"Okay, we are here" The man, no, no, his father told him.
The first thing Stiles thought when he'd heard he had a father and it was the Sheriff was him thinking why had he been so stupid? Of course he had a father. Why wouldn't he? And he should have caught on quicker with the cop calling him son.
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Deaton had checked him over then said he was healthy enough to go...home?
Was this his home?
Stiles stepped out of the car, looking at the looming house in front of him. He didn't feel home. And nothing familar came to him about this house.
The car journey had been very awkward. He could see his father sneaking glances at him while driving. A pained but dreadfully hopeful expression on his face.
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The sheriff went to put his hand on his shoulder but stopped at Stiles tensing a little at his closeness. Stiles looked away from the heart breaking expression on his face.
His father assured him in side. It was a typical house, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. A feeling of hollowness in his chest Stiles looked around.
A little part of him had hoped that he would find something familer, something to hold on to, but there was nothing.
He walked around the house.
He stopped walking at a picture. A picture of his father and him?
Did I really look like that?
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This Stiles had a buzzcut and was smiling broadly at the camera, holding his father close.
But he couldn't be this Stiles?
It-it just didn't make sense.
They couldn't be the same people, they couldn't be. He didn't feel any kind of connection to that Stiles, or his house, or his father, or his friends.
"That was a couple of years ago. Before any of us knew about the supernatural" The Sheriff said, watching his son staring at the picture.
He didn't know what to feel.
He was so glad, so happy he hadn't lost his son but had he? The way Stiles looked at him, looked at his home, wasn't his son, they were the eyes of a stranger.
His heart ached for Stiles to look at him with recognition. With something he knew. With love. But there was nothing.
He knew better but he had to ask "Does any of this seem familer to you?"
Stiles put the picture down, frowning, his voice hard but with a slight tremor to it "No, no it doesn't. I wish it did but..."
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He shook his head, his hands running through his hair in frustration, cringing "I'm sorry"
The Sheriff's chest burned at the thought of who did this to his son and his face scrunched up.
Stiles scowled, turning away "Don't pity me"
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Stiles father said softly "I'm not Stiles. I'm just sad"
"Come on" He said "Lets see what you think of you're room"
His smile was sad as well Stiles realized.
Was it him or did his father's eyes not used to be that watery?
