Chapter Text
Stiles and Scott were on their way out of school, Scott cautiously ducking through the onslaught of the other ten year olds eager to get out of that god-forsaken building. Stiles, on the other hand, was walking backwards in front of him, rambling and waving his hands around as he spoke. It wasn’t often nowadays he was full of energy and bouncing off the walls, but it was getting more frequent. A fact pretty much everyone had picked up on.
His teachers didn’t know him before he lost that certain Stiles Stalinski flare that made him seem like a trouble maker and an overall annoyance. But Scott and Mellissa knew, and his dad knew. And more importantly, Stiles knew. Unfortunately for him, his best friend chose to interrupt his monologue about the dangers of the American school system and how their math teacher should be either retired or dead by now. He doesn’t make the rules, it’s just how it is. That guy is old.
“Hey, is my mom driving you home today?” He asked, Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. Knowing for a fact Scott wasn’t paying as much attention to him as he said he was. Still, Stiles twisted around so he was no longer walking backwards and gripped the straps of his backpack, drumming his fingers on it absentmindedly.
“Nah, I’m just gonna take the bus. My dad has a later shift so it won’t matter if I get there a little later.” He said with a careless shrug, kicking a small stone as he walked to the bus stop. Scott nodded thoughtfully, when you're ten years old and your biggest problems in life are whether you're going to your friends house or not after school or not, that shit gets pretty intense. Sometimes you gotta think it through.
Stiles looked up from his makeshift soccer ball suddenly, struck with a realization. He lightly hit Scott’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you. Daddy-io’s taking me out for dinner.” Stiles sing-songed happily, grinning to himself all the while. Scott chuckled and stopped walking, looking around for his mom’s car.
“Oh really, what’d you do?” He asked, Stiles also stopped, his bus wasn’t here yet, so he had more time to talk.
“First A on my report card, well since…y’know.” He explained, trailing off sadly at the last part and gesturing to the air with his hand. Scott nodded knowingly, because of course he knew. He and Scott had been close friends, best friends even, for as long as he could remember. Scott’s mom had been good friends with the sheriff, since they kinda work together sometimes. So ever since preschool the two were attached at the hip.
Scott was always there for Stiles and vice versa, on the second worst day of Stiles life, Scott was there. It was the day his mom was diagnosed and admitted, Stiles had been told to wait in the waiting room while his dad talked to a bunch of different doctors about things that went right over his head, using medical terms he didn’t understand but was filing away in his memory to research later.
Dad had left the room, so Stiles sat curled up in an uncomfy chair playing with his fingers and trying not to cry. It, honestly, wasn’t working out too well for him. As he was picking at his fingernails and trying in vain to think of something other than what was currently happening he felt something wet and cold slide down his cheek. He scowled and swiped at it furiously.
It worked, there were no more tears now. He sniffed, and wiped at his eyes more, just to be sure. When he blinked his eyes back open, he saw a little boy around his age walk over hesitantly and plop down in the seat next to him. Stiles looked down, determined to ignore him.
“Stiles? Why are you crying?” The boy said, then proceeded to climb on the seat next to Stiles without waiting for him to answer. Stiles just wiped angrily at his face, he didn’t want to ignore his best friend, but he didn’t want to talk. After a few minutes of just sitting there in silence, Stiles decided to talk.
“What do you want?” He muttered under his breath, glancing at Scott in his peripheral vision. A little rude, he thought guiltily, but Scott wasn’t deterred. He simply blinked, as if confused why Stiles would ask such a ridiculous question.
“You looked sad.” Scott said quietly, like it was a secret. Stiles sniffled a little bit, still refusing to cry. He knew if he cried now, he might not stop. And there was no one here for him to cry with right now, he didn’t want to do it surrounded by strangers.
“I am sad,” Stiles admitted, just as quiet. “My mama’s sick.” He looked away from the other boy. He didn't wanna talk right now. His mom was sick, and while most kids his age didn't exactly know what that meant, Stiles knew. He listened to everything his dad said. And since his dad's a deputy he says a lot.
"I'm sorry…" Scott said, and he meant it too. Stiles could tell that much. And for some stupid reason it actually made him feel better. He sniffled again. They didn't talk much after that, but the next time Stiles was in the hospital they talked. That’s what best friends do.
Said best friend was currently looking around the parking lot for his mom's car. Stiles was considering just waking away and getting to the bus stop early. It seemed the conversation was over.
"How is your dad, by the way." Scott asked, looking over at Stiles for a second then quickly looking away. Ah. So. That's why he was letting the conversation dull, he was figuring out how to phrase a very, very loaded question.
"Oh well, y'know. He's not exactly king of Narnia or anything, so not much has changed." He responded causally, that quick walk to the bus stop was starting to get more and more enticing. Stiles mentally crossed his fingers and prayed to whatever god there was that he didn't believe in that Scott would drop it.
"Stiles," the other boy started to say in that tone Stiles instantly recognized as his 'i know you're deflecting with your wonderful and frankly hilarious sense of humor, but I'm gonna call you out on it as gently as possible,' tone. Oh goodie!
"It's been a year." Scott stated simply. Stiles rolled his eyes. He really would rather not talk about this right now. Today was gonna be a good day, and there would be nothing that could bring him down from his little happiness high.
"Grief is a spectrum, Scott. Everyone heals at their own pace. Dr. Who said that. Don't argue with professionals." Stiles responded sarcastically.
"Stiles-" Scott started to say, but was quickly cut off by Stiles clamping his hand over the other boy's mouth.
"Ananana-no. Nope. Nuh uh. None of that. Do not be like Mr. Thaler and dull my sparkle." Scott, unable to respond thanks to Stiles's ingenious plan, just rolled his eyes. Something large and yellow caught Stiles's attention out of the corner of his eye. Thank Jesus.
"Oh hey look, my bus." Stiles exclaimed, he quickly dropped his hand back to his side. Scott simply scoffed and let Stiles run away, literally, from the conversation. Stiles slid easily into a seat in the middle of the bus and let his mind wander.
See, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to think about it. It’s just that he’d rather do literally anything else. But it’s fine! Scott was right, it has been a year since his mom died. And while Stiles wasn’t expecting his dad to just turn around and forget her, he would’ve thought that by now, when the missing her and grief was more of a dull ache, he'd at least be okay.
But that’s just the thing! His dad wasn’t okay, not at all. Maybe it was because he had known Mom longer, maybe it was because Mom actually recognized him and didn’t attack him several times before she died. Maybe it was because Dad wasn’t there when she died, and that he was still guilty. Stiles didn’t know why he healed before his dad did. But whatever the reason, Dad was still lost in grief.
It was all consuming, when Dad wasn’t drunk out of his mind, he was hungover and Stiles had taken up the habit of leaving him pain medicine and a glass of water near wherever he passed out for the night. Stiles only allowed himself to move on after months and years of panic attacks over seemingly small things, after crying his eyes out and randomly snapping at everyone.
But Dad never got better, Stiles kept telling himself it would be okay. That one day, he would wake up and dad would be sober. But that never happened. It wasn’t like his dad was a bad drunk, he wasn’t angry, didn’t throw things or yell or hit him or something. He was just either all sad or laughing at everything…
Not today though! Today was gonna be different, sure, Stiles woke up to dad passed out on the couch still in his cop uniform. And, yeah sure, he left the pills and water on the coffee table before he left for school, again. And, of course he’d be late coming home because he had a shift at work and wasn’t getting off ‘till five. But after all that, they were gonna go out for dinner and celebrate Stiles’s small but important milestone.
Because Dad promised he would be sober. And Stiles wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he broke that promise. So yes, Scott. His dad was doing just fine, thank you very much. For the first time in years, Stiles was going to be fine. He would go out for dinner with his dad and pretend everything was completely fine, and normal, and okay for one freaking night.
He deserved it.
Stiles was one of the last stops on his bus. So he played little games to keep himself occupied and away from the way his thoughts got more and more concerning and edging towards the ‘stop thinking about it before your mood is ruined’ category. Count how many blue cars you see in driveways. Try to guess the favorite color of whoevers getting off the bus.
Silly little things, until finally, finally, it was his stop. Stiles grabbed his bag and darted off the bus at lightning speed, realistically he knew getting off the bus quicker wasn’t going to get his dad home faster, but he also just really wanted off that damn bus. He rushed up to his front door and pulled his house key out of his pocket, sliding it into the lock and fiddling with it for a minute before the door opened.
Now, here’s the thing. In books and TV shows there’s always that sense of foreshadowing. People always say that they felt some kind of chill down their back, or a sick feeling in their gut. But Stiles didn’t feel any of that, no. When he walked into his house he was honest to god humming. Looking back at that moment he wants to scream. To smack his younger self over the head with a large book so he just stops looking happy.
He slid his shoes off and dropped his backpack by the door, still humming a random tune under his breath. Stiles decided at that moment that he was hungry and wanted food. So, doing what any ten year old home alone would do, he decided to raid the kitchen for something so sweet and sugary he’d be running around the house like sonic the hedgehog on steroids afterwards.
He walked into the kitchen, and what he saw made him freeze. He stopped humming, stopped walking, stopped thinking. He doesn’t think he’s ever been that still in his entire life. Because what he saw was his dad laying on the floor with his eyes closed, there was a puddle of scotch on the floor and a broken bottle. And to make matters even worse, there was blood around his dad’s head. Too much of it.
Stiles stopped breathing. He’d like to say he screamed, he’d like to say he cried. But he just…stood there. Frozen. He doesn’t know how long he stood there before he moved, but it was too long. It was way too long. The thing that stirred him from his deer in the headlights reaction was spotting his dad’s phone on the counter. He sidestepped the broken glass, danced around the puddle of alcohol and grabbed it.
Frantically, he did what every small child was told to do when they were scared and didn’t know what the hell was going on.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Said a nice lady on the phone, Stiles did start crying then. Because he knew that lady, she helped him with his math homework sometimes. Tara.
“I-It’s my dad.” Stiles forced out, frantically wiped at his eyes with his free hand and looked everywhere but the floor in front of him. But everywhere else was worse. So in the end he just pressed his eyes shut.
“Stiles? Is everything okay, your dad didn’t show up to his shift today.” Tara said over the phone, Stiles cried harder. He was hiccuping, he could barely breathe. He wanted to scream, he wanted to kick things, he wanted to punch the nearest object until his fists bled. Because contrary to what everyone believed, Stiles wasn’t stupid. He knew his dad had a shift this morning, he knew he wasn’t even in his work clothes yet. He knew things like this were time sensitive.
He knew his dad has been here all day, and he knew that he couldn’t lose his dad too. Even if sometimes it felt like he was already gone. He couldn’t do that. And then he realized something.
“I don’t know if he’s breathing.” He whispered over the phone, so quiet he could barely hear it himself. Because he didn’t want to admit it. “I think…I think I need an ambulance.” He said, louder. He was still crying, still struggling to breath, but he felt something wash over him. Some sort of adrenaline induced calmness. Like something in his subconscious was screaming at him that if he didn’t calm down his dad could die.
“Oh, Stiles… Okay, the paramedics should be there in ten minutes tops. Is the front door unlocked?” Tara said over the phone. Stiles nodded to himself and took a deep breath, then another. It’s okay, the doctors were coming, everything was going to be okay.
“Lemme- Lemme check.” He rushed over to the door, no longer caring if cheap alcohol and shards of glass got caught on his socks. He had to get his dad to the hospital. He opened the door and used his backpack to prop it open.
“It’s open and unlocked.” He reported dutifully into the phone. There was a sound of clicking, like someone typing on a keyboard.
“Okay. Can you describe to me what you see, any idea as to what might’ve happened?” Tara asked, Stiles took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. Forcing himself to look at his dad.
“Um… shit okay, well he’s laying on the floor of my kitchen. There’s a broken bottle of scotch on the floor near him. Like it was dropped.” He waited for a second, the sounds of a keyboard continued. So he continued too. “There’s a lot of blood near his head. Like…Like a puddle of it. And I-”
Stiles took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, blinking back more tears. He has to do this. He has to get his dad help. People can’t help if they don’t know what they’re dealing with.
“I think he hit his head on the counter. But I-I don’t know, he was sleeping on the couch when I left for school this morning.” There was more typing, but other than that just more silence, Stiles fought to stay still. He felt like his skin was trying to crawl off of his body, everything felt wrong and terrible. Then, finally, he heard sirens. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Okay Stiles. The ambience is almost there.” Tara said, Stiles nodded. Then remembered she couldn’t physically hear him.
“Yeah- Yeah I think I hear them.” He ran back over to the door to wait.
“I’m going to hang up now Stiles, are you going to be alright?” Tara said slowly, like she didn’t want to. Stiles understood, he wasn’t the only police call and he could be on the 911 line for too long. He wasn’t gonna be fine. He wasn’t gonna be alright. But he nodded anyway. Because the paramedics were parking in his driveway and he had to talk to them.
“I’ll be fine. The ambience is here.” He responded, and with that the line went dead. He let his arm fall limp at his side as two men with a stretcher rushed past him. A doctor stopped to talk to him, crouching down to meet his height. Stiles found the whole thing a little patronizing, honestly but he had bigger priorities right now then someone who should never take up a career as a pediatrician.
“You the kid who called in the incident?” He asked, Stiles nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but instead just gently grabbed Stiles by the elbow and dragged him away from the door. The group of pediatricians from earlier flew out the door with his dad laying on a stretcher, one arm limply hanging off the side. Stiles wanted to cry again, but instead he just reached forwards to put his dad’s arm back on the stretcher.
The condescending doctor man grabbed his arm and stopped him. Stiles decided, right then and there, that he hates him. With every fiber of his being he hates this doctor with everything in him. The doctor must’ve seen it on his face because he just sighed.
“Look, kid. This is a delicate medical operation. We can’t have you doing anything that might mess him up more. Is there anyone you can call to take you to the hospital? Your mom, aunt, grandparents? Anything like that?” He asked. Stiles only hated him more for that, but his obliviousness to Stiles’s family life was not what he chose to focus on. He felt his heart shatter into small pieces.
“I can’t ride in the ambulance with him?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and small. The doctor looked at him sadly, Stiles registered the urge to punch the look of pity off his face. He was about to answer, when one of the paramedics who carried the stretcher came back into the house and tapped the doctor on the shoulder.
“He’s been asystole for several hours tops, clearly suffered some form of head trauma. The ambulance is about to leave.” The paramedic reported, Stiles didn’t know what any of those words meant, but none of them meant anything good if the way the doctor was staring at him meant anything.
“Shit.” He muttered breathily, then looked back at Stiles for a second and made his way to the exit. Stiles followed behind him, but he held out a hand for Stiles to stop.
“Call your mom, kid. Have her take you to the hospital. You can see him then.” Was all he said, then he turned and made his way to the ambulance, its sirens were still wailing.
“Hey! No, I can't, I don't have a-” Stiles exclaimed, running after him. But the door to the ambulance was slammed in his face.
“Hey! Hey you Gray’s Anatomy wanna-be’s open the door. Someone tell me what the hell is going on! Is he okay, what asystole mean!? Open the damn door, Hey!” Stiles pounded on the door. The ambulance started and sped off down his driveway, Stiles stumbled back a few steps to avoid getting hit. From there he just… stood. He stood there and watched the ambulance until it disappeared from sight.
He had no idea what to do. He didn’t know what was going on. Which was stupid. He felt angry, and confused and frustrated and he had no idea what to do. He turned on his heel and stormed to the porch. Kicking with all his might the potted fern outside his door that he named Gregory. He stormed his way into his house and slammed the door shut with all the force of a pissed off scrawny ten year old.
He took a few minutes to calm himself down, then started scrolling through his dad’s phone for someone to take him to the hospital. Both his parents were only children, he didn’t know anyone on his dad’s side for reasons he didn’t know. And he only had a grandma on his moms side who he lost contact with after his mom died.
She lived three towns over, though, so it’s not like she’d be much help. That’s when it hit him. Melissa. Scott’s mom. He knew her well. When his mom was sick and his dad didn’t want him around to see the worst of it, he’d send Stiles to Mellissa’s house for a sleepover or a playdate with Scott. And even after, if Dad ever wanted him out of the house, he’d just be sent to be Mellissa’s problem.
He took another deep breath, then pressed the call button and hesitantly raised it to his ear. It rang twice.
“Noah? Hey, how’s it going?” Scott’s mom’s voice rang out through the phone and Stiles couldn’t stop the tears now. He sobbed.
“Mellissa?” He asked, he knew for a fact his voice was shaky as hell. But he honestly couldn’t bring himself to give two shits. There was rustling on the other side of the phone. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and kept sobbing.
“Is everything okay? Where’s your dad, can I talk to him?” She asked quickly, not taking a breath in between frantic questions. Stiles sobbed again.
“Ho-hospital. Or-Or at least on the way…in a- in an ambulance. He-he’s there. Listen I- I um… I need a ride. They-They wouldn’t let me see him-” He shakily tried to explain. He probably sounded like a babbling toddler that couldn’t form a basic sentence.
“Okay. Okay sweetheart. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” There was more shuffling and then a shout. “SCOTT! Get your shoes on!”
If the way it was muffled meant anything, she was probably covering the phone so he wouldn’t hear. Stiles smiled a little bit and moved to put his shoes on. His socks were soggy and his feet stung so he definitely stepped on broken glass. Then he remembered something the doctors said.
“Mellissa- they- the paramedics…They said something about my dad being asystole.” He started to explain, there was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Stiles flinched.
“Is it bad? I don’t know what it means- it’s bad isn’t it.” He asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. There was more rustling on the other end and a car door slamming. There was quiet muttering that Stiles couldn’t make out but was definitely Scott asking what was happening. Or something along those lines.
“Yeah. Yeah, Stiles it’s…it’s not good. Everything will be okay, alright? We’ll be there in a few. Do you want me to stay on the phone?” Stiles wiped at his eyes again and finished putting his shoes on. He walked out to the porch next to the tipped over gregory to wait.
“No- I’ll- I’ll be fine. You can hang up if you need.” He answered, wiping at his eyes again. He didn’t want to show up to see his dad with his eyes puffy and red from crying. His dad needed him to be strong right now. They took care of each other, and to take care of him Stiles had to be strong, he had to be okay for a little bit longer.
“Okay. Okay. Shoot. Um…I’m gonna hang up now then, okay? I’m saying okay too much…just. Don’t go anywhere. Okay. Bye.” She rambled, then hung up. Stiles gently lowered the phone, setting it on the ground next to him.
‘Where the hell am I gonna go?’ He thought sarcastically, ‘Atlantis’ He rolled his eyes and twiddled his thumbs, content to sit and wait for a little bit. He needed a little break. Just a few minutes to sit in silence and process whatever just happened. Stiles reached over and put Gregory the potted plant back up right. That’s one problem solved.
Stiles let himself process everything. He was almost positive he heard those terms before but he couldn’t for the life of him remember when. Or what it meant, he was pretty sure he learned about it in health class. But it could’ve been that time in third grade when he got super focused on all things medical related. Then it hit him.
Asystole, he knew what that meant. In third grade, he wrote a paper about hypothermia and how the body reacts, the fact that it stops shivering, ect. He felt scarily calm, but his hands were shaking so hard he didn’t really think that counted for anything. He was about to call Melissa again, but her car pulled up to the driveway.
“Stiles?” She called out hesitantly when he made no move to get up on his own. He stared at his own shaking hands, he couldn’t look up. He wasn’t gonna try to deny it, he knew what the first stage of grief was. He can’t get in that car. He can’t sit in the god forsaken waiting room knowing another parent is never walking out of there.
Good god, he wasn’t even there when his dad…he didn’t get to say goodbye. Or tell him he loved him or- he just found the body. The body. A body. His Dad’s body. He laughed, but it was wet and had no humor. It probably sounded more like a sob honestly. Look at him, acting as if he just found some rando dead on his floor and not his dad. He’s a terrible person.
Stiles was forced out of his thoughts by the sound of a car door slamming closed. Melissa was jogging over to him, probably to get him in the car so she can get him to the hospital to see his dad- no. To see his dad’s corpse. He couldn’t do it. It would break him, he couldn’t. He won’t.
“Stiles, sweetie. I know it’s scary, but we gotta get going, okay?” She spoke softly, her hands on both his shoulders and shaking them gently. Stiles’s hands squeezed into fists. He knew he shouldn’t be angry, at least not at her. Not at Melissa, not Scott’s mom. But he couldn’t help it. It was easier to feel than anything else. He needed to be angry, because it was the only thing holding him together.
“Why? Why do we need to get going, why do we need to go to the hospital.” Stiles asked breathlessly. It wasn’t fair, he knew that. But nothing was fair, none of this was fair. It wasn’t fair that Stiles was orphaned at 10 and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. If this was some big joke to whatever deity is out there, no one’s laughing.
Melissa looked taken aback. She blinked at him. He was distantly aware of a car door opening and closing, figuring it must be Scott. But Melissa’s head blocked his view so Stiles couldn’t see him. “Because,” Melissa spoke firmly, but in a mom way. Stiles squeezed his hands tighter into fists so hard he was positive his fingernails were leaving indents. His whole body was shaking now.
“We’re going to see your dad.” She said.
“We’re going to see his dead body.” Stiles corrected, Melissa opened her mouth but quickly closed it again. Stiles scoffed, the anger coming back at full force.
“I know what the medical term for flatlining is, okay, I’m not stupid!” He screamed. One of Melissa’s arms dropped to her side and off his shoulder, the other remained firmly in place. He was glaring at her, but it was blurry. He knew his face was red and there were tears in his eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not really.
“What were you just not gonna tell me, were you jus-just gonna let me think that he was okay. Huh?” he demanded angrily, shrugging off her other hand and standing up. Melissa stood up to, she looked at him sadly.
‘Pity,’ his brain spat with venom. ‘She’s looking at you with fucking pity.’
“They have machines there, stuff to restart his heart, we don’t know how long-” Melissa started to explain, looking back Stiles could tell she was trying to calm him down. Trying to give him even the smallest bit of hope as if that would make everything better. Maybe if he listened it could’ve made everything better, Stiles didn’t give her that chance.
“Several hours. That's what the doctor said, and then- and then they just took him. They just carried Dad away and ignored me. Cause-Cause they didn’t wanna tell me that he’s dead. They didn’t want to tell me that my dad is dead!” Stiles screeched, his breathing was coming in gasps. But he wasn’t panicked and he wasn’t sad. He was angry, he was just so angry.
For a few long seconds all that could be heard was his labored pants. Then Melissa spoke. “What do you want to do, Stiles? Do you wanna go to the hospital or wait until tomorrow?” She asked kindly. Stiles blinked at her. He thinks…that anything she could’ve said would’ve set him off. Even if it was exactly the right thing he wouldn’t have seen it that way.
“Leave.” Stiles spat, backing into his house. The door was somehow open, he didn’t know how that happened, he knew it was closed. But at that moment, he didn’t care, didn’t even register the difference. Melissa did, she was looking back and forth between the door and Stiles, before she finally focussed on Stiles.
“Sweetie- I can’t just leave you here.” Melissa argued, Stiles backed further into the house, glaring.
“Leave.” He repeated angrily. This was all bullshit, all of it. She had no right to be here when Stiles already told her to go. Already told her to leave him the hell alone. He can’t do this. Not with her here. He needs to be angry, he needs to be or else he’ll break in two. Melissa made no sign she was moving, however, so Stiles shouted again.
“LEAVE!” He screamed as loud as he could, stomping his foot and squeezing the perpetual fists his hands have formed, he felt skin break as something trickled down his palm. But most importantly, when he screamed, the door slammed shut. Stiles didn’t think about how. Just stepped forward and locked it.
There was silence, and then the door knob jiggled and Melissa started knocking. “Stiles. Hey open up, okay? Let’s just talk?” She called. Stiles huffed and stormed over to the TV. He turned it on, not caring what channel and turned the volume all the way up. To drown out the knocking.
He stood there for a long time. Then made his way over to the window and looked out. Melissa and Scott’s car were gone, and so were they. Stiles turned off the TV. Standing there, in his house, the house he grew up in. Stiles had two thoughts, he couldn’t stay in this house, and he couldn’t stay in this town. Both had two many memories.
Stiles had to get out of Beacon hills.