Chapter Text
Stiles was currently in the process of walking back to his house. Today was the anniversary of his mother’s death and to try to avoid his father and anyone who knew his mother -which was pretty much everyone in town; Beacon Hills was rather small- Stiles had gone over to his best friend Scott’s house to hang out with the other boy and Cora Hale, his other best friend. Cora and Scott didn’t like each other much, or really even acknowledge one another without someone forcing them to, but tolerated the other’s presence for Stiles’ sake.
Alcohol had been the Sheriff’s saving grace when his wife died, abusing the substance heavily and on a regular basis; if not that then it had been him diving head-first into his work. Stiles, according to most, was the spinning image of his mother and sometimes his father couldn’t take it -the reminder of the woman making the still to fresh wounds caused by her death becoming even worse. Stiles was also hard to deal with, he understood that. He was hyper and all over the place, he couldn’t shut up to save his life and he was too curious and smart for his own good.
So he understood.
He understood that a grieving and poorly coping man needed a break every now and then.
He understood that someone who wasn’t ready to be a single parent so suddenly couldn’t always do right by their child, that they simply didn’t know how.
He understood how tasking of a responsibility he was.
He understood and he did his best to give his father the space that he needed and made sure not to rely too heavily on him.
He was letting his father do what he needed to process the loss of his wife. So he didn’t bother the man and he didn’t come to him for most things he probably should. It was why he hadn’t told the man where he was going or even asked, simply left a note on the fridge instead. It was also why he hoped to any higher power that existed out there that his father had once again buried himself in files or glasses of whiskey and had yet to find that note.
He didn’t have such luck obviously as once the house came into view he could already see the man waiting on the front porch. It was when Stiles himself came into view of his father that he saw the glare, the man’s arms crossed across his chest as he seethed in disappointment and rage. When Stiles got to the end of the driveway -his dad somehow managing to sit and stew while he meandered over reluctantly- was when the yelling started.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was!? You went to Scott’s house, without telling me! Without even asking me!” Stiles had yet to move from the end of the driveway and the Sheriff was still on the front porch. “You know why you don’t do something like that! Jesus, how could you be so stupid , Stiles!”
That’s what caused him to break; what made the tears start to appear in his eyes and slowly make their way down his cheeks.
When he had seen his father waiting at the front of the house he had felt regretful, guilty even, for the worry he had put his father through. Now… Now he was just heart broken. His dad had said many hurtful things in his numerous drunken hazes since his mom passed, none of them had ever been directed at Stiles’ intelligence though. He knew how it would make him feel. Claudia Stilinski had always cheered on her son’s curious side and encouraged his many pursuits of knowledge. On some occasions she would even give him nicknames like her “evil little genius,” or something quite similar.
In the last few months of her life, his mom’s FTD had been so bad that she could barely recognize her husband let alone her son. Worse was when she was afraid of him, angry at him. So very angry. She would yell at him, scream insults, and claim he was a demon trying to kill her. At one point she even attacked him -tried to kill him. End her own son’s life. All the comments that used to be about how smart he was slowly turned around, his intellect being mocked and his curiosity spat at in indignation. It got so bad that eventually he was forced to stop visiting her -her outburst about him getting too violent. He later found that he had been causing her to get worse, her FTD progressing further and further out of control the more he appeared and caused such intense episodes.
Upon registering what he had said, the officer sighed head down as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Son,” the man’s tone had a hint of guilt to it but mostly he just sounded tired, “why don’t we finish talking inside?” Stiles nodded slightly, looking down at the concrete and doing his best to hold back any more tears.
When he took his first step his foot hadn’t even fully touched the ground before he felt himself be grabbed from behind and heard his dad yell out his name. Stiles had vaguely been aware of the vehicle on the street, he had heard it screech around a corner just before his dad started yelling at him.
He had been pulled into, what he assumed to be, the back of a van. All he had to help him see was a light on the roof of the van. It was all he had a chance to see and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to regain his bearings when he felt a sharp pinch in his nape.
It didn’t take long for everything to go dark.
BREAK
Stiles stood at the end of the driveway, looking up at the place he once considered his home a long time ago with a hand clenching around his bag. He still did think of this as a haven of some sorts. The part of him that he had locked away long ago, the part of him that was still a child despite everything he had been through, would always consider this place home. Safe. Now though Stiles considered the people he cared for to be his home -two or three specific people.
Because even people can be taken away.
It was a lesson he had learned long ago.
Taking a deep breath Stiles forces himself to walk up the driveway and to the front door. After another few minutes of waiting on the front porch of the house, he simply knocks on the door and waits. The man that answers looks tired and more weary than he remembers him being. Though given how long he’s been gone, that’s to be expected. Besides all of that though his father looks almost exactly the same just… older; he guesses that’s the best way to describe it.
It takes his dad a minute or so before he fully processes who exactly is in front of him, but when he does he lets out a broken sob and all but tackles his son into a tight hug. Stiles hugs his dad just as hard, dropping his duffle as he does so, and being careful not to use his actual strength, while clenching his eyes closed so no reaction other than what is truly needed in that moment escapes him.
He can’t show any sign of weakness, even if it is with his father.
BREAK
John sighed as he stared at the whiskey bottle in front of him. It was his rare day off and he had a lot to do around the house but he just couldn’t bring himself to move. Couldn't gather enough energy or motivation to do anything other than sit there. Right now he was contemplating whether or not to drink, he had worked hard to get as sober as he could, even if he never truly made it to that point; but it was just one of those days that he just couldn’t bury his shit deep enough on his own so that he couldn’t feel it. He was about to give in, about to pick up the glass bottle and drown his sorrows -abandoning the years of effort he put in just for the one person he was worried would never come back to him- when a knock on the front door echoed throughout the empty house.
It wasn’t a home anymore. Hadn’t been for seven years now.
Letting out a sigh that was a mixture of relief and disappointment both, he got up from his seat and made his way to the door. He didn’t bother to put the whiskey bottle away or to clean himself up, the only person that visited him anyhow was Melissa and even that was a rarity as her schedule was as hectic as his own.
When he opened the door he was confused at first; a random teenager on his doorstep was definitely not who he expected to see. Then he registered the button nose nearly identical to his late wife’s; the start of a pattern of mole’s on the boy’s left cheek that he always used to tease looked like Orion’s belt; bright liquid brown eyes that had the exact same hue as the beverage currently sitting on his dining room table.
All he could think as he threw his arms around the boy in front of him and as tears ran unrestrained down his face, was that he finally had his home back.
His son had finally come back to him.