My Sundown

After the shit show that was the previous week, what with his falling-out with Scott, his confrontation with Theo, and his dad at death's door, Stiles really just wanted to go home and get some sleep. And now that his dad was out of the woods, he actually felt that he could. Stiles didn't want to leave, not really, but Melissa assured him that she would keep a hawk-like eye on the sheriff until Stiles returned the next day. Plus, she said he was stinking up the whole floor.

So Stiles reluctantly walked home, because his hunk of metal was not going to be driven for a long time, if ever. The thought brought a wave of sadness over him; he couldn't imagine a life without Roscoe. She had been with the family since his mom was a teenager, and one of Stiles' last reminders of her. He had put off telling his father about it- there were bigger things to worry about, like all of those medical bills they couldn't afford. Stiles didn't bring that up, either, per se, but he was definitely trying to figure out how the hell they were going to pay for all of it. Stiles' dementia test bills already cost an arm and a leg, and they wouldn't be paid off for quite a while. And now, that damn nurse had told him that they couldn't find his dad's insurance? Just more shit on their already mountainous pile of shit.

But Stiles would worry about that later. Now, he was home and his bed was calling sweet lullabies to him, like a siren, and Stiles was its very willing victim. It was only eight, but he figured ten hours of sleep would prepare him for school better than his usual five.

Great hypothesis there, Stiles. Truly ingenious. This is why you're the brains of the operation.

He was just thinking about putting said hypothesis to test when he finally entered his house and drank it all in. To say it could use a little tidying up was an understatement of drastic proportions. All thoughts of those coveted ten hours flew right out of his mind.

Stiles had always disliked dust. His mom had been allergic and always made sure to dust and vacuum every few days, and when she was admitted into the hospital, Stiles had taken it upon himself to continue it in her place. Ever since sophomore year when he traded his usual sucky world in for an even suckier one, he had sort of neglected his cleaning practices. He's been busy, okay, he totally had an excuse. But needless to say, his father had definitely not done it when Stiles didn't have time or forgot. Eventually, he just grew out of the habit. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had cleaned up at the house.

Dust and dirt weren't the only things adorning the tables and carpets and every other flat surface in the entire house, unfortunately. Stiles could count at least four stains in the living room carpet that looked suspiciously like blood, a couple that looked like either piss or whiskey (probably whiskey), and one that was black, probably the gross bile of a wolfsbane-infected werewolf. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw that the table was completely covered in maps, files, random note pads, and two bottles of whiskey- one empty and the other halfway there. The sight made Stiles' gut wrench, thinking about how hard his dad worked to help everyone, and how stressed he got over the supernatural dealings he also tried to help in. Stiles hated that he and his father never talked about the effects all of this shit had on them. They both had their own ways of dealing, which would've been a good, had those methods not been completely self-destructive. He took to taking a few more Adderall than he strictly should, and his father took to drinking a few dozen more ounces of whiskey than he strictly should. Well, like father like son.

The laundry room was almost overflowing with dirty clothes, as the sink was with dishes, and as garbage can was with paper plates and bloody gauze. Resigning himself to much less sleep than he would prefer, Stiles digs under the sink and pulls out all the cleaning supplies he can find.

Starting simple, the tired teen empties the trash and then cleans off the tables and counters, organizing everything into neat little piles for his dad to easily rifle through once he returns home, only pausing about a dozen times to read some interesting looking report or note. Then he manages to find a few clean rags and wipes everything down with their citrus-scented, off-brand dusting spray. Once all of the tables, counters, and stands are all shiny and dust free, he decides to just go ahead and clean off the TV screen and picture frames as well, taking extra care on the glass covering his mother's smiling face. Next are the floors, but first Stiles starts a large load of laundry and fills the dishwasher. The broom and mop have even collected dust from disuse, but they get the job done on the kitchen floor all the same.