Hullo! I'm back with another concept fic I decided to write instead of focusing on Destinies Collide 'cause writer's block really be like that.

I was kind of inspired by two other fics from AO3 but it won't be very much like them at all except for like, some minor details.

Enjoy!

September 6th, 2009

Hospitals are the worst.

Maybe it's the fact that everything is white. From floor to ceiling, every surface is absent of color, perhaps in a misguided attempt to evoke peace, or some strange desire to mimic people's assumptions about heaven's appearance as closely as possible without slapping cotton on the walls and calling it clouds. The inescapable scent of iodine pulls on memories he'd rather forget and has his stomach churning, the hospital bed is hard and uncomfortable, the lack of a shirt is giving him goosebumps from the cold, and the looks he gets from any member of the staff that walks past the open door and catch sight of him are almost enough to make him run for it.

Unfortunately, running isn't an option. Not with his dad standing by the side of the bed, arms crossed and leveling him with a look he hasn't seen in so long he can hardly remember what it means. He hasn't moved in the past three minutes since coming into the room, just staring at him and making him fidget under the appraisal as if waiting for something. Stiles can only guess what it could be since he's already apologized on the way to the hospital and promised not to do it again, it wasn't as if he'd planned to get attacked when he went looking for the body in the woods!

A notification sound has his dad finally breaking the impromptu staring contest - Stiles barely keeps himself from blurting out that he won - and pulling his phone from the uniform's pocket. Stiles watches him type something, probably a reply to whatever text he got, before his dad lets out a deep, tired sigh and pockets his phone once again, looking back up to level him with a resigned expression.

"I don't know what to do with you anymore, Stiles," his dad runs a hand over his face, looking incredibly tired. Stiles opens his mouth to make a suggestion, but a raised hand from his dad makes him hold it back, "it's the fourth time this month. I can excuse sneaking into the file room, and even ignore some breaking and entering, but this is borderline obstruction of justice."

"Technically-" Stiles starts but is promptly interrupted.

"Which I wouldn't care one whit about if it hadn't gotten you hurt!" His dad exclaims, looking pointedly at the bandage on his side.

"It's not that bad, doesn't even hurt much!" He protests.

"It could have been!" His dad pauses and takes a deep breath before giving him a look that has him shrinking into himself. "Son, I could have been looking for the other half of your body if whatever bit you hadn't run off."

"I- " he doesn't really have a response for that besides but it did, so all he can do is repeat himself, "I'm sorry."

"So am I," his dad replies solemnly, making him frown, "I texted your aunt, I think it would be a good idea for you to live with her for a while. I clearly can't keep you out of trouble, but maybe she will be able to."

"What?" Stiles can only stare, barely processing his dad's words. "Like spend the whole summer?" He'd spent part of the summer with his aunt before, it had been great but he'd still come back after a couple of weeks.

"Like this year," his dad replies, clearly not amused. "I've tried my best, son. It's just not enough, and I can't keep waiting for the day you manage to get yourself into more trouble than you can snark your way out of. Your aunt managed to raise a teenager already, she'll do fine with one more."

"It's literally the day before school starts!" There's a squeezing feeling in his stomach, and his deep inhale only makes the iodine smell cling to his lungs, "I can't just up and leave. I told Scott I'd pick him up."

"He'll have to make other arrangements," he knows that tone, it's the 'I'm not budging on this' tone and he hates it, how easy it is for his dad to just uproot his life with one sentence. It wasn't the first time, but he'd hoped the previous one had been the last.

"So you're just sending me away?" it takes some effort for the words to make it past his tightening throat, "I'm too much effort, better to cart me off to someone else, is that it?"

There's a sadness bleeding into his dad's expression, but he looks away before it has the chance to affect him.

"I'm just thinking of what's best for you," his dad insists and sighs when he doesn't look back at him, "I'll go sign you out, you'll have tomorrow to pack before the flight."

Stiles refuses to acknowledge it, reaching for his shirt on the foot of the bed instead and carefully pulling it on as he hears his dad's footsteps fading past the door.

"I didn't expect that," a familiar voice from the door has him turning toward it while adjusting his shirt over the bandages. Mrs McCall is leaning on the doorway, arms crossed and looking distinctively unimpressed in that motherly way that makes guilt pool at the bottom of his stomach, "but I can't say it's unwarranted."

"So you're on board with dispatching me to parts unknown?" Stiles inquires.

"Don't be dramatic, Mystic Falls is hardly foreign ground for you," she quips back in a no-nonsense tone, "he's trying his best, Stiles."

"Maybe I am, too," he mumbles under his breath, looking back down at his swaying feet dangling from the bed. "You'll make sure he takes care of himself, right?"

"Of course," Mrs McCall assures softly, stepping closer to squeeze his arm in support, "he'll have many people looking out for him, you just look out for yourself out there, alright?"

"Sure Mrs McCall," he nods, offering her a small smile. She returns it before walking back to the door.

"Who knows, maybe you'll come back finally calling me Melissa," she teases as she leaves.

"Never, ma'am!" He calls after her with a chuckle.

It doesn't take long for his dad to come back with the discharge papers, and the way to the car is silent and tense. Stiles tries to think of what to say, but part of him is too upset with him it feels like his dad finally gave up on him while the rest of him is just too tired to bother. They get to the house in record time, making him feel like his dad wants him out of his hair as soon as possible, so he climbs up the stairs to his room in silence and throws himself on top of the bedcovers, the enthusiasm over finding the other half of the dead body long since gone.

In hindsight, he should probably have been more careful instead of going off half-assed on the information from his dad's radio just because he was bored after Scott hung up their call to get ready for bed, no adrenaline rush was worth getting mauled by some beast. The one thing he is sure of is that whatever bit him couldn't possibly be a wolf no matter the howl he heard unless wolves suddenly became built like grizzly bears and migrated back to California. Still, hindsight doesn't change the fact that he's about to be shipped off to his aunt right at the start of the school year because his dad just can't be arsed to deal with him anymore, as if he ever had been. Between taking care of the house, cooking, making sure the bills are paid on time and keeping up his studies, and being sent away to live with relatives he sees maybe twice a year, Stiles would still choose to remain in Beacon Hills where his friends and school are and he wouldn't have to get used to a completely different routine.

As usual, he doesn't have much choice. At eight years old, his choices had been either to learn how to cook for himself or make do with maybe a meal a day if his dad came out of the bottom of the bottle in time to order something. He'd started by figuring out how to order himself, but anyone would eventually get tired of takeout every day, so learning to cook had turned out to be the best - and only real - option. Taking care of the house became unavoidable when they started drowning in dust, dirty laundry, and takeout containers, so he'd put on his big boy pants and figured out how to reclaim their little pigsty and make it a little more habitable, just in time for them to cut the energy. His dad had paid it soon enough, but Stiles figured it would probably help if he sorted out the mail and put the monthly bills on his dad's desk for him to pay, especially since the water one had also been nearly past due. With everything going on in his house at the time, he'd barely gone to school and when he did, he couldn't manage to pay attention and ended up repeating a year, which had been when he met Scott and things started to take a turn for the better. His dad had been upset, of course, but there wasn't much he could do about it except start sending Stiles to his aunt every other holiday again as if being away would make him more able to focus on his studies when he came back. In the end, his aunt and Mrs McCall had been the ones to teach him how to take care of himself and his house, how to cook healthy food - mostly Mrs McCall on that front - and budget for groceries and other expenses, so it hadn't been a complete loss.

Stiles groans as he stands up from his bed and walks up to his closet to start packing, figuring he could at least get some of it done instead of letting his mind wander into dark places. He ends up packing nearly half his clothes and putting some on the washing machine to pack once they were clean and dry, but only takes three pairs of shoes: flip-flops, sneakers, and a pair of formal shoes just in case since he remembers Mystic Falls loving its formal events. He thinks about packing his books, but other than a couple he'll need for school - like some of the titles for AP Latin and English he'd already bought - and his beloved stationeries, he leaves most of them unpacked. His school bag gets filled with said books as well as his medication, headphones, and gum, leaving space for his charger later, and he puts it aside to work on disassembling his PS3 and packing up his games since he absolutely refuses to leave those behind gathering dust.

There's a knock on his door just as he's finishing wrapping clothes around his console for some padding, and he says to come in as he fits the Play Station into the suitcase. He hears the door open and looks up to see his dad standing in the doorway, inspecting the mess he made of his room while packing.

"There's still time to change your mind," he tells his dad, who only shakes his head.

"Go to sleep son, you can finish packing tomorrow," his dad says before leaving with a whispered goodnight.

Despite spending the past hours packing, that's when it actually hits him: he's leaving. He's moving away from his only home, the house his mother lived and died in, and probably won't even get to take his jeep - the car she left to him - along. He sets the suitcase aside and burrows under the covers, curling up on his bed and hiding his face in the pillow so he can pretend he's not tearing up at having to leave Beacon Hills so suddenly, anxiety settling in inside his chest with the familiarity of something that never left as he tries to tell himself that it's only a year when he knows that as soon as his dad gets him out of the house, he won't want him back.

When sleep finally drags him under, it's to the thought that hopefully Mystic Falls won't be a complete nightmare.

Thanks for reading!

Who do you guys think is the aunt he's moving in with?