Scott tapped his knuckles against the front door of the Stilinski household before turning the handle and walking in. He couldn’t remember the last time he waited for someone to greet him at the front door. He was comfortable enough that it felt like a second home to him. Although, he felt like he had not been there for a long time, partially because he was so sick from Pestilence. Then after that, time had just gotten away from him. “Stiles?” Scott called out as he headed up the stairs.  

Yeah I’ve heard that reasoning a couple times already. Someone said it’s the reason why Scott flinched away from Stiles. It seems like a logical explanation. But so far there wasn’t any canon mention of this. And even if it’s the truth it would still be pretty awful on Scotts side. Stiles was as much of a victim as everyone else, if not more.

Would‘ve been interesting to see how Scott would’ve dealt with Jackson after the whole Kanima stuff cause that’s practically the same situation, someone being used to harm others and then being the face that’s associated with those awful events. Too bad we won’t ever get that.

Silence. Stiles’ casket lay at the front of the church. The funeral director had called Pylyp up. He had the speech prepared. He knew the things he wanted to say. But he felt like everything was slowed down, like everything depended on him at that moment. He didn’t want to fuck up what he was going to say. He wanted to make his son proud and give him a proper send off with the memory of him still alive.

When Pylyp stood at the podium, he cleared his throat and shuffled his papers. It felt strange, like he was giving an address or a press conference. But his knees felt weak. “First off, I want to thank you all for being here. It would have meant a lot to Stiles and it means a lot to me. The support I have received off so many of you has been... immeasurable. So thank you,” Pylyp said, touching a hand to his heart and nodding at the notable faces throughout the building. 

“Stiles was a good kid. And I credit a lot of that to his friends. He found his strength in helping others. He just wanted to make others safe.” It felt strange with what Pylyp was saying because he had to omit so much. A lot of what he was saying revolved around Stiles’ life recently, regarding the supernatural. But that was only because if Pylyp talked about Stiles’ friends, it delayed having to talk about him as his child. 

“More importantly... he was a good son,” Pylyp said, his voice already starting to shake. Tears welled up in his eyes but he took a deep breath, refusing to break. “When Claudia died, Stiles was-- he was, umm...” Pylyp paused, his voice cracking. He was all alone. The tears fell. He pulled a hand up to his face, wanting to hide from everyone while he sobbed. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go on. He felt like he was going to crumple in a heap on the ground. But suddenly, Scott was there with an arm around Pylyp, rubbing his shoulder. “Thank you,” Pylyp said quietly. Scott nodded but said nothing. He also had tears on his face. 

Pylyp wiped his face and continued. “Stiles was my rock. As a father, it’s my duty to take care of my child... But he took care of me. He--he saved me. He was all I had. And... I’ll miss him. A lot.” He walked over slowly to the casket and laid a rose on top of it before resting his hand on the wood. He leant down and pressed his lips to the wood. “Goodbye, son,” Pylyp whispered before making his way back to his seat, supported by Scott. The funeral director gestured his hand toward the empty podium. “Anyone else who wishes to speak may do so now.”

bringaladder

Warning: Minor character death.

Rowena was bored. Overly, extremely bored. Her parents were out and she didn’t know where her siblings were but she didn’t particularly want to spend time with them. Rhys was on his date and Megan wasn’t talking to her since she bailed on their date.

After she went through everyone in her head, her nose crinkled. Did she really only have one friend, Megan not withstanding? That was almost ... pathetic. She blamed it on the summer and that all of her friends were off doing their own things, even if summer meant she should be spending time with them, not away from them.

The doorbell rang, something that drew her mind back from wandering. She must have been seriously out of it, she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up to the door or the car in the driveway. It held the promise of doing something exciting and she rolled out of bed, hurrying downstairs to get the door. There was nobody there and the driveway held no cars. On the doormat outside was a note and she raised her eyebrows.

Sheriff Stilinski. You’re scum. You have 48 hours to say your goodbyes, then we’re going to play a little game. Tick-tock, sheriff.

The note was typed and Rowena knew they couldn’t get a handwriting analysis on a typed note. The police wouldn’t have been able to do anything with this. But she was smarter than that. She could feel her shift oncoming but she didn’t try to suppress it. She took a long whiff of the note, instantly catching the scent of whoever left it. She barely had the presence of mind to lock the door behind her before she took off running, the scent stuck in her nose.

She stuck to the woods, keeping out of sight until she found the scent leading to a car. They pulled over at a house and went instead and her temper flared. She found a way inside through the open window. She couldn’t control it, the anger in her heart and the blood pulsing through her veins and when she finally managed to rein herself in, she noticed the body lying in front of her in a pool of his own blood.

Rowena found a mirror, catching sight of her eyes. What were once amber and radiant were now a bright blue. Oh no. She ran out the way she came in, careful to stay out sight from any possible nosy neighbors. When she got home, she noticed her dad’s cruiser in the driveway and she had to steel her nerves. This was going to end badly.