Chapter Text
hope
noun
a feeling of trust
It’s been a week since the ‘pack meeting’, and Althea is falling in love.
It’s not what you’re thinking. Sure, she thought the squad was super cool, and all of them were strangely attractive (she’d tap 100%), but it wasn’t a person that Althea was in love with.
It was life in Beacon Hills.
Althea had always assumed she would hate living in a small town, and she has to admit, the food situation isn’t ideal. But California does have incredible sushi and tacos.
Althea can list the things she misses about New York on one hand- Cleo, Wes, bagels, actual pizza, and yeah, that’s basically it.
It’s not that she didn’t love the city itself when she was there. But now she can feel it- it was poisoning her to be living with such toxic people.
If she hadn’t gotten out… Well, it wouldn’t be good.
Even now, Althea’s skin breaks into goose bumps at the thought of going back.
Her parents finally noticed her absence.
Her mom cursed her out for a good 10 minutes over the phone before her dad grabbed the device and whispered threats into the receiver (you little bitch, if you don’t come back…). Althea hung up.
Althea didn’t have the phone on speaker, but Derek was next to her, and by the look on his face, she knew he had heard.
He told her he wouldn’t send her back there for a million bucks. She’s never felt so grateful (the feeling swelled in her chest and she smiled until her face hurt).
She’d never felt like she was part of a real family before.
A feeling of safety seems to be commonplace in her now- she leapt out of the frying pan and missed the fire, and the security blooms in her lungs and creeps through her veins- she’s never been stronger.
Her fears of being socially inept proved true- she barely spoke a word for the first half hour that they were there.
But once she had a little liquid courage in her, and she saw Stiles trip over his own feet for the 8 th time, she couldn’t resist commenting:
“Jesus, Stiles, how in hell are you so clumsy?”
There was silence for a minute, Stiles looking half shocked, half sheepish before Scott threw in:
“He was dropped on his head a lot when he was a baby. Confirmed by Sheriff Stilinski.”
Scott and Althea began to laugh at the klutzy boy who had brought her to them, and the others joined in. Even Derek cracked a smile (Althea thinks it might have been more at seeing her split her sides laughing then at the joke).
It’s not like she’s best friends with them. She could tell there had been something they were holding back.
She doesn’t need them to spill their secrets out to her and open their hearts--she isn’t going to do that either. She just needs someone she can say hi to in the hallway at school and maybe sit with in class.
Maybe hang out with after school once in awhile.
She had especially fond memories of Lydia and Malia and Kira. The girls had made certain that she felt included, and she was sure that this had been orchestrated by Kira, who had been new to Beacon Hills only last year. The girls had regaled her with multiple hilarious stories of the boys’ stupidity.
Speaking of school.
Derek had helped her enroll in Beacon High.
Summer ends in two and a half weeks.
Her bruises are fading.
She’s counting down the months until she’s 18.
Until she’s completely free.
She hopes this lasts.
She plugs in her headphones and presses play on Beyonce again.
Lemonade is her shit.
despair
noun
the complete loss or absence of hope
He’s never been graceful, to say the least, so it isn’t surprising when Stiles trips over his own feet, right into the path of a biker.
“Sorry! Sorry!” He shouts despairingly at the retreating back of the disgruntled man in biker shorts.
Classic Stiles. He remembers Althea’s smile at the party last week, and grins to himself.
They had all sensed that Althea’s laughter was more than just at Stiles’ embarrassing lack of coordination: it was her reaction to the normalcy of the whole situation.
The pack had watched as Isaac recovered from his father’s abuse. And witnessed him hyperventilate still, a year later, whenever he was in a small space.
They didn’t know exactly what had happened to Althea, but they all wanted to help.
Stiles woke up the morning after the party, squinting as he tried to recall everything that happened the previous night.
He always drank a little too much when there was alcohol at the pack meetings. He tried not to think about whether that was just teenage stupidity or whether there was a reason behind it, like the memories of being possessed by the-- but no. He had promised Lydia he would work on forgiving himself.
But the way the vodka worked to soften and blur the sharp edges of his recall--well, he didn’t hate it.
The meeting had been awkward at first, but as the liquor loosened everyone up, Althea had become quick friends with everyone, and especially the girls.
Stiles was looking forward to a having a human friend who didn’t know anything--who treated him like a normal, idiotic adolescent boy, instead of a pathetic murderer without a choice.
No choice.
He should have, could have, been stronger--
He shakes his head and walks faster towards the park: maybe if he moves fast enough, these thoughts will let go and stop eating away at his fucking blood, bones and soul.
He has no idea about anything anymore--one moment he’s happy, almost, and the next… Well, the guilt isn’t exactly an easy burden to bear.
He deserves every ounce of the weight of it.
He turns up the volume on his banged up phone, and sits down on a park bench, damp from an earlier rain. He opens his sketchbook and starts drawing.
Only Scott is even aware at all of the fact that Stiles even has any interest in sketching.
No one’s ever seen his work.
He doesn’t know if he’s any good, but he likes being able to make something by himself.
He mostly just draws the park and everything it contains. Who knew one place, drawn regularly, would change so much in each rendering?
He tried a self-portrait once, but he could never get it quite right, and he didn’t like having to examine all his flaws.
Anyway, he draws and he doesn’t tell anyone. He likes having it to himself.
He turns up Beyonce’s Lemonade . He cannot get enough of that shit.