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Leaving Beacon Hills had been a wrench that hurt in the ways he’d never expected. Even though he knew it would’ve been impossible for him to stay, there was still a big part of him that would always belong there, had to belong there.
Sentient trees didn’t seem to like letting go, apparently.
But knowing that Scott wouldn’t believe anything other than that the sun shone out of Deaton’s ass, even though the vet had almost caused the zombie apocalypse trying to resurrect his sister, there was no way he could stay. He wouldn't safe with Deaton still in town a so-called Druid and a potential Spark, not a good mix, or certainly not for him.
He had no doubt that his father would go to war for him if his Dad thought it was needed, and he wasn’t going to put his Dad or anyone else through that. Which was why he now was stood in the middle of a shop, supposed looking at the bed linens, when really all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide. Trying to be an adult hurt, which he knew was ridiculous, but was still painful all the same.
“Now why, I am I not surprised to find you here?”
And really that wasn't a voice he wanted to hear. Peter Hale was the last person he wanted anywhere near him, there was something about the man that made his skin not exactly crawl but certainly creep in the way that the frayed edges of his shirt cuffs sometimes did. Not pleasant, but not really enough to kick fight or flight instincts in. Though, it didn’t mix well with the fact that there was something else about Peter that tended to sneak up behind him if he forgot to be aware of it.
“Any particular reason you’re stalking me?” Peter trying to pull off affronted might have been amusing on another occasion, but right now all it did was make him want to put the wolf’s teeth out.
“Not really, just in town.”
That smirk wasn’t helping either.
“Really, in Washington?” He knew that the buzzing sensation under his skin was a bad thing, bad enough this time that some of it was escaping the box he was working to shove it into.
“Stiles…” How he got from the shop to where ever he was now he didn’t know, but it wasn’t the first time he didn’t have the memories of getting from one place to the next. Which probably explained why when he came up off the couch he’d been on, he came up with a knife in his hand.
“… ow, fuck.” At least that voice he recognised, even if this time the fight or flight was there, and it looked as though it was probably going to be fight, again. He knew he should be worried about the blood his could smell, but really it was Peter, and he deserved all he got. And since when had he been able to smell blood?
“Not really the introduction I was hoping for…”
Blinking cleared his sight some, so he could at least see Peter and a couple of other people. One who might have looked a little like his Mom. Not that it had him dropping his knife.
“… Stiles Stillinski, Kolęda Gajos.”