apparently i hate everything

"Stiles, what are you doing?”

"I’m trying, okay, keyword—trying. Or, well, I was trying."

"Trying to…?"

"I was trying to set up a pillow fort. For Scott. You know, nothing cures teenaged heartbreak like alco—forts. Pillow forts."

Melissa McCall sighs, staring at the mess in front of her. There’s a broken lamp on the floor, sheets hanging from the walls, and feathers everywhere. 

And Stiles is cross-legged amidst it, looking for all the world innocent. It’s almost concerning.

She’s a little worried about Scott—a lot worried about Scott, her baby just had his heart broken, and…

"Where is Scott?"

"He went for a run." 

Which is clearly codenamed for something, probably werewolf related, but Melissa doesn’t push it. 

"I’m going to make chicken cutlets and broccoli for dinner, can you pick up some broccoli for me?"

"I hate broccoli.”

"You’re not five anymore, Stiles. You can eat it. You’re not allergic. You’ve been tested.”

"That doesn’t mean it isn’t gross!"

Another sigh passes her lips, and Melissa folds her arms in front of her, looking a lot more authoritative than she’s been feeling lately. Stiles pouts but gets up off the floor.

"And you’re going to clean up this mess."

"But Scott hasn’t even seen it!"

She shoots him a look.

"Fine, fine. Jeez. I’m glad a baseball bat isn’t around." He mumbles, kicking aside a stray pillow that Melissa doesn’t even know where it’s from. 

Stiles is getting ready, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his car keys, pulling on a sweatshirt. 

"Broccoli, right?" He crinkles his nose, voice mournful.

"Yes. At least two or three bushels of it, please."

"Sure, mom."

Neither of them realize it at first, because Stiles sounds so casual, voice nonchalant and normal. It wasn’t said jokingly; Stiles didn’t even realize. Until he stops dead in his tracks, eyes almost as wide as Melissa’s feel.

"I’m, I didn’t—"

"No, it’s okay Stiles, don’t—"

His face is blotchy and red, chest heaving like he’s about to have another panic attack, one that Melissa knows all too well from months of having to help him through it when Stiles’ dad wasn’t around. 

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you’re not, you’re—”

She gets it. Melissa gets it. She isn’t Claudia, doesn’t want to be Claudia to Stiles. Can’t, even if she did.

"Don’t, Stiles. Don’t be sorry. I know, I know. It’s okay, Stiles. Breathe, okay? You need to breathe."

They had more of a playful relationship than a serious one, but this was okay, too. Sometimes Stiles needed to drop that happy act he always had. 

There are tears bunching at the corners of his eyes when Melissa rushes forward, trying to get him to focus on her voice and not his hyperventilation. 

"I—I miss her so much," It was a quiet admission that tumbled out of his mouth like he didn’t mean for it to happen. Melissa pulls him in for a hug that Stiles accepts gratefully, burying his face in her shoulder like a little kid trying to hide away from the world. 

"I know, I know. I miss her, too. We all do." 

It seems like Stiles gives himself a few more moments of pain before he pulls away, face drawn, but calmer.

They’re both quiet for a few moments until Stiles wipes snot on his hoodie, and then there’s laughter, and the air’s a little easier. Just a little.

They end up ordering pizza when Scott comes back, and it’s okay. It’s good.

-

Stiles doesn’t call Melissa mom again, not until she gets a postcard in the mail of a beautiful college campus, with a picture of Scott and Stiles haphazardly taped the the back.

She smiles, and if it’s a little watery there’s no one around to see it, because Stiles’ dad isn’t home from work, yet. They don’t have dinner until 6.

Melissa smiles, fond and bittersweet, and hangs it up on the fridge, writing side up.

-

Don’t worry about Scott, I’m taking good care of him, I promise!

We love you, mom—

Arranged Marriage AU

Childhood Friends AU

Strip Club AU

What Happens in Vegas AU 

Zombie AU

Apocalypse AU

Criminal AU 

Kidnapping AU 

Friends with Benefits AU

Reunited AU

Road Trip AU

Serial Killer AU

Vampire AU

Werewolf AU

Runaways AU

Spring Break AU

Demon AU

College AU

Roomates AU

Coffee Shop AU

The drive out to UCLA was, thankfully, not too terrible given the kind of traffic that liked to clog the atmosphere around the campus. He would be lying to himself if he did not consider taking his unit vehicle just to misuse the siren to blast through the congestion. But today, for once, he was off duty, and thought Hey why not go and surprise his son with lunch?

Finding parking was just as much as a pain as the traffic was.But somehow or another, he managed to hunt Stiles down, after a few choice questions around the Psyc building. The off-duty-sheriff found him quickly and easily enough in a lecture hall. He assumed class had just ended.

Rapping his knuckles over the door, he cleared his throat to get his son’s attention. “Not too busy for a surprise visit from your old man, are you?”

"I told you," Gary, his roommate, replied, "had you started this project a week ago..."

Stiles was far too tired to argue with Gary, although he was right. He had a very valid point, but Stiles would never let him know that. The clock on the wall in the Psych student lounge read 7:45, and Gary was just packing up for class. Stiles had sent in his lab reports, his essay, and opted out for attending the class he had that day. It was only three hours long; he could make it up another day. Gary threw his backpack over his shoulder and sighed, which Stiles assumed came with a disapproving shake of his head. "Later, dude," Gary said before he moved for the door, leaving Stiles to sleep after the long night.

Stiles felt he'd only been asleep for a few minutes before there was a knock on the door, which made him jump up. With papers clinging to his face -- he'd ended up on the floor? -- he ripped them off, wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and shot towards the door.

"Oh -- oh my god, I'm awake, I swear --"

Then the man's face registered, and Stiles almost couldn't believe the sight before him.

Maybe he’d admit to completely destroying Stiles from the inside out, but then again, what should Stiles be expecting in the first place? Apologies and make up kisses and embraces that he’d long since tried to forget happened? Because that only happened in movies. Make ups and warm embraces and reconciliations only happened in cheesy movies.

And if Stiles’ life was a movie of any genre, it’d be a sad one.

One about heartbreak.

One about abandonment.

Without hesitating, Stiles readjusted the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, letting it scrunch the plaid fabric beneath. He turned to go, not bothering to say anything else. Because what else was there to say to Derek Hale?

Stiles wanted to cry, more than anything. Just disappear from Derek’s hawk like sight and bury his head between his knees in the bathroom and just sob. But there was nothing but bewilderment and shame left in Stiles’ heart for Derek Hale. After the breakup, regardless of how much he wanted to believe it was over, it wasn’t. It was never over for him, and it never would be. Derek Hale had been Stiles’ first everything (and when he said everything, he definitely meant everything), and every memory of Derek had been like a fresh cut, and seeing his face now and hearing the voice he’d tried so hard to forget was like somebody had dropped a piano on him.

He stood there, completely gutted.

He remembered when he had given his phone to Scott to have him delete every photo he’d ever had of them. And Scott, being the considerate friend he was, instead downloaded an app that locked the album anytime it was accessed. Only Scott knew the password. He had told Stiles that when he was ready to delete the photos without getting emotionally compromised, he could have the password to the album.

Stiles never asked for it.

But he’d be damned if he let Stiles count as the ‘one who got away.’ Even if it was really the wolf’s fault in the first place.

With that, Derek was right next to the human within a blink of an eye, hand wrapped around the delicate wrists as he stood just an inch away from his back. Man— if he just leaned a tad and angled his head just so… It would be like the old times, where they were in love (still in love, rather; even Derek couldn’t fool himself on this topic) and being stupid and full of risks and abandoned whims. He had to steel himself from getting into the want to just bury his nose into Stiles’ neck and keep him in place. No, he ultimately had to fix things between them because even if they don’t make it out alive, there had to be some sort of closure there… right?

Only… he couldn’t allow himself to be soft and gentle and so out of his own skin that it made him want to rip out his own throat with his teeth. No, he was rough and demanded attention wherever he went and this was no different. When Stiles turned his back on him, oh, it was on like Donkey Kong. The once alpha let a low, dangerous growl fill the silence that had followed the statement; the hand moving from his wrist to his bicep in one fluid motion and swing the teen around to face him, to shove him against the wall space next to the door that he was trying to escape through. Derek followed through with the movement and pinned the human there with barely any effort, his eyes brightening to a loud blue for a second before shimmering back down to their normal forest green.

But Derek just couldn't let sleeping dogs lie, and he felt the wolf grab his bicep and swing him around so fast. The first thing he heard was the crisp crack of his shoulder blades hitting the wall, and his hands shot up in defense. He couldn't do much, and one option was to face Derek. All this time and he'd never made eye contact, and he knew it was the only thing keeping him from completely lashing out at the man before him. For his own safety, and perhaps Derek's, Stiles kept his eyes lowered to the ground, nostrils flared.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked then, bitterness dripping from every single syllable, his hands moving between the alpha's wrists and shoving them roughly from his shoulders. "You don't get it. You just have no regard..."

And it had begun. Stiles knew now that he had an opportunity to speak, he wouldn't be able to deny it.

"It only makes sense that once my life starts to look up that the one person capable of destroying it strolls right back in." His hands dropped to his sides, his expression only showcasing the incredulous anger that had now flooded his head, and his throat -- he knew terrible words only followed this now. But Derek deserved it. He had to convince himself that that was the case.

"Y'know what, Derek, it's been real peachy seeing you again, except it hasn't, because if I remember, you wanted out. And you got out. I left you alone, why couldn't you return the favor?"

An inhale, and a bitter laugh that only made him raise his eyes and stare at the window -- anything to avoid Derek's face.

"You wanted to leave and I let you, and I couldn't even look at myself after, because all I saw was somebody who had destroyed the best thing he ever had. And I finally do something worth bragging about, I get into my dream school, but of course you're at the same school. Why would life be nice to me and let me move on? Because life is a bitch, isn't it, Derek?"

He turned then, to finally meet Derek's pale greens with his hazel ones. You could have sworn you were staring at a corpse, because there was no warmth behind his eyes; no hint that life existed in the body carrying them. Stiles had to pull his lip between his teeth to keep it from quivering. It would have worked too if he wasn't shaking all over.

"Why couldn't you just let me move on!," he shouted then, shoving Derek back from himself. "Why couldn't you just stay gone?! Why do you have to show up and remind me? This was the last thing I wanted, I just wanted to move on."

Stiles didn't realize he'd started crying until the tears had burned hot trails into the hollows of his cheeks. He inhaled sharply, placing the back of his wrist against his nose and mouth, shaking into the sob now. He'd acknowledged it, and god, how he wished Derek would stop watching. He was falling apart after months of carefully piecing everything back together. All it took was one look.