Chapter Text
The first thing Stiles realized as he raced frantically around his house with a duffel bag, stuffing anything that was essential to his survival into it, was that he had no clue what he was doing. He was working in a blind, rage induced stupor and he had to sit down and think logically for a minute. Good god, the bag was stuffed and he didn’t even get to clothes yet.
He took a deep breath, and emptied the bag. He didn’t need silverware, or his favorite cup. He needed a full reusable water bottle and box of granola bars (they wouldn’t go bad) He didn’t need his family photo album, he could take out a picture of him, his dad and his mom on vacation and put that in a bag instead. He didn’t need his laptop and charger, he didn't need the book he was reading for fun, he didn’t need any of this.
What he did need was three t-shirts, four long sleeve shirts, a shit ton of pants (no shorts, once it got cold out he would hate himself for packing shorts, he could always ignore the heat) and two hoodies. Also socks and underwear. That’s what he needed. After a moment of deliberation, he stuffed a small blanket in along with his pillow. There that’s all he could fit. It’s all he needed, anyways.
Except money, he did in fact need money. With a frustrated sigh, he zipped up his freshly stuffed duffel bag and paced around his room to think of a plan. He could always just take from his dad’s wallet, what was he gonna do about it anyways? He laughed bitterly, it wasn’t necessarily his dad’s fault per-say. But Stiles still blamed him. It wasn’t fair to, he knew. But if his dad wasn’t drunk all the time, he’d still be here.
He wouldn’t have left Stiles with nothing. It wasn’t his mom’s fault she got sick, she tried her best to fight it. She didn’t have a choice. Stiles’s dad chose to keep drinking, he chose to get drunk. Even after that trip to the doctor a few months ago when he was told to watch his cholesterol, be careful about what he ate and drank, try to cut out alcohol. Dad still chose to be drunk all the time.
Stiles made up his mind, he stormed into his dad’s room to look for his wallet. He was pretty sure his dad didn’t have it on him, considering he wasn’t even in his sheriff outfit yet and he didn’t keep his wallet in his pocket to sleep. So his room was the best option.
He started by checking his mother’s vanity that’s been collecting dust for the past two years. He didn’t think it’d be there. But maybe he just wanted to look anyway. Stiles spotted it on his dad’s nightstand. He picked it up and started sorting through it. Fifty bucks, he stuffed it in his pocket with a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t nearly enough. Stiles hesitantly pulled his dad’s card out of the wallet. If he could get to an ATM before the banks found out what happened to his dad…and before they could transfer all his assets to Stiles’s account (Which he couldn’t even pull from until he was sixteen.) then he could get enough money to last him a while.
He just had to be fast. It’s fine, Stiles was in a hurry to get out of this town. Being fast was already his goal. He tapped the card against the side of the wallet to think it over, weighing his options before stuffing the card into his pocket next to the money. He closed the wallet and set it gingerly back on the nightstand.
Something glinted in the corner of his eye. Stiles glanced over, falling into the stereotype of ‘ooo shiny’ people always claimed ADHD was. They weren’t all that wrong. Stiles noticed something, actually two something, sitting in a little jewelry dish. His mom’s engagement ring and his dad’s wedding ring. His lower lip trembled, so he bit it to stop himself from sobbing. In one impulsive move he reached down and picked them both up, then stared at them in his palm.
His mom wrote in her will, when she was still sound of mind. That she didn’t want to be buried with her engagement ring. She said she wanted it to become one of those treasured family things. That Stiles proposed to his wife with, and that was passed down for many years. So she was buried in her wedding band, and his dad…oh his dad…
He always took his wedding ring off when he went to bed, and he always put it on before he left the house. Stiles never asked why he did it, he just did. It was part of his routine…even before mom passed. He always did. Dad must not have gotten the chance to put it back on before…before he…
‘Good god, Stilinski, just say died. It’s not that hard.’ Stiles snapped at himself, Stiles took a shuddery inhale. He ran over to his mom’s vanity and started rooting through her necklaces, looking for one that could be turned into a plain chain. He found one, unclasped it and slid the little ‘C’ off. Then Stiles put the rings on, then slipped it around his neck and, after some fumbling, clasped it.
He held the rings in his fingers, looking down at them and turning them around, then he looked up and saw himself in the mirror. Really saw himself. Stiles still had the unfortunate bowl cut he’s had for years. He was wearing a dark gray t-shirt with a red and orange flannel thrown over top, though those were mostly obscured by his jacket. You could barely see his dark blue jeans in the mirror, but he didn’t care. Then he looked at his face. His eyes were bloodshot and had this haunted look to them that he had worked so hard to get rid of in the past two years.
His cheeks were red like they were sunburned, and when he reached up to touch them they burned like it too. But he knew they weren’t. He still had a baby-face that made him look younger than ten. But Stiles could easily pass for older, his whole body was held in such a way that could make people think he was 37 if he convinced them hard enough. He took a deep breath and turned, walking out of the room for the last time ever.
Stiles picked his duffel bag up off the floor of the entrance to his room. He put his hand on the handle and went to close it. He let himself stare for a moment, then closed the door. It felt like goodbye. Stiles closed it and brought his hand up to squeeze the rings on his necklace. He didn’t mind it all that much if it was, a goodbye he means.
After a moment of deliberation, he decided to take his dad’s phone and charger with him. He knew how to factory reset it, so it’s not like anyone could use it to trace him or anything. Maybe he can charge it in a library or some other public place with outlets. He put the charger in his duffel bag and the phone in his pocket. A different one to the one his money was in.
Then, Stiles made his way to the garage. He grabbed his bike from where it was leaning against the wall by his dad’s cruiser and mentally ran through the steps of his quite frankly ingenious plan in his head.
First, he was going to bike into town. Then, he was going to find an ATM, pull a decent amount of money from it (maybe $500), ditch his bike somewhere, and catch a bus going as far away as possible. Stiles’s face contorted into a grim determination as he adjusted his duffel bag so it sat over his shoulders like a backpack and walked his bike out to the road.
It was a good plan….all he had to do was put it in motion.
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The bus ride wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it was hurtful. Not physically, it was taxing. Because as he sat down and watched the town he spent his whole life in slowly fade from view, he had a lot of thoughts, most of which weren’t good. Not even remotely. He cursed out a decent amount of people for doing this to him. He blinked back tears a few times. It was fine.
He was fine. Slowly, the anger dissipated. Stiles expected to feel some kind of…well, anything really, but all he really felt was an empty hollow feeling in his gut. Like someone took a big pumpkin scooper kids use on Halloween and got rid of anything that let him feel. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t grieving. He was just…sitting on a bus. Stiles stared out the window and watched the lights of various cities go by, he watched the miles and miles of endless forest at times, too.
Part of him wondered what would happen if he pulled the emergency break and ran off into the woods. Stiles wouldn’t live, he knew that distantly. But the woods were kinda pretty, and they wouldn’t exactly be a terrible place to die. But, that same distant part of him also knew that he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to get away, he would draw attention to himself and all his plans would be ruined.
Stiles would probably be put in the hands of the state, sent to foster care, and from there, well… he heard some shit stories about foster care. He’ll leave it at that. So he stayed put.
After another long time of staring out the window, Stiles heard a ding of a cell phone. He sucked in a breath, remembering that he had his dad’s cell on him. He pulled it out of his pocket and turned it on. He stared at it for a long time, then he clicked the camera roll button and started scrolling through.
He knows how to factory reset a phone, but that meant all these photos would be deleted, and Stiles didn’t want that. These were memories, there were photos of him and his mom on here. Of all three of them. Stiles took a deep breath.
“Y’know, if it helps, I know how to change your phone number without having to go to a professional. I’m a tech wizz.” Someone said calmly. Stiles turned off the phone quickly and looked around. The girl sitting behind him had her head over his seat and was staring down at him with a smile.
She was a little under middle aged, with light brown hair tied back in a bun and glasses were way too big for her face and colorful enough to be on a kids cartoon. She grinned at him. He blinked up at her.
“Um… excuse me?” Stiles asked, utterly bewildered. She didn’t seem deterred.
“Sorry. Hi, I’m Emmie. I’m an Emissary for a pack a state over.” She held her hand out to shake. Stiles twisted in his seat and tentatively shook it. Was this a good idea? Probably not. But all his thoughts and emotions were still scooped out of him and any sense of self preservation was for the most part out the window.
“Yeah…I don’t know what that is.” He deadpanned. Emmie narrowed her eyes at him, furrowing her eyebrows as if this was the most confusing thing ever. He raised an eyebrow at her which seemed to snap her out of it.
“You…don’t?” She asked slowly. At this point an emotion was starting to emerge from Stiles’s void of nothingness, frustration and anger.
“Am I supposed to?” Stiles snapped, look he had a really long day, okay? This ‘emissary’ or whatever the hell she was just blinked down at him. Stiles was starting to think emissary was just a fancy term for a nutjob that escaped their resistant funny farm.
“No, sorry. It’s just…you have this…aura around you.” Emmie explained slowly, as if trying to find the right words. “Usually people with the…aura… either are an emissary or close to one. What are your parents' jobs?” She asked.
Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and just barely held himself back from responding ‘deceased’ and turning to stare back out the window. “My dad was a deputy and my mom was a biologist. Can you change my goddamn phone number or not.”
Emmie huffed and sassily held out her hand. Stiles set it in her hand with equal amounts of sass, making a face as he did so. She started typing.
“You wanna save all the photos, correct?” She asked, Stiles grit his teeth. “Yes.” He bit out. Emmie hummed, it was quiet for a little, only the sounds of long fake nails clicking on a phone between them.
“An emissary is a spiritual advisor, by the way.” Emmie said after a moment. Stiles rolled his eyes but nodded. ‘So what, you're gonna put my phone in a fancy hat and say the magic words?’ He thought sarcastically but said nothing. After another long minute Emmie hummed.
“Done! Oh all your contacts got deleted by the way, but I figured you knew that.” Emmie said cheerily, handing Stiles his phone back. He took it and slid it in his pocket. Then Stiles realized something
“How much do I owe you?” He asked, sticking a hand in the pocket that contained his money. Emmie waved him off.
“No charge,” She smiled. At Stiles’s look of confusion, she elaborated. “Like I said you’ve got an aura about you.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to respond, thankfully, before he did the bus lurched to a stop. Stiles was grabbing his bag from the overhead bin thing before the driver announced the location.
“Well thank you, really, but unfortunately this is my stop.” He said quickly, slinging the bag over his shoulder and making his way towards the aisle. Emmie nodded like she knew Stiles was lying but was trying to hide it. Stiles nodded a few times and went to walk away.
“Oh, Stiles! Just believe and it’ll happen okay? You might surprise yourself, even if it doesn't work the first time.”Emmie called out, Stiles froze for a second before muttering a quick ‘thanks’ and speeding off the bus as fast as humanly possible. He got about a block away from the bus stop before he realized something.
Did he ever tell Emmie his name?
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Apparently Stiles was in Las Vegas. Which in his professional opinion was definitely a good thing. The first month was probably the easiest. The hollowness in his entire being was all consuming. He could barely feel anything at this point. It felt like he was a husk just wandering aimlessly, and for the most part he was. During the day he’d hunker down in an alley somewhere, but at night he’d wander aimlessly and blend with the crowds of people.
The upside to being a husk was he didn’t get hungry, not often. So his box of granola bars lasted him three weeks. He kept finding little water fountains to refill his water bottle for the off chance he got thirsty. He didn’t need sleep. And when he did it was less out of necessity and more just to burn daylight.
He loved the night though. It was so vastly different from beacon hills it actually sparked some emotion in him. There were no stars, but there were more than enough lights. There were thousands of signs that blinked and flashed, crowds of people, mostly tourists, walking around. Clumping around food trucks and street performers. There were a shit ton of casinos that Stiles liked to look into the windows of to see all the pretty lights.
It was everything it was in movies and TV shows and more. And Stiles loved it. For that first month, at least. Then he started to encounter a problem.
He looked homeless. There was no denying that. He had massive eye bags, he was paler than usual. His clothes were starting to get baggier than normal. And that’s another thing, his clothes were disgusting. He hasn’t changed them since he ran away. Stiles had opportunities, sure, but he honestly didn’t care. It didn’t penetrate the hollow feeling as he aimlessly drifted, so he didn’t care.
But now, it was getting him looks as he walked down the sidewalk at night. And he didn’t like that. Not to mention his phone was almost dead from the few times he went on it during the day hours as a distraction.
But one problem at a time. Stiles started by finding a corner store, or something similar. Nothing too touristy. Usually when he had to use the bathroom, Stiles just found the ones tourists used or a porta potty or something. But he had a plan here. He walked in, and made his way to the aisles. He bought soup, then made his way to the checkout. He was the only customer, probably because it was past midnight.
He set the soup on the checkout. “Can I use your bathroom?” Stiles asked the employee, the worker raised an eyebrow. He grunted and slid the soap across the scanner. Then he looked behind him and gestured to a sign.
“Learn to read, kid.” The employee stated. Stiles looked at the sign. ‘Customers must purchase two or more items to use the bathroom.’ Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes.
‘Learn to read huh, got any recommendations?’ He thought angrily as he looked around for something else to buy. ‘How to peek in highschool for dummies? 5 easy steps to look like every middle aged guy ever? Alcoholism 101?’ Stiles grabbed a pair of earbuds and shrugged, slamming them down on the register.
“Can I please use your bathroom?” He asked again. The employee rolled his eyes and scanned the earbuds.
“Your total is $8.95, would you like a receipt?” He asked as he handed Stiles his bag and a key to the bathroom. Stiles shook his head and handed the guy a 20, tapping his foot impatiently.
The employee tapped something on his computer, then shuffled and flicked through something Stiles couldn’t see before handing Stiles his change. Stiles dropped it in the bag with his soap, not bothering to shove it in his pocket right now. The employee made a gesture with his thumb.
“Bathroom’s that way.” Stiles nodded, thanked him insincerely, and sped walked in that direction. He entered the bathroom, locked the door and dropped his duffel bag in front of the door just in case. He walked over to the sink and took a good, hard look. Yeesh. Just…Yeesh.
He huffed and turned the sink on, then grabbed some toilet paper and ran it under the water. He scrubbed at his face for a minute. Then remembered the soap. Stiles grabbed it from his bag, took it out of the box and scrubbed his face with that too. He took his jacket and shirt off, then scrubbed the rest of his body with both soap and a variety of different damp pieces of toilet paper.
He grabbed a paper towel used to try your hands and scrubbed that over himself just to make sure he was dry. He walked over to his duffel bag and threw a hoodie on, not bothering for an undershirt. Stiles grabbed a pair of pants, socks and underwear and set it next to the sink. He emptied his pockets into the duffel bag.
Then he grabbed some more toilet paper and quickly repeated the process with his lower body. After he was full changed, took the earbuds and money out of the plastic grocery bag, dumped it in his duffel, and put his dirty clothes in the grocery bag instead. He carefully put the bar of soap back in its box, then put that in the plastic bag and tied it off at the top.
He shoved that in the duffel bag too. He could sort through everything tomorrow during the day when he had nothing else to do. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time as he made his way over to the sink to grab the key.
Stiles looked better, a lot better. But his hair is still a mess. He ran a hand through it and sighed when it came back with several strands of greasy hair. His hair was sticking up where he touched it. Stiles sighed and closed his eyes.
He always loved his hair, he was planning on buzzing it in a few months before he ran away. Stiles wondered what might’ve happened if he got it done before he left. It would be more grown out by now, so not a buzz cut but slightly longer, still sitting nicely atop his head though. He pictured himself standing in this bathroom with his nice clean brown hair sitting nice and short on his head.
Stiles let out a breath and opened his eyes. He jerked away from the mirror. Looking right back at him was exactly what he pictured. Stiles reached up, not looking away from the mirror and watched as the mirror copied him. He ran a hand over his head and found it not moving. It was fuzzy, short.
Just like Stiles wished it would. He was startled from his thoughts by a pounding on the door.
“Ey! Kid! You’ve been in there for half an hour, you're dead or something?” The employee from before shouted through the door. Stiles huffed out a sigh, glancing back at the mirror, he still looked the same. Buzzed hair and all. He smiled, something akin to confidence filling the void for the first time in a long, long time.
“Cool your tits, I’m almost done!” Stiles shouted back. THe knocking stopped, Stiles grabbed the keys off the side of the sink and they jingled as in his hand as he walked to the door, on hand gripping the strap of his duffel bag from where it was slung over his shoulder.
“Just cus your homeless doesn’t mean you can live in my fuckin’ bathroom.” The man grumbled, Stiles rolled his eyes and opened the door. He jiggled the keys in the employee’s face. The man in question just snatched them out of his hand and motioned towards the exit of the store.
“Jesus, just because your wife divorced you doesn’t mean you have to keep a stick in your ass.” Stiles muttered as he made his way towards the exit. He pulled his hood up over his new hair and walked off into the night, ignoring the muttered curses of the asshole gas station attendant or wherever he worked.
Stiles walked for a while, around four more hours, ducking through different alley’s crossing streets, pausing and just sitting on a bench to take in the views around him sometimes. It was his favorite part of the day, the night. He took a deep breath. Right now he was leaning against the side of a building that was probably a hotel.
Stiles stared at the sky, it was getting lighter out and the moon was getting lower and lower in the sky, which meant he probably had to find somewhere to set up shop soon. Stiles weighed his options for a bit, hands in the sides of his hoodie pocket. He decided to backtrack to a wider alley he passed through thirty minutes ago. It was filled with boxes and crates, two dumpsters.
If Stiles was gonna take everything out of his duffel bag for some much needed re-organization, he needed someplace that could hide him better. And, if he remembered correctly, one of the buildings was abandoned, the other was an apartment complex. So he’d be good unpacking there for a day. Stiles made his way over, picking up the pace and ducking in just as the sun came up.
He hid in a space between a dumpster and a second dumpster. Stiles dropped his bag there and moved to wheel an old office chair with a bunch of boxes by it to block him from view. Then he squatted in his little cave thing and unzipped the bag. He took out the plastic bag first. He untied it and went through it.
The soap was still in the box, thank god. Stiles searched all the pockets for anything he forgot about, then carefully folded them up and put them back in the bag. He set the soap on top and re-tied the bag. Next he took everything else out of the duffle bag, moved the money to one of his jean’s pockets and the coins to a different one. He put his phone in his hoodie pocket, along with the earbuds now that they were out of their box.
Then he refolded all this stuff and put it in his duffle bag as organized as he could. The phone charger went in a little side pocket along with his photo. The clothes were pushed to one side, his second box of granola bars next to his fully sealed water bottle. His pillow was at the very top. And the bag of dirty clothes that he would slowly add to was buried under everything else, next to his blanket.
Stiles figured it’d be a good idea to separate his dirty clothes from the clean ones, then once his little plastic bag was full, he’d find a laundromat and clean them. It was a foolproof plan. Stiles stared at his open duffel bag for a minute, then pulled out the pillow and zipped the duffel bag closed. Stiles looked at the small bit of sky he could see. It was a nice blue, with some clouds sprinkled around.
He sighed, moving his duffel bag so it was shoved against the side of a dumpster, then propped his pillow up on it. He adjusted his hood, stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket and laid down on it. Ready to sleep until night then move his position. And look for a place to charge his phone.