Maybe posting the first one thousand words will help me finish this.
Pre-Steter / Post-Sterek (We are mad at Derek in this, but we still love him like the damaged fucks we are.) ((Derek and Stiles are getting a divorce)) (((Peter hasn't shown up yet, but he will)))
He saw it. There was no denying it now, but he liked to pretend that he didn’t. He had felt it, but he had never been able to vocalize it, even when the feeling seemed to overwhelm him. He knew the relationship Derek had formed with that woman wasn’t physical, or at least not at the moment, but it was emotional. Stiles and Derek had been married for five years, but Stiles knew it was coming to an end and had been for over a year. Derek had handed papers the night before without a word, leaving their home with no explanation.
The signs had been there, but it didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t shocked. Sure he would have liked some kind of explanation. “Hey, Stiles, I’m fucking someone else.” Or “Hey, man I pledged my life to, I don’t love you anymore.” Stiles let the folder fall from his fingers, papers fluttering to the hard surface of his desk. Tears burned as they well in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He looked around his office, thinking about what he would do next.
He may not have verbalized it, but he had known it was coming, even if it was mostly just subconsciously he had prepared. He had saved money, and he had already taken an inventory of what he would take with him if he had ever left. Sure, he had hoped it would be hypothetical like his doomsday prepping, but with the way snot clogged his nostrils and sobs burned his throat, he knew it was real. His husband, the man who had vowed to love and support him, was leaving him.
Stiles knew what he had to do, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. He wanted to fight for their relationship, but he knew that had already passed him by. He had missed his chance to change Derek’s mind, but really that was probably for the better. He didn’t want to trap the man in a partnership that didn’t make him happy anymore. If he could find what he needed in someone else, Stiles was willing to let him go. Stiles didn’t know if that was because he was a good person or if he was ready to let go as well.
He pulled out his phone, calling his dad. “Hey, kiddo, I swear I’m eating my salad right now.” Stiles could hear the crackle of a wrapper, most likely a fast-food burger.
“Dad.” He knew his voice was raw and congested with tears, probably sending his dad into a panic. “Can you come to pick me up after you get off work?”
He could hear the clack of his dad grabbing his keys, ready to rush to his aid. “What’s wrong, son? Are you at home?”
Stiles huffed out a small, humorless chuckle. “Dad, no rush. I’m at home, and I’ll tell you about it when you get off work.”
Stiles could hear his dad’s heavy boots on the tile floor of the precinct and his door shutting behind him. “Son, you have never called me crying. You will allow this old man to worry and come to your aid, do you understand?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Less than.” The Sheriff ended the call.
Stiles fell to the floor, hysterical laughter falling from his lips. His dad had always had his back, and he didn’t expect him to fail him this time either, but it was still a relief to have his father in his corner. Stiles hurriedly rushed through the house, trying to erase his presence before his dad got there to take him away.
At that moment, he regretted, leaving the jeep in his dad’s care. He hated that his dad would trap him in the car, demanding answers. He didn’t want the Sheriff to hate Derek; the man saw him as a father after his own had died in the fire. After five years of marriage, eight years of being together, and thirteen years of being in the same pack, Stiles could not do that to him. He could not take any more family away from his soon-to-be ex-husband.
Stiles heaved his boxes out the door, stacking them on the walkway. He looked at his belongings, wondering when his life had been reduced to three boxes and a suitcase. Gasping sobs tore from his chest, and Stiles briefly wondered what kind of picture he had made. He wondered if his neighbors had their nosey faces pressed to the expertly cleaned glass of their windows, watching as his world fell apart. Were they watching as he heaved his meager belongings out of the house he had called home for nearly eight years? Had they seen when Derek was home less and less, wondering what could possibly taking up his time to leave his husband at home alone? Were they witnesses to his spiral into depression and loneliness?
Next to the boxes, he fell to his knees, flopping down on his bottom. His legs were spread out in front of him; he looked out, noticing his shoes weren’t tied, but he couldn’t be bothered to tie them. He drug his fingertips along with the rough concrete, trying to pull himself from the never-ending panic attack that was burning through his body. He scraped his heel along the walkway, tucking it under his other leg as he rocked back and forth, trying to soothe himself. He hadn’t had a true panic attack in years; Derek had always been there to ease his nerves and steady his breathing, but he knew he would never have that again. His support, his rock, had dropped him to the bottom of the river with no way to swim to the surface. He was cursed to forever drown with no helping hand to lift him from the sand and grime of the river bed.
He was lost in the haze of gasping for air and did not notice his father had pulled up until his ear was pressed firmly into his chest. His father’s heartbeat thudding strongly as his warm hands rubbed up and down his back, trying to bring him back to the present.
“You can get through this, son. I know you can, my brave son.”
“Dad!” Stiles sobbed out, wrapping his arms around the Sheriff’s torso.
His dad started running a gentle hand through Stiles’ wild hair as if he were a child. “It’s okay, son. Whatever it is, it will all be okay.”
(Welcome Peter!!)((We dance, drink coffee, and text))(((Oh, did I mention Stiles is an Editor)))
He wanted to text Peter, but he didn’t know if he should. He didn’t want to appear clingy or something; he didn’t want Peter to feel like he was replacing Derek. He didn’t know how to show the other man that Peter made him feel free for the first time in years. They seemed to have a better connection than he and Derek ever did.
He pulled up Peter’s contact, smiling at the picture he captured. His eyes were ethereally bright, even with the moon in the background. He sent a text before he could change his mind.
Do you know the cash price of heroin? He regretted the message immediately. The question had been stuck in his mind, though; it seemed outrageously expensive in the story he was working on.
That is a nasty habit to pick up love. Surely, that is not something you plan on doing? Stiles had to laugh. After he sent that stupid message, he had worried Peter wouldn’t reply.
No, but it’s a work thing. They had talked about work; Peter had seemed strangely proud about his choice of work.
He felt something warm in his chest with the quick reply. Obviously, if you turned to drugs, it would be an upper.
Stiles frowned, questions rolling around in his head. You’ve thought about this?
I need to know the potential proclivities of a prospective partner.
Stiles jerked; his blanket was suddenly too warm. Partner? He had to ask.
He could tell there was a lag in that response. His heart was beating out of his chest, waiting for Peter to reply. Dates typically lead to a partnership.
Aren’t you the presumptuous one, creeper-wolf?
Self-Fulfilling Prophecy.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
(Who actually needs a ho-phase when you have Peter Hale)((Persuasion))
Stiles scoffed, grabbing his arm so he could look at him. “It’s not you, well, that’s not right; it’s definitely you.” Peter looked at him with an arched eyebrow. “I know you, like, I’ve known you forever. It wouldn’t just be a one-night stand, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
Peter’s smile melted the rest of Stiles’ discomfort away. “Oh, love, are you worried I’m not relationship material?” His large hand grabbed his arm, gently turning Stiles. “Maybe I convince you.”
The kiss was like a strike of lightning, making every hair on his body stand straight up. A confident tongue swept across his lips, making him moan. Peter’s tongue danced with his, making Stiles stand up on his toes to get closer. Peter pulled away with a smirk on his face, making Stiles smile. “I hear you can be very persuasive.” Stiles took a step back, putting space between them. “So you’ll have to persuade me.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Stiles pulled up Peter’s contact, smiling at the picture he captured. His eyes were ethereally bright, even with the moon in the background. He sent a text before he could change his mind.
Do you know the cash price of heroin? Stiles regretted the message immediately. The question had been stuck in his mind, though; it seemed outrageously expensive in the story he was working on.
That is a nasty habit to pick up love. Surely, that is not something you plan on doing? Stiles had to laugh. After he sent that stupid message, he had worried Peter wouldn’t reply.
No, but it’s a work thing. They had talked about work; Peter had seemed strangely proud about his choice of work.
He felt something warm in his chest with the quick reply. Obviously, if you turned to drugs, it would be an upper.
Stiles frowned, questions rolling around in his head. You’ve thought about this?
I need to know the potential proclivities of a prospective partner.
Stiles jerked; his blanket was suddenly too warm. Partner? He had to ask.
He could tell there was a lag in that response. His heart was beating out of his chest, waiting for Peter to reply. Dates typically lead to a partnership.
Aren’t you the presumptuous one, creeper-wolf?
Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. (then) You are the best prophecy. (then) To make this self-fulfilling, we should go on a real date.
When Stiles did not text back for twenty minutes, Peter started to back-track. Unless you would like to go dancing again. Stiles laughed at the thought of Peter being unsure of himself. The man had always oozed confidence.
I was thinking we should move into the daylight.
The daylight? You’re not a vampire? I don’t think I want to do this.
He didn’t know why, but Peter had cut through the frustration and pain from his conversation with Scott with such a silly text. I have excellent sunscreen.
I think this may actually make it out of my WIP folder. 7000 words and counting.
Stiles killed his coffee, unsure how to proceed. “What have you been up to?” It was a dumb question, almost like asking how’s the weather, but it was all he had.
“You know, been here and there.”
“Sure, that’s not vague at all.” Stiles leaned back in his chair. “Last I heard, you were in Denmark.”
“Ah, yes, that was some time ago. I’m just in from Libya.”
“Just, wow, I bet you have so many stories. Trouble seems to follow you.”
“Really, trouble follows me? What about you?” Peter motioned to him, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile because he was right.
“No big bad in almost a year. Sure, after a decade, there must be a shortage of villains out for my blood.” He winked at Peter, he didn’t know where the flirting came from, but he could say he enjoyed it.
“Oh,” Peter clutched his metaphorical pearls. “are you insinuating that I, Peter Hale, am just an average run-of-the-mill villain. Surely, your would never.”
“Come on, big bad, you were my first. You’ll always have a special place in my heart.” Stiles decided at that moment he liked Peter’s laugh, and he wanted to hear more of it.
Five Thousand+ words and I am just now getting to the plot idea I had. Maybe I will actually finish this.
(Lydia to Stiles' rescue)((everyone needs a ho phase, and the shirt is see-through))(((Welcome, Peter!)))
He saw it. There was no denying it now, but he liked to pretend that he didn’t. He had felt it, but he had never been able to vocalize it, even when the feeling seemed to overwhelm him. He knew the relationship Derek had formed with that woman wasn’t physical, or at least not at the moment, but it was emotional. Stiles and Derek had been married for five years, but Stiles knew it was coming to an end and had been for over a year. Derek had handed papers the night before without a word, leaving their home with no explanation.
The signs had been there, but it didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t shocked. Sure he would have liked some kind of explanation. “Hey, Stiles, I’m fucking someone else.” Or “Hey, man I pledged my life to, I don’t love you anymore.” Stiles let the folder fall from his fingers, papers fluttering to the hard surface of his desk. Tears burned as they well in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He looked around his office, thinking about what he would do next.
He may not have verbalized it, but he had known it was coming, even if it was mostly just subconsciously he had prepared. He had saved money, and he had already taken an inventory of what he would take with him if he had ever left. Sure, he had hoped it would be hypothetical like his doomsday prepping, but with the way snot clogged his nostrils and sobs burned his throat, he knew it was real. His husband, the man who had vowed to love and support him, was leaving him.
Stiles knew what he had to do, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. He wanted to fight for their relationship, but he knew that had already passed him by. He had missed his chance to change Derek’s mind, but really that was probably for the better. He didn’t want to trap the man in a partnership that didn’t make him happy anymore. If he could find what he needed in someone else, Stiles was willing to let him go. Stiles didn’t know if that was because he was a good person or if he was ready to let go as well. He didn’t bother reading over the paper as he signed. He knew that even if Derek was pitching him to the curb, he still cared. Stiles knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier while he stacked up the end of his marriage in a deep pile, leaving it on his desk for Derek to find.
He pulled out his phone, calling his dad. “Hey, kiddo, I swear I’m eating my salad right now.” Stiles could hear the crackle of a wrapper, most likely a fast-food burger.
“Dad.” He knew his voice was raw and congested with tears, probably sending his dad into a panic. “Can you come to pick me up after you get off work?”
He could hear the clack of his dad grabbing his keys, ready to rush to his aid. “What’s wrong, son? Are you at home?”
Stiles huffed out a small, humorless chuckle. “Dad, no rush. I’m at home, and I’ll tell you about it when you get off work.”
Stiles could hear his dad’s heavy boots on the tile floor of the precinct and his door shutting behind him. “Son, you have never called me crying. You will allow this old man to worry and come to your aid, do you understand?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Less than.” The Sheriff ended the call.
Stiles fell to the floor, hysterical laughter falling from his lips. His dad had always had his back, and he didn’t expect him to fail him this time either, but it was still a relief to have his dad in his corner. Stiles hurriedly rushed through the house, trying to erase his presence before his dad got there to take him away.
At that moment, he regretted leaving the jeep in his dad’s care. He hated that his dad would trap him in the car, demanding answers. He didn’t want the Sheriff to hate Derek; the man saw him as a father after his own had died in the fire. After five years of marriage, eight years of being together, and thirteen years of being in the same pack, Stiles could not do that to him. He could not take any more family away from his soon-to-be ex-husband.
Stiles heaved his boxes out the door, stacking them on the walkway. He looked at his belongings, wondering when his life had been reduced to three boxes and a suitcase. Gasping sobs tore from his chest, and Stiles briefly wondered what kind of picture he had made. He wondered if his neighbors had their nosey faces pressed to the expertly cleaned glass of their windows, watching as his world fell apart. Were they watching as he heaved his meager belongings out of the house he had called home for nearly eight years? Had they seen when Derek was home less and less, wondering what could possibly taking up his time to leave his husband at home alone? Were they witnesses to his spiral into depression and loneliness?
Next to the boxes, he fell to his knees, flopping down on his bottom. His legs were spread out in front of him; he looked out, noticing his shoes weren’t tied, but he couldn’t be bothered to tie them. He drug his fingertips along with the rough concrete, trying to pull himself from the never-ending panic attack that was burning through his body. He scraped his heel along the walkway, tucking it under his other leg as he rocked back and forth, trying to soothe himself. He hadn’t had a true panic attack in years; Derek had always been there to ease his nerves and steady his breathing, but he knew he would never have that again. His support, his rock, had dropped him to the bottom of the river with no way to swim to the surface. He was cursed to forever drown with no helping hand to lift him from the sand and grime of the river bed.
He was lost in the haze of gasping for air and did not notice his dad had pulled up until his ear was pressed firmly into his chest. His dad’s heartbeat thudding strongly as his warm hands rubbed up and down his back, trying to bring him back to the present.
“You can get through this, son. I know you can, my brave son.”
“Dad!” Stiles sobbed out, wrapping his arms around the Sheriff’s torso.
His dad started running a gentle hand through Stiles’ wild hair as if he were a child. “It’s okay, son. Whatever it is, it will all be okay.”
His dad had pulled him to his feet, easing Stiles into the front seat of the car. Stiles watched the clouds pass by in the too blue sky, tears not stopping. He wondered for a moment if it was because of a build-up. Had he been holding back the tears for so long that now that they had started, they would not stop? His dad didn’t speak as he got into the driver’s side, pausing for a moment to look at him before securing Stiles’ seatbelt before his own.
The sobs had cooled to a simmer, and his breathing had eased. He was glad his dad did not ask any questions; he didn’t think he would be able to handle speaking aloud until the tears had dried up and his torn throat was soothed. The car came to a stop, and his dad didn’t say anything as he got out, running into their favorite dinner. He wanted to scowl at his father, using his turmoil as a chance to eat poorly, but he knew in his heart that was not why he had stopped. He knew that his father was doing it for him. He knew that his dad, the Sheriff, would come out that door with two large curly fries and a large strawberry shake for him. His lips twisted into a small smile when he was handed a large strawberry shake and a to-go bag.
When they pulled up to the house, his dad put the cruiser in park but made no move to get out of the car. He sipped from his own vanilla shake, motioning for Stiles to dig in. He knew his dad had questions, but Stiles would talk when he was ready. That left them eating in silence, wasting gas there in the driveway of his childhood home.
The fries were gone, and the shake soothed his throat. “Derek is divorcing me.” The tears were back, but they didn’t feel as overwhelming as they had before. “It’s been a long time coming.”
He waited for his dad to say something, unable to look at him, scared he would look at him with disappointment or shame. Instead, he sighed. “Stiles, I don’t know what happened, but I have your back no matter what.”
Stiles chuckled, looking up at him. “Derek is leaving me for some woman named Martha.”
He could see the rage in the edges of his dad’s face, but he reeled it back before speaking. “Are you telling me that Derek Hale cheated on you?”
Stiles looked down, watching his own fingers tug and destroy the empty foam cup, milkshake spilling on his old jeans. “No, no, dad.” He took a deep breath, trying to put it together. “We’ve been distant. There has been some kind of gap, some disconnect, that we haven’t been able to cross, and he has been going to Martha to ease his mind.”
The Sheriff cleared his throat. “So, he is leaving you for this woman?”
Stiles felt shame and embarrassment spread through his body, taking it hostage as a blush curled its way up his neck. “Not for her, well, he will be with her, but it’s more that she can give him something that he wasn’t getting from me.”
He had yet to look up at his dad, but he could hear him shifting in his seat, uncomfortable with whatever thought came to his head. “Is this a sex thing?”
Stiles couldn’t help that laugh that bellowed out of his chest, reducing him to giggles as his dad watched him with concern written all over his face. “No, dad.” He frowned. “Well, a little bit, but sex is not the cause of our problems, just a side-effect.”
“You might need to explain this to me, kiddo. You guys were here last weekend, and both of you seemed okay.”
“It’s complicated. I don’t really understand it myself.” He sighed. “Well, I do, but it’s not something that just happened. There was a lot of build-ups then an explosion.”
“You don’t have to explain it, son. It’s your marriage, a partnership, and I am not a part of that.”
He was grateful for his dad, but he also knew he needed to talk about it. He had been lonely and depressed for nearly a year, talking to no one about it. “I don’t know what Derek feels; I don’t think he does either. You know, he got that new job, and he made some friends. I mean, it was great, he was happy, and I was happy that he was branching out.” Tears burned his eyes again, unable to stop them from falling. “It was little things, you know, he would not come home till late, like four days a week. Then he would bitch about having to be at home. So when he was home, he wasn’t there, you know. That was when the sex stopped.” Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know if it was because our schedules never lined up or if I just wasn’t into it because I could tell something was wrong, but I just didn’t want to anymore, and he didn’t seem to either.”
His dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but he wanted to help his son. “Did you ever talk about it?”
“Yeah, we even go into this big screaming match. After we had that big blow-up, he said he loves me and cares for me, but he didn’t know what he wants. He said he needed space. For a while, it got better, but I noticed things, you know.” Stiles rubbed the palms of his hands down his jeans, trying to wipe away sweat and milkshake. “He’d turn his phone away so I couldn’t see it and minimize the screen on his computer when I walked in the room. Sometimes when he got home, he’d sit in the driveway for hours talking to her.”
“So, you’re going to let some woman steal your husband?” Stiles could tell his dad was frustrated, that he didn’t understand.
“It’s not like that; it’s not her fault. I mean, it’s kind of fucked up she let him open up to her like that, knowing he is married, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was unhappy with me. Dad, we sat in the car, going to dinner for the first time in weeks, and do you know what we talked about?” His dad shook his head. “He was arguing with her. He wouldn’t tell me about what happened or give me details, but he kept saying he fucked up, and I tried to give him advice to fix it. I didn’t yell or tell him he was hurting me; I gave him advice to make it better with her.”
“So, you’re not fighting for your marriage?” Stiles flinched, forcing his dad to reel in his emotions. “I’m not mad at you, but I just don’t understand.”
“I love him so much, dad, I do. I have been so damn depressed and lonely, I’ve been so miserable, but I would have stayed for him. I would have been so horribly miserable for the rest of my life because Derek Hale is all I’ve known for ten years, but for the first time in his life, he felt something different. I don’t know what she does for him, what makes us different, but even though the pain of knowing that he doesn’t want me anymore, I am relieved. I don’t have to be lonely sitting next to the man who is supposed to love me anymore.”
The Sheriff reached across, gripping his shirt, so he could pull Stiles in for a hug. Stiles tucked his head under his dad’s chin, but his hands hung limp in his lap. “It’s okay, son. You can mourn the end of your marriage and be relieved. No one can tell you how to feel.”
Stiles felt ancient; he could feel his age in his bones, making him creak. “I don’t want to date. Can I just die alone?”
The Sheriff pulled back, laughing. “Really, son, you want to give up when you forced me on dates?” He pushed Stiles away with a smile. “But, kiddo, it’s not something you need to do right now; you can take your time. It can be years; it came wees; no one can tell you how you heal.”
His dad was right, and he knew that, but the thought of falling into another relationship made his skin crawl. He had never really done the dating thing. Sure, he had been with Malia and Lydia, but that was different. He had never had to go out and flirt or whatever you do to meet people. That night he laid in the guest room, planning how he would strike out independently.
It had been four weeks, and he was done with living with his dad. He loved his dad, and he was grateful that his dad had opened his home, but he couldn’t take it anymore. The Sheriff was in and out at all hours, and he always had to talk. Really, it was never-ending, and it was driving him crazy. His dad would bring his dates home, and the sounds will forever scar him. Even though his dad was 68, he was apparently a very good lover if he listened to Mrs. Mary on their post-date bedroom activities. He needed a place of his own, or damn hotel.
It was two am, and he could swear that his dad was trying to drive him out. Mrs. Mary stayed the night for the fifth night in a row, and Stiles was ready to chop his ears off. Thinking about leaving did leave him in a state of panic. He had never lived alone and didn’t know if he could. He had gone from his dad’s house to a dorm, to Derek’s home. He knew he was independent, but living on your own for the first time in your 29 years of life can be overwhelming.
If his dad wasn’t doing something very gross across the hall, Stiles would hold off on getting an apartment just to ease his panic, but he had no such luck. He had already set up a few walkthroughs and sent over some applications for apartments there in Beacon Hills. He also got a text from Scott that made his heart race.
Hey, just checking in. You and Derek missed a pack meeting.
He had to tell Scott, and he didn’t think he could. Scott had pushed for him to not marry Derek. He had caused a big argument, causing them to not talk for weeks. Scott had only come around two weeks before the wedding, and Stiles didn’t want to be proved wrong. He didn’t want Scott to be right when he said Derek would destroy him.
Sure, he didn’t think Derek had destroyed him. He felt like he was broken and bleeding but not destroyed, and he knew that it didn’t fall solely on Derek’s shoulders; marriage was a two-way street. He also knew Derek long enough to know that he was hiding. He was staying away from the pack, so he didn’t have to answer questions about the divorce, leaving Stiles to take the brunt of the questions, and he was not going to let that fly. So, he texted Derek for the first time since he left.
I’m telling Scott tomorrow. You will not cut yourself off from the pack.
It was 2:13 am, so he didn’t expect a response, so he jumped when he got a reply. K
He didn’t know why that hurt; it burned him to his soul. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, and all he had to say was k. He felt rage boil in his gut for the first time since he had left. That’s it? No complaints? How do I know you’ll actually keep your word?
He didn’t know why he was so angry, but he saw red. He nearly threw his phone when Derek texted back. I don’t want to argue with you. Go to bed, Stiles.
Tears burned his eyes; he didn’t think he had ever been so angry in his life. You can’t divorce me and tell me what to do.
He needed a drink. He hopped out of bed, rushing out into the hallway, door slamming behind him. He bound down the stairs, taking two at a time. He pulled the bottle of Jack out of the freezer, not bothering to grab a glass. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he gulped down the liquor. He slammed the bottle on the counter, pulling out his phone.
Stiles. I don’t know why you’ve decided 2 am is a good time to start this shit, but go to bed, and maybe you’ll act like an adult after you get some sleep.
Holy fuck. He couldn’t believe it, and he grabbed the bottle, downing more of the liquor as his vision swam. Just because you have never been able to love someone who wasn’t trying to kill you doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.
He couldn’t believe that he had just sent that. Not once since he signed the papers had let anger overcome him, but at that moment, he was ashamed. He was embarrassed that he had held that over Derek’s head, and he wished he could take it back, but he couldn’t. He sent out one last message before turning off his phone. I’m sorry. It was the least he could do before falling to the floor, cradling the cold bottle to his chest. Angry with himself over sharp words.
His dad gave him long enough to empty the bottle. He was nauseous, and his head swam, his vision blurred, but he didn’t know if it was from the tears or the whiskey.
“Oh, son.”
“I’m sorry, ruined your date.” He was slurring, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
The Sheriff took the empty bottle from his limp fingers, dropping it in the sink. He knelt down in front of his son, gripping his chin. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Stiles shook his head, pulling from his dad’s grip. “Gonna throw up.”
The Sheriff heaved him up, turning him with a firm grip. He got Stiles’ head over the sink at the last possible moment. His stomach expelled the whiskey with loud retching. He sobbed, unsure if it was the pain in his throat or the pain in his heart making him cry. After his stomach was empty, he continued to sob, his father pulling him into his arms into a fierce hug.
“You’re okay; breath through it, son; you can do it.”
He was crumbling in on himself, no tape or glue holding him together anymore. His entire existence had become one with Derek, he was nothing without him, and he felt like he could feel himself falling away. He screamed at how unfair it all was. Why did he deserve it? What had he done to warrant the only man he had ever loved to turn his back on him after more than a decade of partnership? His mind was filled with images of all the horrible things he had ever done, wondering if that was why he was breaking in that moment.
“Am I … Did I do this, dad?” He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to stop his ribs from breaking open, letting his heart fall to the dirty tile floor. “Is this karma from all the people I’ve hurt, people I’ve killed?”
“No.” The Sheriff started rocking him as if he wasn’t 29 and half a head taller than him. “No, son, sometimes marriages just fall apart. You can love someone with your entire heart, and the marriage can fail.” The Sheriff pulled Stiles’ arm over his shoulders, holding his weight up. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Time seemed to fall away the moment his head hit the pillow. He knew he laid there, looking at the window, sometimes his eyes closed, sometimes the sun rose then fell. He knew that days were pacing by him, and his father had come to speak him, begging him to get up to eat something. He had been able to force himself to get up and head to the toilet, but showering was not something he was ready for yet. He couldn’t get up. He would, he knew that, but not at that moment. He needed to meld into the mattress, let it caress him in a way he didn’t think he would ever enjoy again.
“Hey, bud.” Scott’s face was in front of his, looking at him like a kicked puppy. “How are you doing?”
He couldn’t look at him, so Stiles closed his eyes. He knew Scott wouldn’t kick him when he was down, but just seeing him sent a spike of pain through him. Scott continued to talk, but Stiles couldn’t make sense of it. His voice seemed to lull him to sleep. He felt arms around him, not big and burly like Derek, but slim and strong. It wasn’t the arms that woke him, though; it was the mighty kick from the inside of the pregnant belly pressed against his back.
“I know you’re awake.”
Stiles sighed. He knew that if Scott knew, Malia knew, but he didn’t want to be forcibly cuddled. “You can leave if you want to, Malia; tell Scott I’m all better.”
There was a scoff from behind them, letting Stiles know that Scott was still there, but face flushed in embarrassment. “Do you want me to kill him?”
Stiles huffed, closing his eyes. “No, you psyco-coyote.”
He fell back asleep to the sound of her laughter. He fell into a dream for the first time in weeks, finding himself sitting on the ground, digging his fingers in the damp soil as the sun rose through the trees. He could feel the soft dirt give way under his nails, and he wondered for just a moment how he got there. He could hear the howl of a wolf echo through the trees, but he felt at peace. He knew the howl and knew there was no danger rushing to greet him. His head tilted to the side as a large grey wolf stepped through the trees, blue eyes glimmering in the early morning sun. The wolf pounced, but his heart did not race, and he felt no rise of anxiety. The wolf licked his face from chin to hair, making Stiles laugh.
He was pulled from his dream to hear Scott talking about his day again.
“And you know Mae, she bit the little brat, and I had to apologize to the mother like Maw was in the wrong when we all know it was that little Kevin.”
“Damn that, Kevin.” Stiles couldn’t help the smile twitching at his lips. He pulled his knees up to his chest, revealing in the warmth of the heavy duvet.
Scott smiled, leaning closer. “You with us, man?”
Stiles coughed; his voice and throat were dry. “Didn’t go anywhere.”
“Yeah, you did.” Scott handed him a bottle of water. “I almost called Derek.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, downing the entire bottle of water, realizing how thirsty he was. “Why would you do that?”
Scott took a plate from the bedside table, plopping it in front of him, eyes begging him to eat. “Well, mom said there was nothing she could do because it was an emotional thing. Then Deaton said the same thing, so I was either going to call Derek or Peter by the end of the day.”
Stiles jolted, sitting up, talking around his bite of sandwich. “Peter? Why the fuck would you call Peter?”
Scott shrugged, a smile spreading across his face. “He has experience with comas.”
Stiles finished the sandwich in silence. It was heavy in his stomach, but he was glad that Scott had given it to him. “It wasn’t a coma.”
“Well,” Scott scoffed. “you looked like Peter when he was in a coma. You just sat there staring at the window, drooling on the pillow.”
Stiles tossed the pillow at his head. “I didn’t drool.”
Scott laughed. “Keep telling yourself that.” He dropped the pillow back on the bed. His face going slack, with what Stiles knew was a mixture of pity and empathy. “So divorce, huh?”
Stiles grabbed the pillow, cuddling it to his chest. “Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Stiles was just happy he hadn’t said I told you so yet. “Nah, there’s nothing to do about it. I’ll just avoid pack meetings for a while.”
Scott’s eyes went hard, reminding Stiles that he was an alpha without flashing them. “I could cut him from the pack.”
“No,” Stiles sighed. “don’t do that. We got over it with Malia, Lydia, and Kira. I’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but hey, so will he. If I have to suffer, so does he.”
Scott laughed. “Alright, whatever, man. What do we need to do now?”
“Get me out of this place. My dad and Mrs. Mary have been going at it non-stop, and she calls him Sheriff in bed.”
It took another two weeks of suffering through; oh, Sheriff moans, but Stiles got his own apartment. It was bland and nondescript, but he didn’t hate it. One bed, one bath, one window. Okay, he hated it, but it was a good start, and he could admit that. He could cover the couch in plush throw pillows and cozy blankets. He had already set up his overfilled bookshelf in the sitting area. His divorce was final, and his apartment was too damn quiet.
The pounding at the door pulled him out of his nap on the couch. Ever since he started his new job, he had kept odd hours, but he was happier than he had been in over a year. The pounding continued at his door, and he wondered if he could ignore it, then he heard her voice.
“Mieczyslaw Genim Stilinski! Open this door if you know what is good for you.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing there was no getting rid of Lydia Martin. He pulled his blanket around his shoulders, noting it was 9:20 pm before opening the door. Lydia, the goddess she was, shoved a bag of clothes in his hands before stepping into the apartment looking around.
“Put that on.” She laid out a satin handkerchief on his little dining table, setting her bag on it. “You will put that on. I will do something with,” She motioned towards him. “That mess on your head, then we will go to a bar. Where you will hit on somebody, and at the end of the night, you will either bring them home or somewhere else with a bed.”
Stiles stared at her. Her words played on repeat in his mind as he tried to process. “What?”
She looked at him with an arched eyebrow, neatly manicured fingers interlocking in front of her body. “It’s been six months. Stiles, you need to get laid. I don’t care who or how, but there must be sex involved.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “It can be a pretty girl, burly man, or anyone else in between. I don’t care. Fuck them or let them fuck you. Let them be a one-night stand palate cleanser.”
He thought about it, just for a split second, his mind was made up. He let the blanket drop to the floor, ignoring Lydia’s huff, as a smile spread across his face. “Alright, Lyds, you better make me fuckable, because I’m diving headfirst into my very own ho phase.” She rolled her eyes, shooing him away. He sauntered down the hall, swaying in his hips. “I’m going to find me a pretty dick to play with tonight.” There was a thud on the closed door to his bedroom; Lydia threw a book. “Maybe a sweet pussy to eat! You never know!” He called out, making Lydia laugh.
The jeans were too tight, and the shirt was see-through, but he felt confident for the first time in years. He felt sexy. With a smudge of eyeliner and Lydia’s expert fingers styling his hair, he knew he looked good. The club Lydia brought him to was predominantly gay, and he could feel the eyes on him. A man at the bar swaggered over to them, pushing past Lydia. He only had eyes for Stiles.
“Hey, baby, wanna go to the restroom with me?” He was too close, his nose grazing Stiles’ ear as he spoke.
“Fuck off.” Stiles gave him a slight shove; that was not what he needed in his life.
He grabbed Lydia’s arm, dragging her to the bar. She yanked her arm out of his hand, turning her eyes to a beautiful woman at the bar. She slid into the empty spot next to the woman, ordering a Dark and Stormy. Stiles rolled his eyes, ordering a beer. He looked out over the club, searching for a prospective partner, but finding none at first glance. He downed his beer, setting it on the bar, hoping to have better luck on the dance floor.
The music was loud and reverberated through his body. Stiles danced to his heart’s content, hips swaying with the music. The lights reflected off his pale skin as he moved to the beat. He could feel sweat bead up on his skin, his sheer shirt sticking to the damp flesh. The inlay design in the black mesh material standing out against his pale skin. It was fun, dancing with his eyes closed, no care on the world. It was fun until a hand slid up the back of his shirt.
Stiles attempted to pull away, but the fingers dug into his waist, holding him close. Stiles felt panic building as he tried to scramble away, looking back to the bar hoping Lydia would come to his rescue, but she was already gone.
“Get off me.” Stiles’ feet scrambled on the floor, the man’s grip bruising his flesh.
“Come on, baby, you know you want it.” It was the guy from earlier. Stiles tried to elbow him in the face, but the man towered over him. The other man’s other hand started reaching for his crotch, but another hand gripped his wolf claws digging in the flesh of the man’s wrist.
“Let go.” Stiles looked up; Peter Hale had come to his rescue.
When the hand on his hip did not drop immediately, Peter broke his wrist, a dirty smirk on his face. The man fell to the floor, cradling his arm to his chest. Stiles gave him a swift kick as he walked by. “Peter.” Stiles smiled. “What are you doing here?”
Peter looked at him with dazzling blue eyes. “There is a 24-hr café down the road.”
Stiles nodded, following him out of the club. He shivered in the cold air, crossing his arms over his chest. Peter shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around his shoulders. Stiles raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “What are you doing here, Peter?”
Peter tucked his hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead. “Being an omega has put me at a disadvantage, and I thought I should see if I could tolerate the family life before looking elsewhere.”
A warm chuckle fell from Stiles’ lips. “I could have gathered that, but what I meant was Peter, why were you in a gay club on the outside of Beacon Hills? And how were you there just when I needed you?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“I’ve told Scott that he’s a cunt.”
Stiles laughed, like father, like daughter; he loved Malia. He almost panicked at the thought of loving Peter, but he just shoved it down, ignoring it until it went away. “You do have a way with words.”
She huffed. “I’m also not having sex with him.”
Stiles choked, his spit being surprisingly sticky in his throat. “I did not need to know that.”
“How’s daddy in bed?” Maila smirked.
Stiles sputtered, bile burning the back of his throat. “No, no, don’t you ever, never ever, say that again.”
“What? He’s my daddy.” Years ago, he would assume she didn’t understand what she said, but he knew better now.
“He’s your dad. Like D, A, D, not daddy.”
“Ohhhhhh, so he’s your daddy.”
His face flushed, burning red with embarrassment. “Malia, please stop.”
She laughed, easing his nerves. “I haven’t talked to him yet, but I know he likes you.”
“Sure you do.” He rolled his eyes, knowing Malia was messing with him. “How’s Scott?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
The signs had been there, but it didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t shocked. Stiles and Derek had been married for five years, but Stiles had felt it coming to an end and had been for over a year, so he wasn’t surprised when Derek handed him divorce papers. He needed to live his life, become genuinely independent, maybe even have a ho-phase.
(We are mad at Derek)((Peter is back in town))(((Maybe can find true love this time around)))
