Six Feet Under | Sterek

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There is hell and fury on Sheriff Stilinski's face when Stiles is brought back to the compound. He grips Stiles's arm tightly as he drags the boy into his office, and despite the pain Stiles makes no noise. He doesn't think his dad would care anyway, but Stiles is desperate to hold onto whatever is left of his pride, just for now.

"What," his dad hisses. "The hell were you thinking?"

Stiles raises his chin and swallows down his angry words, and says nothing. He's tired, and his body feels heavy. He wants to go back to the loft, where the bedsheets smell like that stupid generic detergent and Derek makes him food. He doesn't want to stand here and defend himself to the only family he has left.

"Stiles."

"What did you expect me to do?" The words are short and sharp and angry. Stiles is angry. He's angry and bitter and hurting. "Did you want me to roll over and play dead until you decided I was allowed back in the house?"

His dad gapes, as if he's actually shocked that Sties is angry. (Stiles is drunk, that's why is anger is leaking out.) "Look-" his dad starts, and Stiles sighs, his anger slipping away. His dad throws his hands up. "What do you want me to say, Stiles? You've been lying to me, and don't even try denying it. You've been sneaking out, and you're barely passing school."

Stiles stares at his dad for a moment, because he's just realised that his dad is worried. He's worried. Guilt makes him feel sick, but he straightens his shoulders like the survivor that he is and he says with a clear voice, "I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?"

That's the right fucking question, isn't it? Because really, what is Stiles trying to protect his dad from? At the start, it had been against everything. The werewolves, the Kanima. Everything and anything that could kill him or use him against Stiles himself. Then it had morphed, because Stiles loves his dad dearly, but he knows him too well.

Stiles is involved in some pretty messed up shit.

And now, Stiles just thinks he's trying to protect his dad from his own son. Because Stiles isn't safe. He's dangerous, wild, unpredictable, annoying, stupid, everything that anyone's ever said about him. He's all of it and how can he protect his dad from that? (His mind whispers that Stiles has changed, and he's scared of what he'll find if he confronts that, but Stiles shuts his mind up pretty damn quick.)

"Melissa is worried," his dad says, and that just makes Stiles sad.

"Scott isn't," he mutters childishly, and his dad raises an eyebrow. "Melissa isn't my mother," Stiles says, and his voice cracks, and his dad looks pained. "Look, dad, I know it was stupid to drink while driving. But I can't stay here. If you love me, can you just let me go? Say you gave me the slip or something. I need to go back to-" The loft. He needs to go back to the loft.

His dad's face crumbles, and Stiles hates himself. Low blows, he's making sure to hit where it hurts. He hates himself for it, but maybe his dad would be better off without a son like Stiles. Maybe Stiles won't ever go home. Maybe Stiles will drive away from Beacon Hills, drive as far as he can, and then just sit in his car until he dies.

"Fine," his dad says quietly. "But I'm telling Melissa that you're okay. Regardless of the lack of blood relation, she thinks of you as her son and she'll be relieved you're okay."

And okay, fuck, that hurts. Stiles manages a nod, his chin quivering. "Thank you," he whispers, and then turns and walks (runs) away, as if he's trying to outrun his own shame.

He has his phone out before he even gets to the front door, and as he escapes into the afternoon air, he dials Peter.

"Come get me," he pleads when Peter answers.

Peter lets out a soft breath, and his voice is gentle when he says, "Meet me at the cemetery. I'll pick you up in Derek's car."

Stiles hangs up first, because he can't bear to listen to Peter being nice, and then he shoves his hands in his pocket and starts the walk to the cemetery. It doesn't take long, but it's long enough for Stiles to pull his mind away from his body and just check out for a while. His body moves on autopilot, but Stiles just checks the fuck out and wallows in his sad thoughts for a while.

He thinks he's angry, but as he pushes further away from the present, he realises that he's just hurting. It hurts that he's hurting his dad. It hurts that his dad doesn't trust him. It hurts that Scott has decided that Stiles isn't worth it anymore. Stiles is a tangle of different threads, and it's choking him.

Someone murmurs his name, but Stiles doesn't wanna come back to his body yet. He wants to stay in his head for a while, and just not care about anything for a while. He doesn't wanna have to focus on taking care of himself; someone else can do that for him for a while.

And that faceless voice does. Someone leads him somewhere, (to a car), and then he's being seatbelted and the car starts moving. Stiles can feel himself rock with the smooth movements. It's soothing. He wants to fall asleep.

Someone says something. Stiles thinks the words are, "I'm not carrying you ass to bed if you fall asleep." He thinks that the voice is lying, and then he falls asleep with his head resting on the window.

.

When he wakes up, he's in a bed. The sheets smell like shitty detergent.

He doesn't get out of bed that day. Or the next.