Unsteady | Sterek

Thirty: living like we're renegades

Scott had once been terrified of Stiles' father. The boys had been young, Claudia's death a recent stain, and Scott had come over with Melissa to comfort Stiles. They'd found John drinking, and Stiles hiding in his room, crying silently.

"Stiles?" Scott had whispered. "Stiles what's wrong? Do you miss your mum?"

Young Stiles had shaken his head an shushed his friend. "Dad yelled at me," he'd whimpered, clambering into Scott's lap and entangling their limbs until they had made a ball of human boys. It had been the only way he'd felt safe in his own house. "He said things about me and mum and I think he meant them."

"Said things like what?" Scott had asked and once Stiles had told him, Scott hadn't gone downstairs until Melissa had put John to bed and cleaned up the alcohol.

Now, standing at the door and staring into his father's eyes, Stiles understands.

John looks tired, and sad, and stressed. His uniform is rumpled and his mouth is pinched into an unforgiving line. Stiles has never been truly terrified of his father, but looking at him now, he can't make himself speak.

"Son," John says. "I believe we need to talk."

Stiles blinks, forces his mouth to move, his voice to work. "Scott said you'd call in a few days."

"Scott doesn't know everything, Stiles." John stares at him, through him, and Stiles shrivels up inside. There is disappointment in his dad's eyes, along with a fear and a grim understanding. "Oh son," John sighs and reaches forward. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Stiles watches the arms circle his shoulders and he lets himself be drawn into a tight hug but he can't bring himself to hug back because only days ago, his father hadn't been able to look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers into his dad's shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."

John just cups the back of Stiles head and holds on.

"Can I come home?" Stiles asks quietly.

John inhales sharply, pulls away, touches his sons face. "You can always come home," he promises, and suddenly Stiles can't look him in the eye anymore.

Because he hadn't been able to come home. He hadn't been able to sit his father down and explain. He hadn't been able to hold his family together any more than he'd been able to stop his mum from dying. The blame falls on his shoulders, pressuring him into a life of secrets and misery and loss. Stiles can't look at his own father because not too long ago there had been distrust in those weathered cheeks and there had been hatred in those hardened eyes. Stiles can't face that again.

"I couldn't tell you," Stiles says, and his dad sighs, drops his hand. "I wanted to. So many times I wanted to tell you but when Melissa found out, there was so much fear in her eyes, dad. I couldn't bear to see the same from you." But I did anyways, he adds silently.

"I didn't know what to do kiddo," John says. Stiles looks down. "But I tried to give you time, I tried to give you space and you never told me what was going on. Stiles, I thought you killed-"

"You thought I killed that kid," Stiles finishes and his dad looks so hurt, so embarrassed. "You thought I'd really kill someone, that I was that much if a monster."

"I didn't know what to think."

And damn. It would've been easier to blame drugs, to blame a gang, but his dad had assumed that Stiles was that kind of person. That he'd bloodied his hands of his own free will. And maybe he had, when he let the Nogitsune in, maybe he had when he'd begged Derek not to die because Stiles had faced so much death in his life and he was so sick of it. But his dad, his own flesh and blood father, had thought that he'd killed a kid just because he wanted to.

"Stiles," John starts but Stiles lifts a hand.

"No, no Dad, it's okay. You didn't know what was happening." But you should've, Stiles thinks, you should've guessed that something was wrong but you locked me up and you shut me away and you just assumed you had a murderer for a son.

Really, Stiles shouldn't have expected anything.

John steps back a little bit. "Look, maybe I should go, leave you to...collect yourself and think things over. Remember Stiles, you can always come home."

And then, just like that, his dad turns and walks away, disappearing like smoke on the wind.

Stiles stares at where he once was, and wants to scream. Scott had told him that he kept running, but Stiles didn't think so. No, his dad was the one who never stopped long enough to understand. He just kept running and running and never let anything catch him because that's the kind of man that John Stilinski was. He was braves until he had to stop running.

"Stiles?"

Stiles blinks, reels in his emotions. "Isaac," he says and then he has an armful of werewolf and he's never felt more at ease. "Hey buddy, nice to see you too."

Isaac lets go, backs up. His eyes are concerned, worried, loving. Stiles thinks that Isaac is more like family than his father and Scott will ever be because Isaac doesn't question he just accepts and he loves unconditionally and Stiles really needs that in his life at this point. "Scott told me things weren't working out."

Stiles gives him a sad sort of smile. "Yeah well, that's just the life of Stiles Stilinski."