i would just like to point out that i don't know what i'm doing
friday, november 7
stilinski residence; beacon hills
third person pov
Dad,
I'm sorry that I'm leaving. I won't tell you where, but let's just say, I'll be safe where I'm going.
Keep out of trouble.
Seriously, for me, dad. I need you alive.
Love you,
Stiles.
Stiles folded the note and set it on the counter next to a large platter of spaghetti and meatballs that would get his dad to eat something better than burgers for at least a week. He stepped away and sighed, heart seizing in his chest as he tucked the photo of him, his dad, and his mom into the pocket of his faded jeans.
As much as he wanted to stay, Stiles knew that it would only remind him of his humanity. It was a weakness. He was a weakness, and he would just do everyone a favor and leave.
The garage was cold and smelt of the oil leaking from his jeep's radiator. It broke his heart knowing that he would have to leave her in the airport parking lot until eventually they towed her away. Stiles frowned as he watched drops of moisture form on the worn leather steering wheel and then fall in little streaks down the surface. He looked up to see if his roof was leaking, but the smooth surface mocked him as he lifted a hand to his face, feeling the wetness that was falling from his eyes.
He was crying.
The tears came faster and Stiles' breath caught in his throat as he desperately tried to keep himself from remembering. For a moment it worked and he could breath, but then he caught sight of the triskelion medallion hanging from a chain on his rear view mirror.
Dammit.
friday, november 7
derek's loft, earlier that evening
third person pov
The pack went silent when Stiles came into the loft. It was unnerving having all of them stare at him like that, some of their eyes flashing with invisible luminescence, predators who had sighted prey.
Willing his hands not to shake, Stiles forced a smile to spread across his face, "Don't tell me all of you are turning into Sourwolf over there."
He gestured to Derek who was leaning against the brick wall, his face pinched into its usual scowl as he stared at Scott. Stiles' gaze went between the two of them, heart rate skyrocketing which was not the best considering he was in a room full of weres.
They were all there. Allison was near Scott as usual, though her posture was hostile and uninviting towards the alpha. Jackson and Lydia were sitting on the couch and judging by the mess of their hair and swollen lips, they were previously on their way to x-rated. Peter was smirking in that nonchalant way that never failed to remind him how much of an asshole the creepy wolf was. Kira was sharpening her sword from her seat on the rug. Isaac was leaning back against the couch wiping at his red eyes with that stupid scarf.
Derek rolled his eyes at Scott, "If you're not gonna do it, I will."
Heart dropping, Stiles glanced around the faces of his closest friends, his family, "Do what?"
Scott finally looked at him and while there was no emotion written on his face, there was that look in his eyes.
"Oh."
"Stiles," Scott began, "It has to happen. We can't keep protecting you without putting the pack at risk."
Stiles blinked, a rush of frustration filling him, "And I'm not pack? That's fucking rich. I'm the whole reason you didn't get yourself killed, the reason you didn't kill your fucking girlfriend when you thought she liked that douchebag over there," he pointed an accusing finger at Jackson, "I was there when you couldn't play lacrosse, when you broke your arm trying to climb that tree. I was always fucking there and you have no right to say I'm not pack."
Red eyes flared at him and Scott bared his teeth, "I never asked you to do any of that. I never asked to have a pathetic nerd following me around my entire life!"
Laugh tinged with bitterness, Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head, "Yeah, guess you didn't."
Something akin to guilt bled into Scott's chocolate eyes, but Stiles didn't let himself hope for someone to suddenly yell out 'Sike!'
"We'll still see you around, Stiles," Scott told him, voice soft like he was talking to a small child.
Stiles shrugged one shoulder, "Yeah, see you around," he murmured as he turned and left the loft. He considered taking the small crumb of what he had gotten used to, letting the loyalty fizzle out into just seeing each other around, but just thinking about staying to be alone sent pain stabbing into his chest.
He had to leave. He had to get out of Beacon Hills.
friday, november 7
stilinski residence
third person pov
Stiles scrubbed at the tears because maybe, just maybe if he did himself of the tears he could in turn get rid of the memories, the betrayal, everything.
He couldn't look back, not when he was kicked out of the one thing he felt to be real, not when he was leaving his home. So he didn't. He didn't let himself look back when he passed the 'Thank you for visiting Beacon Hills' sign, not when he reached the airport, and definitely not when he boarded his plane. He had to keep his eyes ahead, to the side, to the sky, anywhere but his past.
———————
saturday, november 8
new york city, new york
third person pov
It was two am by the time Stiles landed in NYC and two thirty when he finally got into a taxi.
"Where to?"
Stiles looked up at the old taxi driver, his wire glasses and toothy smile that peeled out from under his white mustache. He looked at his hand to find the messily scribbled address and recite it to the friendly driver.
"542 East Knight Street."
"Ah, very nice, the apartment complex?"
Stile nodded.
"Well, young man, that's a good place, but a bad neighborhood, you be careful, you hear?"
"I hear you, sir."
Eyes narrowed at Stiles for a moment before the old man smacked his lips together and nodded his approval of Stiles' sincerity, "Good."
Forty minutes later, they made it the couple blocks to the towering complex that was Stiles' destination. Taking a deep breath, Stiles looked out at the glittering glass that dominated the modern architecture of the apartments.
"Visiting someone for the first time?"
Nodding slightly, Stiles stared out the window, "In a long time. Nervous he won't exactly connect me to the eight year old."
"Ahhh," there was a pause, "a friend?"
Stiles shook his head, "Family," he breathed. The driver shook his head, "Well, it'll be fine, family's forever, lad. Doesn't matter if you're eight years old or fifteen."
"I'm seventeen-" Stiles tried to say but then the man was tapping his meter and saying, "As much as I enjoy robbing people of their money, you seem like a nice guy, so get out of my cab."
Startled, Stiles laughed and dug through his wallet to find cash to give the man. He slung his duffel over his shoulder and then opened the door, pausing when the driver called out, "Don't forget to be careful. A lot of things can go bump in the night."
Trust me, mister, I know. I know better than most what lurks in the dark.
Stiles only smiled tightly, nodding, "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." He waved, barely getting the door shut before the cab was driving off with a screech of tires on pavement.
He made it to the door, scanning the lists of buttons for the right apartment. Bottom right, in black cursive lettering it read P. Coulson, Penthouse.
A sleep riddled voice answered a few moments after Stiles rang the buzzer. "Who the hell is this?"
"Uncle Phil, is that you?"
"Stiles??"
"It is you, thank god. May I come up?"
The doors opened and Stiles hurried through the lobby toward the spotless silver elevators. He caught an empty elevator, trying to take deep breaths as the lights indicated the climb up to the nineteenth floor.
The bell dinged and the doors slid open, revealing Uncle Coulson standing in Captain America pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He took in Stiles' rumpled state and tear stained cheeks before approaching him carefully, concern in his eyes.
"Stiles, are you okay? Is your dad with you?"
Stiles shook his head though Uncle Phil still looked over his shoulder as if he expected his brother-in-law to appear from the elevator. Hands grasped Stiles' shoulders and he looked up at his uncle, who frowned and asked gently, "Why don't I make us a cup of hot chocolate and you can tell me what happened?"
Nodding dumbly, Stiles let his uncle guide him to the pristine white couch and wrap him in a soft blanket that looked as if it had never been used. He brought his knees to his chest and felt exhaustion creep up his spine, dragging him down into sleep.
———————
hi :D i'm already editing
i don't think i ever cringed so hard as i did when i read this through. i apologize and hope that my edits reflect some improvement lmaooo
uhhhhhhh if you're new and haven't seen the old version BE GLAD
anyways.......uh to those new guys and ofc to my rereaders....
i present
MORTALA
dum dum DUHHH
but yeah, you'll soon realize that this is not that good and literally deserves none of the wonderful support it gets, but i appreciate every view, every vote, and every comment it does receive.
you guys never fail to amaze me with the endless encouragement! thank you for giving me and my story a chance! i hope i can live up to expectations :)
thank you again :)
prepare for a rollercoaster that was shakily constructed by yours truly :)
ilyilyilyilyilyilyilyilyily
your loser,
;)
thezqueen
^^a gif of an absolute god, dylan o'brien, for your personal enjoyment