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Chris hadn’t expected it.
He still wasn’t sure how it happened, actually.
Victoria was gone--gone to her own pride, and while Chris would never take her choice from her, he could admit in the sanctity of his own mind that what she’d done was about pride, not the honor she'd spoken of before her death.
Allison… Allison was harder. She’d been killed by all of her good qualities. Her kindness, determination, brilliance…
He knew he couldn’t blame Stiles. Some part of him wanted to, but if that part had ever controlled him, he would never have agreed to the changes Allison made to their family heritage in the end steps of her life. So he directed that anger where he could, which was mostly nowhere, and he swallowed the rest.
He was packing (slowly. Painfully. In tears over every photo and every dress.) when destiny came knocking.
Destiny was a grieving boy with dark circles under his eyes (natural, this time) and not enough meat on his bones (but far too much weight on his shoulders).
“Stiles,” Chris managed with strength drawn from some deep well inside himself that he’d never known existed until he’d learned that his sister was a serial killer and had to face her only living victim.
The same part of Chris that railed against Stiles had wanted to hate Derek, too, but his heart-of-hearts knew better. So when he was faced with this boy that Chris was sure blamed himself, instead of the thousands of recriminations piling up behind his teeth, Chris said, “Come in.”