Chapter Text
Stiles has just become a Junior when he comes to Beacon Hills.
He just turned sixteen, skippng a grade back in elementary school, and like all sixteen year olds, he doesn’t have life figured out as much as he thinks he does. When he was in Clementine, Illinois he felt like every detail in his life was scripted and already sent off to the big guys for production to a crappy and boring indie film they wouldn’t even show at Sundance.
But when his grandma on his mom’s side passed, her house in Beacon Hills was either going to be torn down for the next door neighbor’s who wanted a bigger garden, or given to any family she had left. His Dad jumped at the opportunity to get out of Illinois for numerous reasons. One, it’s grandma’s house, the house he first met Mom in and proposed to her in. Two, Stiles needed to get out of town. Incidents are a thing and there’s things you just don’t talk about.
And that’s pretty much how he finds himself leaving at 2AM with his father out of the fairly small town of Clementine, Illinois. He packed all the belongings he had, wanting to keep everything and then nothing at all from the house he’s lived in since he was thirteen, but decides he’ll sort through it all when he’s unpacking in the house. In the passenger seat of his Dad’s red Ford Explorer -- he left the deputy cruiser back at the station, but got to keep his old uniform and badges -- he changes his location on his social network pages to a small text “California” without any details on the city.
(Thirty people like it, and four comment equal expressions of “why?” but he only replies to the two (actual) friends he has through private messages. They understand, and tell him to ignore all the ‘likes’ he receives. He was already doing that, but he still says “thanks.”)
His Dad stops at numerous pit stops for gas, each time they trade off on who will drive. They don’t stop to eat at anywhere, just buying from drive-thru’s and replaying songs on his phone connected to the radio. When his Dad is sleeping in the passenger seat, he’ll put his favorite song on repeat and roll down his window just to feel the wind through his hair and words fly from his lips to somewhere he knows no one will hear.
It’s slightly over three days when his Dad shakes him awake to look at the “WELCOME TO: BEACON HILLS / POPULATION: 8,999” and Stiles gets this goofy smile on his face.
“Hey, Dad,” he says, adjusting his seat and snagging the seatbelt from his neck uncomfortably, his tone telling something he finds funny by how bubbly it is under the surface.
“Yeah, kid?” He glances wearily at him, already expecting something odd or silly.
“Over nine thousand now, right?” Stiles busts into a fit of giggles.
His Dad snorts and starts snickering with him, knowing full well about the Dragon Ball Z references his son makes from all the time he spent watching it with him when he was younger.
The straight road ahead of them surrounded by foreboding trees and dark forests doesn’t seem half as bad as it should with his son still giddily giggling along with his own chuckles as they drove further and further into Beacon Hills.
* * * *
The house is clean and bare as a whistle when they arrive. Excluding a slight sheen of dust slowly forming on the windows, but that’s nothing and the gardens in the front and back yard has colors only the saturation option in photoshop could offer, Stiles thinks. Its two story outside doused in a sweet cream color makes it look warm and inviting, even without any lights or curtains in the inside. Maybe that’s because it’s 4AM and the darkness is clouding any and all blemishes the house may have, but Stiles likes to think that’s not it.
“Well, let’s make a deal, Stiles.” His Dad finished surveying around the house, just looking around and checking the doors and windows for any hint that someone may be inside the home believing it would be uninhabited for awhile, and Stiles wouldn’t have been too surprised if there was. He’s heard some crazy stories about his Dad’s job. “We’re gonna unload the car, go inside, set the beds and curtains, take a nice, hot shower, go to bed, wake up, finish setting up everything, and then we’ll get breakfast.”
“Do you really think we’re gonna finish packing everything quick enough to get breakfast?” Stiles is already lifting up the trunk and getting the closest boxes, his Dad unlocking the door to the new home and walking back to him across the yard. They parked in the front of the house, despite a very open drive way that leads to a two-door garage.
His Dad takes the load off his hands when he’s close enough to him, pausing to get a good, straight look in his Son’s eyes to know he means what he’s going to say. “I think we’re just gonna have to hope you’re fast enough to, or we’re getting lunch, and I will get fries with my bacon cheeseburger and milkshake.”
“You totally set that up in, like, two seconds.” Stiles says, smiling slightly as he goes back to the car shaking his head.
His Dad lets out a laugh as he enters the home, and Stiles catches a glimpse of a warm looking brown couch in the living room over a fancy-ish rug on dark wood floors, the walls a dark color tint that matches well with the rest of the ensemble. It reminds him nothing of the house in Clementine, where there was light wood floors, an off-white color on the walls, and a cream-ish colored couch. It was too bright and too dull at the same time. It didn’t feel right after awhile. It didn't feel right to have a party in it. It didn’t feel right with police officers in it. It didn’t feel right to see his Dad sitting down on that coach, the dark bottle of alcohol contrasting horribly.
He sighed softly. It was just the beginning of summer. Beacon Hills' school’s closed not too long ago, if he remembers correctly, less than a week. But, overall, he thinks this won’t be so bad.
For now, at least.