for Stiles later.
::: :::
"It was just- the weirdest thing," Stiles joins Allison on the hood of his car. As it turns out, he did decide to spend some time with Allison after school, and they ended up in the park after class, Allison leading the way and Stiles following in the jeep.
"It was just- ugh, I don't even-" he sighs shaking his head, handing her an ice-cream he bought her from the vendor down the pathway.
"That was it? You woke up and it was like everything was normal again?" Allison scrunches her nose up in distaste, and Stiles doesn't know whether it's from his father or the ice-cream she's eating. He opens his own, and it's already half melted, running down the stick.
"No, it was like nothing ever happened at all. You know, like, it's never been any different." He squints, licking the ice-cream off his fingers as the situation gets progressively worse. Allison scrunches her nose up at his lack of manners before pointedly looking away.
"And you just went along with it?"
"He made breakfast!" he yells in his own defence, and the look Allison gives him tells him she thinks it's as weak of an argument as he does. "And he was asking me about school, and if I was okay and-" Stiles' voice hitches a little. "He called me 'kiddo'," he says quietly, eyes directed to the ground as he dumps his melted ice-cream on the ground. Allison scowls at him for it, he pretends not to see.
"I don't know what to do," he admits, and he feels a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles into his skin.
"Did it make you happy?" Stiles blows out a breath, shaking his head. He gets up and picks his ice-cream off the floor, taking Allison's from her out-stretched hand.
"I don't know how it made me feel," he says over his shoulder, and Allison hops off the hood and follows him over to the garbage can. "One hand I'm angry," he continues, beginning to walk down the lane through the park. "After everything he's done over the years, terrible things, I don't even get an apology. It's like he thinks he can click his fingers and everything's just fuckin' awesome again."
He kicks a pile of dead leaves as he walks, and Allison hums, stepping in unison with him. They stop by the lake in the centre of the park, leaning against the railing and watching the ducks play in the water. There's a family a little down the way, throwing pieces of bread in the water and attracting most of them.
"And on another hand I'm frustrated. He doesn't have the right to act like nothing's happened, he can't just invalidate everything he's done because he says so. And that just makes me even angrier."
"And?" Allison encourages him, sensing there's more. Stiles sighs.
"And yeah, it made me happy. He called me kiddo, he hasn't said that since-" Mom. "And it did feel nice to actually sit down and talk to him. A part of me liked pretending that nothing ever happened, it felt easier to forget. And another part of me is angry at myself for that, and that he made me happy, and that just makes me angry."
"So I'm guessing that you feel angry about it," Allison chuckles, resting her chin in her hands, staring out at the ducks dipping their heads in the water and ruffling their feathers. Stiles smiles a little at it, they're cute.
"Mostly," he answers honestly. "Among other things."
"That make you angry," she grins. Stiles laughs, nodding his head.
"It sounds to me like he's trying," she says softly, the smile on her face softer. Stiles just looks back at her, thinking about that. He knows his father's trying, she's right about that, and he wonders if maybe how he's acting is a little too harsh.
"Am I wrong here? Am I being the bad guy?" He doesn't really want to know the answer, because even if he is, he's not sure it's going to change anything.
"No," she replies easily, and he actually believes her. It soothes him. "Me and my dad didn't always get along, remember?" Stiles nods at her, remembering the nights she'd stay at his to get away from the screaming at home, how they didn't speak for months, remembers how long it took for her to trust him again.
"Things like this can't just go away, they just can't," she continues. "And I'm not saying it's going to be easy, because it's not. It's a long and hard process, but things will heal in time. You just have to be patient." Stiles nods, even if he is still unsure, and jerks his head towards the carpark so they'll start walking again.
"I can't just go on like this. He can't just pretend we haven't spent the last four years walking on eggshells around each other. Four years, Allison," raising said number of fingers for emphasis.
"Do you want to spend the rest of them walking on eggshells?" It's a question that has Stiles stopping in his tracks, and Allison stops and turns to look at him.
He's always thought that this would be the rest of his life with his father, he never thought they'd ever recover. Birthdays and Christmases have been hard enough as it is, Stiles has learned to dread his birthday more than look forward to it, too many stiff hugs and awkward eye contact for him to handle.
Not to mention the fact that he's going off to college this September, and he's not sure that if he leaves he'll ever come back, all of his other responsibilities be damned. Especially since Scott hasn't shown his face in over a week, and all things considered, his father hasn't given him much to come back for.
But now things can be different, he can look forward to birthdays and Christmases and have a reason to come home for the holidays. His father's just given him a peace offering, an olive branch.
And he's being a little brat about it.
"Of course not," he says quietly, meeting her stare. Allison considers him, hair blowing in the cool breeze as they stand in silence, nothing but the echoes of children playing around them and birds chirping happily in the trees. The truth is he wants this, he wants his father to be his father again, he wants to be his father's son again.
"Then I think you should try, too," she says after some consideration. And that's when the reality of it hits him. John Stilinski is going to be his father again, a name that's become something of a dirty word in his head. His mind unravels back to the other week, when his father just shot that man in the woods and handed him over like it was nothing.
And at the end of the day he doesn't think it would have mattered if it had been a stranger or Scott or Allison or Derek. There's not a doubt in his mind his father would have done the same to him.
Stiles shakes his head, blinking back tears as he steps ahead of her, her attempts at slowing him down by pulling on his sleeve futile.
"I don't think I can forgive him, Ally," he says to her once she catches up to him by the jeep. "Not after everything he's done, the lives he's destroyed. Imagine what he'd say to me about the things we do, he wouldn't understand, he can't understand- and- everything with Gerard- I can't just- just-"
His breath hitches, and Allison watches him with wide eyes as he feels the panic taking over. His throat dries and closes, constricting the passage to his lungs as he gasps for air. His breathing becomes laboured, his chest heaving as it gets harder and harder to breathe. He sucks in air as best he can through his nose, his breathing heavy and harsh to get that tiny intake of oxygen.
It all happens in a rush and slow motion all at once, everything too fast and too slow to focus on. Allison grabs his shoulders, pushing his back against the jeep door. She steps back, blinking and watching him as her hands move in a frenzy. He slumps down the door, gripping the handle for support, and she follows him until they're both squatting.
She's saying something, her voice fast and shaky, but he can't make out the words, going in one ear and out the other before he can process any of it. He tries to read her mouth, but his vision swirls like a ripple in the ocean, and it's like he's under water. He can't see and he can't breathe, and it's like his ears are filling up with water, the sound muffled.
Allison pulls him completely to the ground, and his legs give way as his bones turn to jelly. His head lulls back, and he stares of at the sky with watery, strained eyes. The tree branches high above them are nothing but blurry black lines fading into the blue sky. Allison shifts his head where it's lulling around dazedly, and her face comes in and out of focus.
"It's okay," he hears her tell him, but it's hard to hear over the beating of his heart in his ears. "Breath with me," he thinks she says, but he can barely hear her and her mouth is moving too fast to lip read. He shakes his head, he attempts to get up, but his hand ends up hitting something hard and shots of pain run up his arm.
"Stiles!" she tries, and he hears her better this time when she shouts. He tries to argue, to push her away only to weakly clutch her coat as a high pitched whine escapes his lips. His arms go limp and he ends up pulling her forward, her forehead crashing against his and causing the back of his own head to hit back against the jeep.
She doesn't pull away, as much as he's babbling for her to, and she grabs his head still. "Breathe," she says softly. "In through the nose, out through the mouth." He does as she says, going in and out in two's like she directs him to. Eventually they make it to six, and the more he breathes the clearer he hears her guiding him.
They sit like that until he starts to feel a little woozy from all the controlled breathing, clutching each other tightly, and until his hand starts to hurt. He opens his eyes to a face full of Allison's hair, until she pulls away when Stiles starts to choke on it. She laughs, sitting back against her own car parked next to the jeep.
"Well, now that that show is over," he tilts his head to the rest of the car park, where a few families are walking idly by. She huffs a laugh, her own breathing heavy. She hisses with a wince when she looks down at his right hand, the skin torn and red and bleeding from where he must have smacked it against the gravel earlier.
"Come on," she stands and offers him a hand up, "I've got a first aid kit in my trunk." Stiles does too, for the record, but he figures this is job better done by someone else rather than a half-assed job at midnight tonight. She opens the trunk and sits on the edge of her car in silence as she locates the box, rummage through an endless pile of coats and bags and cables and- shoes.
"It looks like Lydia threw up in the back of your car," he states, and Allison laughs as she pulls out the box.
"You should see my closet," he says, flicking through band aids and antiseptics and needles. He tries not to think about that, instead focusing on what Allison said. He can't help but smirk at the idea of Lydia throwing out half of her clothes and replacing them.
That being said, when Allison first moved here it probably happened. Lydia doesn't fuck around.
"Bah!" he flinches back, pulling his hand away from Allison's where she's wiping his knuckles down with an alcohol wipe. She thought she'd be sneaky about it, too, catching him while he was off-guard. She holds her hand out like she's talking to a toddler.
"Gimme your hand and stop being such a baby," she says sternly in her best kindergartner teacher voice. He gapes at her, cradling his abused hand close to his chest and mouths the word 'no' at her. She rolls her eyes, grabbing his hand anyway and yanking him forward. He tries not to think about the yelp that escaped his mouth as she did.
He sits down again, wincing at the touch. "Stiles. I haven't even started yet."
"I know but it's the anticipation that's the worst part," he whines, biting his knuckles when Allison really goes to town on his hand with that wipe. He only whimpers a little bit (a lot), Allison grinning at him like the crazy person that she is inside.
Eventually the whimpering stops and they sit in silence as Allison works her trained hunter magic on him. They learn medical training pretty early on, apparently. Among other things. He startles when she speaks again, as she unwraps some bandages from the roll.
"Nobody's asking you to forgive him," she says. He doesn't say anything to that, just watches her wrap the bandage around his hand and knuckles. "He's not asking that." That confuses him, because he thought that's what the entire ordeal he went through this morning was about. Forgiveness.
"Then I don't know what he wants from me," he says quietly. Allison finishes wrapping the bandage around his hand, cutting the end of it and stick the end piece down with some tape. She puts the scissors and tape back in the box and discards it in the trunk again, sitting beside him.
"He's asking for a second chance, Stiles," which catches him off guard, because he knows there's only one road he can go down when it's put like that. "I think we all deserve one, don't you?" Stiles nods absently, and Allison smiles softly at him as a car pulls up on the other side of the jeep. "Think about it, okay?"
Stiles nods at her again, pulling his sleeve down at the sound of heels hitting the ground heavily. "That'd be my ride," he motions his head for Allison to look behind him.
"Yeah, you wish, Stilinski," Lydia strides up to them, and Stiles sneers up at her. Allison sighs, probably because her peace and quiet is now officially over. He made it up to Lydia for snapping at her the other day, after countless errands she made him do. She even had a list. Already made.
"The bickering never ends," she sighs, pulling the trunk door down as Stiles squawks to safety from being crushed.
"You could have killed me, you know," he says matter of factly, and Allison rolls her eyes as she steps towards the driver's side of her car.
"Wouldn't that be a shame?" and Lydia hums beside her. Stiles balks at the two of them, Lydia unapologetically admiring her nails and Allison grinning devilishly at him. Dangerous, they are together. Menaces to society.
"I'll have you know, I am a pleasure," and they both snort, Lydia dragging him away and Allison getting into her car. They nod at each other from the cars as they pull out the gate, both driving in opposite directions. Her words sit with him for the entire journey.
A second chance.
::: :::
Derek can't help but just watch Stiles as he fidgets, more than usual actually, his fingers playing with the seam of his hoodie or the laces of his shoes or pretty much anything he can reach. He's miles away, sitting right in front of him, a crease in his brow making him look deep in thought. Derek doesn't comment on the bandage wrapped around his hand. Yet.
"What's wrong?" he can't help but ask. Stiles startles, blinking at him and stilling his hands where they were pulling on the strings of his hoodie. He was getting pretty close to strangling himself.
"Oh, nothing," he shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in Derek's direction. "Just tired is all," he lies as he looks back down at the grass, shoulders sagging. By the state of him Derek might have actually believed him if it wasn't for the barely there uptick of his heartbeat.
"Stiles," he says warningly, and Stiles rolls his eyes, knowing there's not much Derek can do to make him speak. Derek's brow furrows deeper, and Stiles finally breaks eye contact with him and sighs, long and pained.
"Do you believe in second chances?" Stiles asks him. Derek just stares back at him, thinking that that was the last thing he was expecting to come from the guy's mouth. He considers him, chooses a safe answer.
"Depends," is all he says, and Stiles looks at him like he's been no help at all. It's the truth, though. Isaac, he deserved a second chance, McCall even. Pretty much everybody in here deserves a second chance, except the hunters. People like Kate and Gerard and Nate don't deserve second chances. They deserve to live the way he's lived.
"On what?"
"On how bad they fucked up," Derek answers him, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. In his mind it is. Stiles looks back down on the ground. "Why are you asking me this? Is it the bandage?" Stiles pulls his sleeve down over his hand, and Derek wonders if it was a subconscious move considering how deep in thought he looks. "Did someone hurt you?"
Stiles jerks his head up, and Derek almost flinches. His eyes are wide and tired as he shakes his head, brow creasing and mouth turning downwards.
"What? No. No, of course not. I was just being a klutz," he laughs weakly, and Derek half-believes him, but he knows there's more to it than that. "I mean, not physically."
"Who are we talking about here?" he asks, biting his tongue when what he really wants to do is reach out and grab him. It's not new seeing Stiles like this, there's a glimpse of that facial expression every time he sees Derek instead of Scott, but he's been happier lately, if that's the word you'd use. Less… tense.
He doesn't like seeing him like this, and he thinks it's weird that he feels that way. He barely even knows the guy.
Stiles looks back at him like the answer to his question physically pains him to respond with whatever name he wants to say, instead opting for a more careful answer, however vague.
"Someone close to me." Derek wonders if it's a friend, his mother or father, a boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe. He doesn't push, though, because Stiles' wording was deliberate and he's clearly not ready to completely open up about it, which is understandable all things considered.
"What did they do?" Derek asks instead, expecting an equally vague answer. Stiles doesn't answer right away, putting thought into his words before he speaks again.
"He's…" Stiles trails off, squinting before shaking his head. Derek doesn't say anything, doesn't encourage him to say anything when he doesn't want to, doesn't try to fill in the gaps for him. Stiles will tell him what he wants to tell him, because he's been in Stiles' situation a thousand times.
"He's not a bad guy," he says then, catching Derek's attention again. "And he has everyone's best interests at heart, but he's-" He can tell Stiles is struggling, mainly because Stiles is never one to be lost for words. Ever. "He does bad things, but he doesn't understand that they're bad things, he thinks what he's doing is right. I don't know," he sighs. "He's just ignorant."
Derek tilts his head at him, and the way Stiles looks up at him with his lips in a firm line tells him he's done talking now. Derek thinks back on what he said.
"Sounds like a hunter," he says, wondering if that was the right thing to respond with. He's guessing no, they way Stiles immediately pales, even paler than he already is, and his face crumples for a fraction of a second before he steals himself. "Stiles," he says again, and Stiles' eye flick back to him from where he was staring off into the distance looking like someone stabbed him. "What happened?"
Stiles' face goes blank, and he swallows harshly before shaking his head. "Nothing, just- I was just curious about something. And you know what they say," he says, voice getting forcefully happier by the syllable, "Curiosity killed the cat, so I'm just going to move on. Have I told you that I figured out what I want to do in college? I figured it out the other day, like, I was just thinking and it suddenly hit me. It was, like, the most obvious thing, I don't know how I didn't think of it-"
"Stiles," Derek stops him, tone stern.
"-sooner," he finishes quietly, eyes not leaving the ground.
"Obviously you don't want me to know what happened, for whatever reason that may be, so I can't really give you any advice other than this. If you want it," he adds. Stiles looks back up at him, his mouth parted as he nods his confirmation. "If you think this guy, whoever he is, deserves a second chance, then give him one."
Stiles stares at him for what feels like minutes, before he catches himself and coughs, nods, before he says a simple, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Derek nods curtly, happy to help him in some way.
"So what are you going to do?" Derek asks him, and Stiles pauses, thinking.
"I don't know," and Derek sighs and rolls his eyes, making Stiles laugh. "I guess I'll know when the time comes," he says quietly, almost to himself.
Things go silent, comfortably, and it gives Derek time to think to himself as Stiles does the same. He thinks back to earlier, when he saw Nate, and he remembers what he was meant to ask Stiles today.
"Is Kate Argent dead?" he blurts out before he can think better of it, snapping his mouth shut as soon as he registers what he just said. Stiles just blinks at him, wide-eyed and gaping. He shakes his head, opening and closing his mouth.
"Woah, where the hell did that come from?" he leans closer, voice hushed. Derek curses himself inwardly, tries not to go tense and give anything away. He shrugs and tries to go for casual, but something on Stiles' face tells him he's not buying into it.
"Just heard someone say something a while ago," he says, and it's like lying to this guy is the easiest thing in the world. He somehow knows Stiles isn't as easily fooled as he looks, especially when he just raises his eyebrows with a flat expression.
"About Kate Argent," he says disbelievingly. Derek nods, pursing his lips in a way that says yeah, what can you do? "Okay," he says slowly, drawing out the word. Derek waits in anticipation, wondering if he even wants the answer now that he's asked the question.
He doesn't know if he can take the idea of that woman walking around free or in Beacon Hills, doesn't like the fact that he could still bump into her here. The idea that Stiles even knows who she is unsettles him, a twist of tension in his stomach. They might even be close, could be Stiles' next door neighbour for all he knows.
"Yeah," is all Stiles says, and Derek almost flinches from the word, that is until he realizes he doesn't know what Stiles is saying yes to. He waits for Stiles to continue, but Stiles just looks back at him like this is his first time seeing him. Derek lifts his eyebrows at him, and Stiles lifts them back, and they both raise them progressively higher.
"Is that it? Yeah?" he urges Stiles onward, heart beating rapidly and voice coming out shakier than he'd like. Stiles nods.
"Yup," he pops the 'p', and Derek wonders if he's being a little shit on purpose or if it just comes natural to him. He guesses it's both.
"Oh my fucking God, Stiles, is she dead or alive?" Stiles eyebrows shoot up.
"She's dead, dude," he says with more ease than Derek can understand when it comes from a human. Or uninfected as Stiles probably knows himself as. Also, she's dead. Kate Argent is fucking dead. He breathes a sigh of relief, and feels like a whole weight has been lifted from his shoulders with those three words.
She's dead. A small laugh escapes his lips, and Stiles only stares at him looking confused yet amused. He ignores the fact that he just rhymed in his own head.
"What?" he grumbles, coughing away the laugh and smirk on his face.
"You know, you don't seem too put-out over her dying and everything," he grins, his hands expressive and distracting.
"Well, let's just say I didn't really like her very much," he says with less amusement now. He's glad he knows the truth now, even though he wants to move the subject away from the person who burned his family alive. He blinks rapidly, staring at the floor as he wills his thoughts to go away, for his heart to stop hurting and beating like rapid fire all at once.
"Yeah, I wasn't too fond of her either, the psycho bitch. Some guy cut her throat after she burned some family alive like four years back." Derek slowly looks up at him, Stiles staring off into the distance looking angry and pained. He didn't think Kate's cause of death would have made it to the newspapers, but he supposes she was too big of a local celebrity for it not to be. "Got everything she deserved if you ask me."
Stiles looks back at him and Derek quickly schools his features. "But you're sure she's dead?" he asks again, because he has to know for sure before he tries to erase her and everything to do with her from his mind completely. Stiles nods, looking a little concerned.
"Yeah, I went to her funeral." Derek's eyebrows shoot up at that, and he's just about to ask about it when Stiles continues on, a smirk on his lips. "Got a front row seat and everything. Perks of being friends with an Argent I guess."
Derek tenses, shoulders hunching in closer to himself. Stiles must notice, because he looks at Derek like he's grown a second head. Derek stares at him, not quite meeting his eyes.
"You're friends with an Argent?" Realization dawns on Stiles' face as he begin shaking his head. He shifts closer, waving his hand casually like this isn't a big fucking deal.
"Relax, it's only Allison-"
"The girl you brought?" he almost shouts, and Stiles glances around quickly to make sure nobody heard him. He's waving his hands in a 'no, no, no, no' fashion, and Derek's on his feet in seconds, Stiles rushing to follow him. "You brought an Argent to the fence? Are you crazy? She-" his voice breaks as it rises in pitch the more he speaks.
Stiles is still shaking his head, but the expression on his face says all Derek needs to know, that he fucked up big time. "She saw me!" he hisses, crowding as close to Stiles as he can without head-butting the fence. Stiles looks at him with wide-eyes. Derek shakes his head at him, no doubt scowling hard at the kid, before turning away.
He feels hands grabbing at his tee shirt and immediately stills. He carefully takes a minute step backwards toward the fence to allow Stiles to keep some space between himself and the wire. "Stiles. Take your hands out of the fence." He can hear Stiles' laboured breathing behind him.
"Not until you hear me out," Stiles says, and his voice wavers like he's in a panic. Derek sighs, nodding for him to continue.
"Go on," he says flatly, because he remembers his own words from earlier, about giving people second chances if they deserve it.
"Allison is Scott's girlfriend, okay? She's one of my best friends, I've known her for years. She's not like Kate or Gerard. Her and her dad, they- they're different. They're not-" He breaks off, thinks about his next words like they're the deal breakers in all of this. "They're good people," he says softly, and Derek can feel his breath hit the back of his neck and it sends chills down his spine.
Derek turns his head as far as he can and just stares at him, wondering what to do with all of this information and wondering why Stiles is telling him all of this. Why he cared so much about Derek walking away. "You can trust me. You're safe."
"You're not," is all Derek says before he reaches behind his back to remove Stiles' hands from his shirt, turns, and guides Stiles' hands back through the fence. "Don't do that again," he says, before letting Stiles hands go.
"Is that your way of saying 'I forgive you, Stiles. Please continue to grace me with your presence and awesomeness'." Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at him with a big grin and Derek can't help but snort, Stiles eyes twinkling.
"Something like that," he says flatly, steeling himself again. They go back to sitting cross-legged on the ground, and as Stiles starts talking his ear off about college courses, he can't help but agree that yeah, Stiles is safe.
::: :::
It's late in the evening when Stiles gets home after picking up his jeep from the park. The sky is pink as the sun hangs low in the sky. The house is dark when he gets in, leaving his keys in the bowl before taking a seat on the couch in the living room.
His father won't be home for another while, the house soundless apart from the ticking clock on the mantelpiece. He sits back, staring into the darkness as the last remnants of light disappear through the window.
The photograph of his father hanging on the wall fades into the shadows, and he clears his head.
And just thinks.
::: :::
Stiles leaves twenty minutes later, but not before he gives Derek the 'schedule' for when it's appropriate to visit. He'd love to know who Stiles has on the inside, or how Stiles found him. He didn't know there were people like that in here.
He doesn't have much time to ponder on the idea as Erica catches up to him on the way to his cell. He startles as she runs into him, desperately grabbing onto his shoulder. Derek quickly spins to look at her, and his stomach drops at the look on her face. She's panting, brow creased as she swallows, still gripping onto him.
"What's wrong?" he ducks his head at her, trying to catch her gaze as he settles both hands on each of her shoulders to steady her.
"Where have you been?" she gasps, but before Derek even has a chance to panic or fumble for an answer to that, she's jerking her chin in the direction of his cell, pulling him along in a rush.
"What-" He's cut off by the movement, and he allows himself to be pulled. They're both jogging by the time they reach the door, and Derek pushes ahead as he overtakes her. His head's spinning, trying not to think of any of the horrible possibilities forming in his head.
He doesn't hesitate before rushing into the room, halting himself as soon as his eyes land on what's waiting inside for him. He slowly turns around, trying to fight the anger surging through him, only to see Erica leaning against the doorframe of the cell, a smug smile curling the edges of her lips. Boyd makes an appearance behind her, looking as unapologetic as her.
He sighs.
"What- what is this," he says, tone flat as he shakes his head in disappointment at the two of them. He ignores the racing of his heart at the impending situation, just glares daggers at them because they all know there's no going back from this now.
"You two assholes are being ridiculous," Erica starts, and Derek winces when Boyd nods curtly behind her, as silent as ever. "So you're going to work on your issues for a little bit, and when you do, you can come back out." Derek huffs at her condescending tone, and she rolls her eyes at him as she pulls the door closed with a louder bang than necessary.
He turns just in time to see Isaac flinch at the sound, and it's that moment that the guilt her feels come surging back. Guilt over what happened, and for avoiding him and for leaving it this late to talk to him. And for having Erica kick him up the ass to do so. Isaac blinks up at him from where he's perched at the edge of Derek's bed.
"I think we need to talk," he says, voice emotionless and weak. Derek nods, silently sitting on the bed next to him, and rests his elbows on his knees, sighing. He doesn't say anything, waits for Isaac to speak first.
"I'm sorry," is what he comes out with, and it shouldn't surprise Derek as much as it does when he jerks his gaze towards him. Derek guesses apologizing is just an instinct to Isaac, something he picked up during the years of abuse under his father. Isaac doesn't look up at him, eyes burning holes into the floor.
Derek rubs his shoulder gently, and Isaac tenses at first, slowly relaxing under Derek's hand. "You don't have to be sorry," he says soothingly. Isaac shakes his head, looking up now but only at the opposite wall, not at Derek. Derek takes his hand away, going back to his previous position.
"I do," he says sternly, but before Derek can argue he's speaking again. "I've been avoiding you ever since I got back." Derek wants to tell him that it's okay, mainly because he was doing it, too, but Isaac continues, his word cutting Derek like a knife in his chest.
"I was- I was afraid of seeing you, I thought you- I was afraid of what you might think of me." A tear runs down Isaac's cheek, and Derek feels helpless as he opens his mouth but no words come out. "I didn't want you to be disappointed, but- I know that you think I was stupid for what I was doing but I was just- just-"
"Just helping a friend," Derek says hollowly, feeling like he's about to throw up. He can't help but think that his father is to blame for Isaac always being like this, he knows his father's the reason he's like this. So afraid of disappointing everybody, of disappointing Derek. Derek pulls him close, Isaac sniffling against his chest as Derek holds him tight.
"I don't think you're stupid," Derek says quietly, but loud enough for Isaac to hear. "You were protecting your friend, how could I be disappointed in you for that?" Isaac sniffs. "You were really brave, and I'm so proud of you for it." Isaac latches onto his jumper, burying his face in it. Derek wonders when he became a father figure to this kid.
"I'm sorry, too," he admits, a little bit later. Isaac pulls back to look at him, and Derek finds it hard to look back at his watery eyes.
"For what?" Derek feels the guilt creeping its way back into his mind, and he looks away, feeling Isaac's expectant gaze against his skin. He sighs.
"I'm your alpha, I should have been looking after you better." In the corner of his eyes he can see Isaac shifting, shaking his head at him.
"No, you-"
"Should have protected you. I should have stood up for you before they-"
"Derek," Isaac says, with such determination that it halts his thought process. His mouth snaps shut, still looking anywhere but Isaac. "Derek look at me." Derek shakes his head, and he hears Isaac shifting closer. "Derek," he says softly, and it has Derek finally turning to look at him. Isaac stares at him, eyes searching his face.
"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't," he says, a bitter smile on his face that soon fades as quick as it appears. "It was- Scott, he-" His voice breaks on the name, eyes dipping to the floor. Derek swallows past a lump in his throat.
"He's coming back," Derek fills in for him, because something about Isaac makes him believe that there's a chance it's possible. And if he was having doubts, well, he wouldn't have said as much anyway. He thinks of Stiles, and yeah, Scott's coming back.
"He's dead," Isaac says lowly, and Derek freezes, feels his shoulders tense as he slowly turns to Isaac. "Scott's dead."
"What?" his voice cracks, swallowing past a lump.
"He-" he pauses, taking a long breath in. "Scott's dead, Derek." Derek can feel his heartrate rising, can't actually believe it as much as he already thought it to be true.
"Scott McCall?" he breathes.
"Yes, Derek, Scott McCall!" Isaac raises his voice, and it wavers as he speaks, and edge of desperation to it. Isaac's not really one for yelling. Derek's on his knees in seconds, shushing him, urging him to calm down as Isaac looks like he's about to lose it. His fingers curl and uncurl into his trousers, shaking his head, tears streaming down his face.
"What happened?" he asks levelly, but Isaac still shakes his head, muttering nonsense under his breath. "Isaac."
"I killed him." Derek stares at him, Isaac meeting his eyes when he says it, and when he does, he seems to calm a little. Derek just watches him, soon snapping out of it and grabbing both of Isaac's arms in his hands.
"Walk me through it, tell me what happened," he says with conviction, like this doesn't affect him as much as it actually is. Isaac considers him, taking even breaths before speaking. Derek tries not to think too hard about the image of Isaac killing McCall.
"We- They had us in this… chamber. This room- we were chained up and they were-" he swallows, "They knew it was Scott, that I had nothing to do with it, but they wouldn't let him talk, they were- hurting him, threatening him. They were killing him. But they covered his mouth and-"
"Isaac, calm breaths," Derek says, breathing along with him.
"They wanted me to tell them- to tell them what he'd been doing. Scott made me not tell, he kept shaking his head at me every time they asked me a question. I- I kept saying I didn't know anything, and- they'd hurt him worse every time but he told me not to tell them anything so I didn't and then they- they-"
"Killed him?" Derek finishes for him quietly. Isaac stills at the words, but nods with a shaky breath. "How are you sure he'd dead?" Derek asks, afraid to know the answer. He expects something like a broad sword through the waist, a chainsaw cutting off his head, maybe even a lead pipe through his chest, nothing at all like what Isaac says next.
"They injected him with wolf's bane," he hears Isaac say, well, what he thinks Isaac said. It's the last thing he would have expected from hunters, to kill him in a way that's semi-humane, like he was on death row getting the lethal injection. He would've expected something drastic. "I watched him die, I heard his heart stop beating."
Derek nods at him, blinks a few times before standing up again, gently taking his seat by Isaac's side again. Isaac's gaze doesn't follow him, he just continues to stare down at the floor. "Don't make me say it."
Isaac turns his head and looks at him, eye not quite meeting his. "Maybe if I had just told them the truth then maybe they might have let him off. Maybe they'd- Maybe he'd still be here." Derek watches him, wonders how someone as smart as Isaac can think like this, wonders how Isaac can actually believe those words to be even possibly true.
"Maybe," he says. "Or they would have done it anyway, whether you told them or not. Or maybe they'd have killed you, too, since then they would have known you were in on it." Isaac's eyes dip, as if only now realizing what actually happened that day. "Isaac," he says, and he catches Isaac's eyes this time. "Scott died, saving your life."
Isaac's eyes are glassy with unshed tears, his lips thinning as they press together and he nods, as if finally understanding. "So you see why I'm having trouble with idea that this is your fault." Derek pats Isaac's back with his hand and rests it there as Isaac sighs.
"Thank you," he says, shocking Derek, who's expression probably says as much. Isaac looks lighter than he has since he got back days ago.
"You don't need to-"
"I do," Isaac interrupts him with determination, and Derek doesn't push. "I haven't- I haven't slept in days, Derek, and when I do I- all I can see when I close my eyes is his face. I saw him, Derek. I watched him die, this- black blood oozing out of his mouth and ears and nose and eyes, he- I heard his heart stop, I saw everything," he chokes, and Derek hauls him closer, not just because Isaac needs it, but because he does, too.
"It's over now," he whispers.
Isaac doesn't talk anymore, and neither does Derek. The room goes silent, nothing but the sound of their laboured breathing, Derek's head resting against Isaac's. He tries not to picture any of what Isaac just said, tries not to think about what it must do to Isaac.
God knows he's in the same situation with his own guilt.
There's only one thing he can think about, and as much as he tries, he can't shake the thoughts from his head.
What he's going to say or how he's going to say it. He's going to have to do it tomorrow, knows he can't ignore this.
He's going to have to tell Stiles.
::: :::
Stiles is still on the couch when his father arrives home a couple of hours later. He's sprawled across all three cushions, face half meshed into the arm at one end. He can feel himself dozing from the boredom of channel surfing, not liking anything he comes across but not looking for anything either. That is until he changes over to the local news network.
He sighs, continuing to flick through the channels again. He doesn't need to listen to Leslie Ryan talk yet again about how the numbers of Therianthropes caught in the area is decreasing. The number of Therianthropes caught in the area has decreased by almost half of what it was last year. And he knows the questions they're asking.
Does that mean they're beating the virus? Does that mean the infected are getting better at hiding themselves? Does it mean everything will be back to what they deem normal soon? Or does it simply mean that John Stilinski, our town sheriff, and the ATC are just getting sloppy in their line of work?
He rolls his eyes when he finds himself back on the news channel. He knows what it means, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. On one hand the number is down, which is great, but he knows that it's only because most of the wolves have already been locked up. Not so great.
He moves away from the subject, muting the TV before lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't want his thoughts on this to mix with his thoughts on his father, he doesn't know if he can stop it from influencing his decision.
He doesn't know if he's even made the right decision, even though he's practically spent the entire evening thinking. He opted to watch TV at some stage not too long ago in an attempt to clear his head, but he doesn't think it was very successful.
But he supposes he'll know if he made the right decision or not.
It's not a moment later that he hears his father pushing his key into the front door. He hears it click open, followed by his father's voice. "Stiles, you home?" he calls from the doorway. Stiles sits up, putting the remote back on the coffee table.
"Living room," he replies, quieter. He can hear his father rustling as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up, the rattle of dropping his keys in the bowl, the sounds of footsteps drawing closer until his father is standing in the threshold of the living room door.
"Hey," his father says warmly, a small smile on his face that looks happier than it looks polite. Stiles tries not to smile back up at him.
"Hey, dad," he greets, his father moving further into the room to turn off the TV. Stiles tries not to feel too guilty about leaving it on when his father's around. It's obviously a sore spot for the two of them, but he hopes it doesn't cause any tension between them. They don't need it right now.
"Leslie Ryan's not invited to dinner," he mutters to himself, smiling at his son as he puts the remote back on the coffee table. Stiles takes that a signal that everything's okay, smiling back at him, feeling lighter at the comment.
"I was just about to go and put that on, actually," he grunts, sitting forward to stand up but his father gestures for him to stay where he's seated. He pauses, doesn't sit back as his father moves back to the door.
"No need," he comes back holding a white plastic bag. "I picked something up on the way home, if that's alright." He discards the bag on the coffee table, Stiles watching from his seat in silence as he empties the bag, two white cartons, a set of chopsticks, a plastic fork for Stiles because he's a klutz and can't use chop sticks and two sodas.
His father offers him one of the white cartons, but Stiles doesn't take it, just blinks up at him as his father holds it closer and closer. "What?" his father asks under Stiles' scrutiny. "It's from that noodle place you like out on Main." Stiles looks down at the carton and back to his father.
"You ordered take-out? Really?" he asks disbelievingly, taking the carton when it looks like his father's arm is about to fall off. Just another reason he shouldn't be eating stuff like this. His father sighs, taking his own carton before slumping back in the recliner across from Stiles.
His father's about to reply when Stiles' growling stomach cuts him off, and Stiles curses himself. His father's mouth snaps shut and forms a smug smile. "Seems to me like it's not so much of a problem after all."
Stiles holds his hands up in defeat, but not before he takes a rather large mouth full of noodles, letting them hang out of his mouth and making his father scrunch up his nose. "Alright, alright, you got me. I was just thinking that maybe you could have chosen an- I don't know, healthier option?"
"Got extra vegetables in mine. And chicken. And the noodles are gluten-free. God forbid I have bacon and red meat in the same month."
Stiles stares at him, impressed, before nodding and going back to his noodles. "Just making sure you didn't think you were getting away with no vegetables tonight," Stiles says around a mouthful of noodles. "But I'm afraid it's vegetables again tomorrow." His father points down at his food in protest, mouth also full. "One's that aren't smothered in soy sauce."
His father rolls his eyes as Stiles smirks at him. He loves when he wins. They fall into a comfortable silence, which is new. Mainly because usually when they're not talking somebody's angry, or they're not talking for fear of making someone angry.
"How was your day?" his father asks then, catching him by surprise as he sucks in a noodle and making him choke. He rushes for his soda, and his father sighs in exasperation. "That bad, huh? Sorry I asked." There's no heat to what he says, and he likes that they can be like this. He just wishes they could be like this with a different topic.
Stiles hasn't had the best of days.
"Was good," he nods, his father pausing to look at him as if waiting for more. As if pleading for more. "Well, it was kinda boring actually." What else can he say? He went to the park and had a panic attack and injured his hand, he went to the ATC facility to meet up with some stranger?
His father hums anyway, as if he understands. "I had lacrosse practise, though. I think Coach is finally starting to notice me." His father raises his eyebrows at that.
"Yeah?"
Stiles nods, blinking at how proud his father looks right now, the intensity of the look he's watching him with. "That's great." Stiles just nods, and like that they're in silence again. It's getting awkward again, and just as he's about to do something about it his father speaks. "Does Derek play lacrosse?"
Stiles stills.
"Derek?"
"Yeah, Derek. The new guy you were telling me about this morning. You know, the one you secretly like but won't tell me about because I'm your dad and you're not in third grade anymore and not confessing your undying love and hopes for a spring wedding." Stiles takes a moment to find his bearings, ignoring the Lydia jab.
"Uh, no. No, Derek doesn't play lacrosse," he says quietly, eyes on his food. "How was your day?" he asks, changing the subject. He doesn't want to have to deal with the anxiety of talking about Derek, not only because it's Derek and an entirely different Derek than to what his father thinks, but also because he doesn't want to start off the truce with his dad by lying to his face.
His father sighs tiredly, shaking his head with a small, fond smile on his face. "Busy," he answers. Stiles looks up, making sure to look casual and interested. Not to say he's not interested, he just doesn't want to look so distracted by his thoughts.
"You remember Misses Aleman?" Of course Stiles remembers her. He tries not to look so sad when he speaks, coughing before doing so to clear any lumps in the way.
"Of course," he answers honestly, thankful that his voice didn't break. She was one of his mother's friends, although she was a lot older than his mom. She's an old lady now, he sees her every now and then on her front porch, pretends not to see her to save himself the trauma of talking about his mom.
"She thought one of her cats got stuck up a tree, called in such a frenzy that I just drove down myself. Ended up spending an hour and a half there, stubborn woman wouldn't let me leave." Stiles laughs, it sounds like her, pretending not to have tears in his eyes as he stares at the wall.
"She probably had you running around doing her chores." His father hums.
"Wanted me to go out her back yard and pull some of the weeds out from the cracks in the concrete. Told her if I bent over she'd need to call another deputy in to pick me back up again. So she's knitting me a sweater now instead. It's spring, why would I need a sweater?" Stiles laughs, some of the memories coming back to him of when he was a kid.
"I used to do that for her, when she'd babysit me. Got a dollar a piece for every chore I done."
"You used to come home caked in mud and Mom would be going nuts. And you'd never want to shower, you said that way you couldn't play predator with Scott. Don't even ask me how you knew who that was," his father laughs too himself.
Stiles is pretty sure he stops breathing for a little bit. He didn't think they were at the point of talking about Claudia. It's not something he's ready to talk about, least of all with his father. He's not sure he'll ever be ready. He pushes the thoughts of that night away before they even enter his head.
"She was asking how you were," his father tells him, and Stiles looks back at him for the first time in a while, he realizes. Stiles doesn't need for his father to spell it out for him, he knows this is his father's way of asking, too.
"Tell her I'm good." His father considers him for a moment, before nodding with a relieved smile. Stiles leaves his half-eaten noodles on the coffee table, standing up. His dad goes from looking pleased to looking dejected in an instant, and Stiles almost rushes to explain himself.
"I've got some homework to do, and I'm gonna shower before bed, so," he jerks his thumb towards the door, and his father relaxes slightly, putting his own food down. "Goodnight, dad," he says, leaving the room with a little wave. He's walking up the first step up the stairs when his father answers.
"Goodnight, Son." He doesn't say it quietly this time, like he's afraid to let Stiles hear it. He says it casually, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like it hasn't been building up for years, or that it carries such weight that it should hurt to even think about saying the words. He says it like it's true.
His eyes tear up, all the air rushing out of his lungs as soon as the words register in his head. He pauses with his leg in the air ready to take the next step up. When he looks back over his shoulder the TV is on, and his father is laughing at whatever's happening on 'Married… With Children'.
He smiles to himself before continuing on his way up the stairs.
He sleeps the entire way through the night for the first time in what feels like forever.
And all he can think is that yeah, he made the right choice.
::: :::
"Someone looks happy today," Allison skips up to him, books cradled in her arms against her chest. Stiles shakes his head without looking at her, and she frees one hand to poke his beaming smile for emphasis.
Stiles pushes her hand away, holding the door to the parking lot open for her.
"I take it last night went well," Allison strides ahead, a happy smile mirroring his own.
Stiles hums, fishing for his keys in his pocket. "How did you know?" he asks, not really surprised that she knew about his decision despite him not even mentioning it today. He suspected she knew something was up, he guesses Lydia knows now, too.
"Please," Allison scoffs. "I knew before you did."
"That-" Stiles pauses to think about that before he continues. "Is probably correct." Allison only smiles smugly at him over her shoulder, stopping when they reach their cars which are parked next to each other.
"Thank you," Stiles says softly to her when they both just stand there smiling at each other. Allison dips her head shyly. "For everything."
"You don't need to thank me, really." Stiles shakes his head at her, stepping closer to her until they're just inches apart.
"I do. You gave me the kick up the ass I needed, and for that I am thankful," he leans in and kisses her dimpled cheek, and she pulls him in for a tight hug that he melts into.
"I'm always here to kick your ass," she says soothingly. Stiles snorts into her shoulder, hugging her tighter. He doesn't know where he'd be without this girl.
"You're spending way too much time with Lydia." This time Allison snorts. "Seriously, though, it's terrifying." Allison releases him, but doesn't let go completely, looking at him with fond eyes.
"Seriously, I'm happy for you," she says, squeezing his shoulders. Stiles nods, tilting his head to side as she looks up at him. "I don't know, you look like a huge weight's been lifted off you."
Stiles smiles. "Couldn't agree more," he replies, letting her go. "Talk later?" Allison steps back, nodding her head.
"Yeah," she rounds her car, waving briefly. "Lydia'll pick you up soon."
"Alright," he says, getting into the jeep and releasing a long breath. He waits a moment before driving off, and he's out on the road in minutes.
He thinks about simple things, well, things that are simple now. Like what he's going to make for dinner later. His father's working late at the station tonight, so he probably won't be home. Knowing his dad he'll probably take an hour off to come home for dinner.
Maybe he could do something. He considers cooking and then taking the food down to the station in containers. They could eat together in his office like they used to. His dad would love that, hell, Stiles would love that. Stiles still can't believe that this is his life now.
He's planning to bring his father dinner at work and eat with him and knows that when he gets there his father will say 'Hey, son'. Son. He laughs a little to himself, decides that yeah, that's what he's going to do.
He grabs his phone where it's sitting silently on the dash, unlocking it as he keeps his eyes trained on the road. He glances down at his phone as he texts his father the details for later. There's a loud crash up ahead, and he looks up just in time to see two cars collide at a crossroad in front of him.
He barely has any time to react before he's hit with the airbag.
And everything goes dark.
Note:
Trigger warnings for panic attacks.
If you liked it leave a review and let me know what you think! :D