Goner

Though Im weak

Stiles sighed as he changed out of his shirt and pants putting on a large t-shirt that use to be slightly big on him but now hung off him like a dress, and some too large red flannel pajama pants.

He pulled the pants over his protruding hip bones. As he did, he ran a hand over his stomach tracing the feeling of his ribs under his pectoral muscles. he knew that he was losing too much weight. It was just hard to find the energy to eat- or pretty much do anything

He goes into his bathroom to brush his teeth when he hears a squeak from the floor in his room. He raised an eyebrow. Who would visit him through the window? No one had done that in months.

He'd almost forgotten about the squeaky wood beneath the window. The squeak was barely there but Stiles was trained to hear it from all the times people had come into his room through his window in the past.

He had minty foam around his mouth and his toothbrush in his between his lips when he poked his head out to see who was visiting.

He made a surprised noise when he saw zombie-wolf Peter standing in his room.

He quickly spat out the toothpaste and cleaned out his mouth before moving back into his room. what the hell was the older man doing here? Why the sudden fascination with him?

The older man now sat, lounging on his bed leaning on the headboard as if he belonged there.

Stiles stood in front of his bed and crossed his arms. He was tired and wanted to get at least an hour of sleep before he gets woken up by nightmares. He tiredly rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Peter shrugged while looking bored with slight amusement and hidden  worry, in his eyes, "Thought you'd want some company."

Stiles snorted, "Yeah because I want Uncle Bad Touch to hang around, in my room," he emphasized with a gesture to around them, "With me."

Peter shrugged again, "I thought you could use a friend."

Stiles stared at him hesitantly. He knew better than to trust Peter. He was a crazy wolf- who should be dead by the way- who always had a secret agenda.

Unfortunately, he wasn't in the mood to fight with him. Not really at least, maybe a little banter, but Peter was right was right.

Stiles needed someone with him.

He was alone.

Which was good and bad.

He sighed sitting next to the older man leaning on the headboard with him, "Well, you know you've hit rock bottom when it's Peter Fucking Hale that's your only 'friend'."

Peter put a hand to his heart and bat his eyelashes, "I'm honored you gave me such a title as 'friend'."

Stiles snorted, "That wasn't a compliment."

Peter raised an eye brow and shrugged, "I'm better than my dearest nephew."

Stiles nodded considering, he lifted a shoulder and made a considering frown that looked more comical than anything, "Touche. Though not by much. Is that a family trait, or is it just the two of you?"

Peter snorted, "You've met Cora."

Stiles winced, "Again, touche."

They sat in a comfortable silence. It was weird. Stiles felt a little better than usual, maybe it was because of the light bickering with Peter that helped him relax or maybe it's the fact that he had someone next to him. He had a slight ache that called for being in solitary confinement, but he had to admit. Peter being there was probably what was best for him at the moment. He wasn't sure how this night would have went if he hadn't stopped by.

Peter had stayed the rest of that night. Stiles wasn't sure why the were-wolf had, maybe the older man new something he didn't? Either way, Stiles was grateful for his presence. Plus he made a pretty good pillow.

Not that Stiles would ever admit to falling asleep on the mans shoulder.

After Peter had left that morning Stiles mood was considerably better than it had been in weeks.

He went downstairs and made himself an actual bowl of cereal, and as he sat down his father came in through the front door.

Stiles watched as the sheriff trotted slowly into the kitchen dropping his holster- which he had taken off his waist on his way inside- and badge on the table, ignoring his son as he went to the cabinet. The teen watched, hoping his father made the right choice, and almost smiled when he saw his father fill a glass with water from the tap instead of the bourbon in the cupboard.

The sheriff turned and leaned on the counter finally seeing that his son sat at the table.

He didn't say anything as Stiles awkwardly ate his cheerios. They tasted stale and dry, like cardboard. Honestly, he had no idea why he was even eating them.

John Stilinski put his glass down and, as if reading his sons mind, slowly said, "Glad to see your eating something."

Stiles slowly chewed and swallowed before nodding, not looking at his dad, "Yeah, uh, there's milk in the fridge if you want some. Um, well, uh, I guess I'm going to go to school, get some rest."

Stiles shuffled around his father and put his half empty bowl in the sink and made his way out of the room.

He sighed as he got to his room and grabbed his stuff. His father hadn't said anything else and Stiles didn't expect him to.

He drive to school like every other day;  got to his locker, was ignored like usual, feeling tired and sluggish the whole while.

What was different was the fact that when he was grabbing his bio text book, the resident were-coyote came up to his locker.

"We're going out for lunch," Malia states more than asks the sleep deprived teen.

"Uh, actually-"

Malia interrupted him,  "Uh, yes. You don't have any plans,  you eat in Mr.Tennants room. Today your going to drive us to the coffee shop near the park."

"Us?" Stiles asked dread filling him.

Malia looked at him as if he was stupid,  "Me and you."

Stiles' heart calmed and he knew Malia could tell. He didn't want to have Scott or the others there. It was bad enough Malia was.

Malia smiled and took his silence as agreement, "Great, I'll meet you at your jeep. Don't try to run, I've hunted prey for years."

As she stalked confidently away Stiles let out a deep breath and leaned his forehead on his locker. He closed his eyes and went through his usual routine; count to twenty, then counted backwards. Once his heart and breathing steadied he stiffened up and walked to his class.

He sat in his usual spot.

Mr.Tennant looked up and smiled, "Stiles, good morning."

Stiles gave him a fleeting smile. And students started fuming up the classroom,  Scott among them.

Once the bell rang,  Mr.Tennant stood and addressed the class, "Guys, we have two new students," the door opened and two teens came in,  one was real with bleach blond,  almost white hair and dark brown eyes, the other had messy blond hair and a goofy smile on his face,  "Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Ackles,"

The messy blond gave a small wave and the bleached look at the class with cooks calculating eyes.

Stiles noticed that Mr.Tennant was too cool about this. He looked at the boy, Mr.Sanders he had called him, with a uncommon sense of comfort, as if he knew him and he wasn't a stranger new kid like most teachers were.

Stiles shivered when those dark irises landed on him for less than a minuet before stopping completely on Scott. Stiles glanced at the True Alpha and saw him tensed and starring at both the new comers.

Interesting.