Work Text:
No. 13: “How dull is it to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished.”
Never Enough | Insignia | Forced Retirement
Stiles stares at the people starting to arrive at the ceremony. He stands outside, in the pouring rain, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel the cold, or the wind hitting his face. He doesn’t feel the wet clothes clinging to his body or the coldness seeping to his bones. All he can feel is numbness. Emptiness. He watches from the church’s step as people park their cars, looking for their umbrellas in the car. He wants to laugh, because how ridiculous is that. But he doesn’t laugh. It would be wrong, but when has he ever cared about what’s wrong.
Stiles hears steps coming behind but he doesn’t turn around. He already knows who it is. And suddenly there’s an umbrella held above him, shielding him from the pouring rain.
“You will get sick,” Derek murmurs, as he tries to pull Stiles inside.
“I don’t care,” Stiles answers, voice hollow.
“Stiles,” Derek sighs, but doesn’t try to touch him again.
They stand there, watching as the people slowly make their way to them. Stiles doesn’t speak as the people greet him, offering their condolences. It all feels superficial, just a routine they are performing while Stiles’ whole life has just ended.
He doesn’t know how he managed to make the funeral happen. He doesn’t remember much after the bond breaking, after Peter dying. He just feels the emptiness where used to be love, warmth. Now there’s nothing, and it pains him. It’s just quiet, no bond humming in his mind, no Peter’s unwavering presence constantly in his head. Just blank silence.
Stiles doesn’t speak, he lets Derek handle the greetings, the hand shakes. Stiles couldn’t care less. He never liked any of these people, neither did Peter but Peter was always the better of them at pretending. Always the picture perfect image of someone who cares about what someone is talking about. And Stiles cannot bring himself to do that. Not when he knows what these people are waiting for. Peter would laugh seeing all these people at his funeral. He would make fun of them to Stiles, while smiling at them politely, like nothing was wrong. Peter would always take the lead in situations like these, would always take care that Stiles is comfortable, taken care of.
That’s how their relationship started all those years ago. Peter quietly learns what Stiles would eat and bringing it to pack meetings, offering it to Stiles without a word. Peter would always know his favourite snacks and bring them, leaving them close by so Stiles would eat. Peter always made sure he would eat, even before they were dating. And after they started dating, it only got better. Peter would order for him at restaurants, knowing what he eats and what he doesn’t eat. Stiles didn’t have to think about anything. Peter always knew what he wanted to eat, knew his safe foods and the foods that had weird texture. And Peter’s care didn’t end only to food. Peter took over Stiles’ whole life.
The older man started to take care of everything as soon as Stiles moved in with him to the Hale house. Grocery store trips, bills, insurances, everything was taken care of before Stiles has even the chance to think about them. Appointments taken care of, if Stiles had somewhere to be, Peter always drove. Always made sure he could drive Stiles. Not once there had been a pile of unpaid bills or forgotten papers around the house. Peter kept everything in immaculate order. Peter always made sure Stiles never forgot anything, synching their calendars, so he would always know if Stiles had something coming up. Stiles started to lean into it, letting himself just be taken care of. Of his life becoming so easy that he just had to live. It wasn’t about surviving anymore, it was about living.
At first Stiles had been unsure of Peter spending seemingly so much money on him, on them, when Stiles could easily pay for his own things. But Peter had insisted. Had insisted that Stiles wouldn’t need to worry about anything, that Peter would take care of everything. So Stiles let him. He let Peter take over the finances, let Peter manage everything you could imagine. Because Peter said that even if he spends that money on Stiles, it wouldn’t even make a dent on his bank account. And on their second anniversary Stiles had completely forgotten to worry about bills being paid on time, insurances being paid because Peter handled all that. And then came the black, metal bank card with Stiles’ name on it. Their money, Peter had said. Not Peter’s money, theirs. Peter had given Stiles full access to his account, to spend as much money as Stiles felt like.
Still to this day Stiles doesn’t know why Peter gave the card to him since Peter always paid wherever they went.
And their wedding had been everything Stiles had ever dreamed. He didn't need to stress about who sits where, what kind of flowers there will be or what kind of foods. Peter already knew all of those and made it happen. It was all to Stiles’ taste, with a twist of Peter in there. Their wedding day had been the happiest day in Stiles’ life. The ring on his finger had been the best feeling ever, shining when the sun touched it.
Now the ring feels heavy on his finger. It feels cold and wrong.
“Son,” John’s voice snaps Stiles out of his mind.
“Dad,” Stiles whispers, letting his father pull him in a hug.
“It’s alright Stiles,” John murmurs against Stiles' damp hair.
Stiles lets out a broken sob as he clings to his father tighter. John pulls his son to the side, letting Derek deal with the guests as he consoles his son. John lets Stiles cry against his shoulder, hugging him tight as Stiles shakes. Stiles feels pathetic. He should be strong enough the get through this, to hold on until the funeral is over before breaking down. But he’s not strong enough. He’s not strong enough without Peter.
“We should head inside,” John whispers, placing a kiss on his son’s temple, “The memorial is about to start.”
Stiles nods, letting his dad lead him. He’s too exhausted to think. All he wants to really do is curl in their bed, on Peter’s side and cry. But he cannot, so he follows his dad to the front seats and sits down. The priest starts his speech a few minutes later, but Stiles doesn’t hear a word of it. He fidgets with Peter’s ring that hangs on his neck. Stiles hadn’t wanted to part with it, as he had requested it to be taken from Peter before the burial. He wants- needs the last piece of Peter with him. To not feel so alone, to feel like Peter is still with him.
The ring is warm from where it rested against his skin. There’s a scratch from where Peter shielded Stiles from the hunters that eventually caused his death. A reminder.
It’s not raining when they move outside for the burial. The sky is grey, but it’s not raining, even if the clouds are hanging low. John walks with Stiles to the headstone that's already waiting with Peter’s name on it. Stiles stares at the cursed stone, hating seeing the name on it, the date of death. He can feel tears streaming down his face when they lower the casket. Stiles watches silently as they lower his husband, his mate down. Into the cold ground. Stiles steps closer to the hole, looking down. The casket sits at the bottom neatly, waiting.
“You can now lower the flowers,” The priest tells, offering sympathy to Stiles.
Stiles almost laughs. Instead he takes the flower bouquet from his dad, and throws it on Peter’s casket. White lilies, Peter’s favourite. Too perfect for a moment like this. Peter had always been practical, Stiles thinks and cannot help the broken smile forming on his lips. He watches as Cora and Derek throw their flowers as well before they start filling the hole. Stiles stands there, just watching. It feels too surreal to say goodbye. Too final- not like death isn’t final. But accepting that Peter is not coming back. He’s now buried, but to rest. Stiles approaches the headstone, and touches it with shaking fingers.
“You don’t have to fight anymore,” Stiles whispers, tears streaming down his face freely now, “I will survive. I will- I swear. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. You can rest now.”
It’s a week later when Stiles is sitting at the family lawyers office, waiting for the reading of the will. The week has been pure hell. Too quiet house, too large bed for one person, too cold now that Peter isn’t there. Not that Stiles has slept much, but laying awake on the bed, has been an agony he hadn’t thought he would ever need to face. The house is quiet. There’s no footsteps coming from the end of the hallway, no running shower late at night. No dishes hitting the table. Just absolute silence, deafening. Too loud. Leaving Stiles alone with his thoughts. He has had to learn how to live alone again. He’s been lost with the bills now starting to pile on the kitchen table. He has had to call around to find what insurances he needs to change to his name, what subscription he needs to cancel as Peter isn’t there anymore needing them. It’s been hard to make call after call, to explain the situation, to explain that his husband took care of everything before and now he’s trying to figure out how to do it all alone.
The pantry doesn’t fill anymore on its own. Food doesn’t appear anymore in the fridge unless Derek or his father brings it. And it’s all wrong. It’s not what Stiles is used to eating, it’s the wrong brand or wrong colour. And only now he understands how much Peter has been spoiling him. Never once had Peter complained looking for something specific, he had only observed and learned what Stiles eat and their house always had that. Now it’s what Derek or John bring him. The general stuff, the things Stiles has to force down his throat when they are making sure he eats. It feels like swallowing ash. Derek tries to tell him it’s normal to feel like that after a mate’s death as the soul bond snaps. But it feels like more to Stiles, like this isn’t normal withdrawal of losing a mate. He knows he’s feeling too much, too strongly, and there’s no one who would understand him.
So now he sits with the pack at the hearing of the will. He doesn’t know the full extent of Peter’s money until he hears it. Savings, investments, properties, all collecting interest, making sure Stiles is set for life. Set for life twice over. Peter left everything he has ever owned to Stiles. The Hale house, their home now belongs to Stiles legally, fully paid for. All the cars, now Stiles’. All the investments, and savings, too much to count, now Stiles’ fully to use the way he sees fit.
Peter had made sure that if something ever happens to him, Stiles is still taken care of. That Stiles is set for the rest of his life, without a need to worry about money or his future. Stiles can only stare at the lawyer reading the will. All that, for Stiles alone.
Stiles doesn’t have time to wrap his head around the fact that essentially- he’s now a millionaire- when Scott speaks.
“That’s great! Now you can help the pack. I have some ideas of how to-”, Scott starts speaking excitedly, but Stiles stops listening.
Great?
Great that he lost his husband? The only person who has truly seen and cared for him. The only person who has loved him for who he is, without conditions and now it’s all about money. He would gladly give all the money away if he could have Peter back. But it’s fucking great that now he has all this money without his husband?
The room turns cold, everyone else seems to pick up on the mood change but Scott who’s still talking about what Stiles can buy with the money for the pack. Like money is common property and not Stiles’.
“Scott?” Stiles says, voice impossible calm.
“Yeah,” Scott turns to look at his friend with a smile on his face.
That’s when Stiles hits him in the face. A loud crack can be heard as Scott’s nose breaks under Stiles’ fist. Scott falls on the ground in shock, holding his now bleeding nose.
“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Stiles says, walking over Scott without a second glance.
He walks out of the building without looking back at the pack. They can all choke on it. He’s not spending Peter’s money on people who never cared about him, never saw him as pack. They only saw Peter as someone dispensable, someone to keep around only when he was useful. They never saw Peter as Stiles’ mate, as his husband. Only the man Stiles is, for some reason, sleeping with. And now they want his money. Stiles laughs when he gets home as he sinks against the front door, staring at the dark house. He hits his head against the wooden door, trying to feel something, anything other than the emptiness inside him.
Because all the money in the world won’t take away the pain. It won’t magically fix the grief, the longing of losing your spouse. Stiles would rather have Peter than all this money. Because the money won’t keep him warm at night, it won’t bring him coffee to bed or pet his hair. It’s all cold and impersonal. But still one of Peter’s ways to take care of him, even in death, Peter is looking out for him. And Stiles cries, pleading for Peter to come back, that he doesn’t want the money, he only wants Peter to curl around him, pull him close and never let go.
Stiles doesn’t know how long he sits there, only that it’s now dark outside and his head is hurting. He finds himself heading back outside, and walking to the cemetery, to Peter’s grave. He sits against the cold stone, resting his head against it.
“It’s always been money for them,” Stiles whispers to no one, “That’s the first thing they thought when you died.”
Stiles lets out a broken laugh.
“You always told me- you always told me they weren’t good people, not really. But I guess I wanted to believe otherwise,” Stiles speaks, “I learned about your will today, you bastard. You left everything to me.”
Stiles sighs, wiping tears from his face. He sits there in silence for a long time. He can hear animals moving somewhere close to him, the low hum of the city around the cemetery.
“I broke his nose,” Stiles laughs finally, and it’s a broken sob, “You should have seen it. You would have been proud. It felt good- almost therapeutic. I should have done it when you were alive.”
“But you know what Peter?” Stiles asks, not expecting a response, “You can now rest darling. I will survive this, even when this still feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest. You don’t need to look out for me anymore Peter. You can just rest, knowing I will be fine. Knowing- I will see you one day, if you just wait for me over there.”
Stiles takes one of the bouquets that are wilting on top of the grave to his hand, looking at it. It was beautiful on the day of the funeral, alive. Stiles turns to look at the sky, seeing stars and he lets out a deep sigh he didn’t know he was holding.
“I will always love you- you were it for me. The last ten years- they were the best years of my life. You made every day the best it could be. Just because you chose to love me,” Stiles gets up slowly, hands on the cool stone, “So just rest for now love. I will be fine with time. You don’t need to worry about anything anymore.”
Stiles places the flowers on the stone. The words feel like a farewell, and maybe they are. Stiles doesn’t look back at the grave as he walks out of the cemetery as the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon.