Chapter Text
He was nine years old when it happened. Doctors running everywhere while he sat in a plastic chair, holding Melissa's hand as his dad screamed for help, tears pouring down his face.
His mom was pulled past on a gurney, blood smeared around her mouth, eyes rolling about in her head. He cried, what was happening to his mommy?
Claudia Stilinski died 3 days later. They said she wasn't in pain, but he was, so was his dad. She was their glue, and now she had left them to fall apart. Melissa tried to keep them together, bringing food, and Scott. It didn't help, nothing seemed to help.
Then one night, his dad came into his room and told him to pack what he wanted, that they were going to go and visit grandma for awhile. When asked how long, he said he didn't know. So they left, heading to Colorado to stay with Grandma Stilinski.
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They had lived in Colorado for seven years. At first it was because it was too painful to go back, and then Mr Stilinski couldn't leave his job, and then grandma go sick. Really sick. Stiles spent as much time as possible helping her, between school and a part-time job, he spent all his time with her, whilst his dad worked his butt off as deputy.
But, everything ends eventually. The first nine years of Stiles' life had been spent in Beacon Hills with his parents, until his mother had died. Then he'd spent seven years in Colorado with his dad and grandma, until she died too. Stiles couldn't help but feel everyone he loved was dying on him, so he worked hard to keep his dad there. Healthy food, helping out, doing the shopping and cleaning and cooking, and trying not to cause any stress. But he couldn't get rid of the alcohol, he wanted too, but he couldn't do it.
He'd stayed in contact with Melissa and Scott via email, but they weren't as close as they once were, and it hurt that he only had three people he could rely on, and two of them didn't even live nearby.
So when his dad cam home, drunk and without his badge, Stiles questioned nothing, tucking the man into bed with a glass of water, before heading to do his homework, looking into the empty bedroom at the end of the hall before shuffling to bed, hoping something would change.
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One month into the summer, and two since Grandma Stilinski's death, they agreed. They packed up the house, sorting through things they wanted to take with them, things to donate to charity, and others to put into storage. Then the packed themselves into the back of a moving truck and headed back home.