Mieczyslaw Mikaelson. The youngest in the original family.
Or Stiles, as he is more commonly called, has been staying out of the way of his siblings.
After 200 years he just wants to see his family again.
But the family that finds him isn't exactl...
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Stiles had arrived early. Fifteen minutes early to be exact.
He had decided that he would give them half an hour, and if no one had turned up, expect for Elijah, then he would leave. And would make no attempt to rekindle whatever friendships he had in Beacon Hills, no matter how much he wanted to.
The original stood leaning against his haphazardly parked Jeep, while he kicked little stones absentmindedly with his shoe. Stiles could literally feel his stomach churning and bubbling with nervousness, something that he hadn't experienced this severely in a long time. He didn't mind this sensation though, it made him almost feel human, something he openly welcomed.
However, what he was worried about, was what the others would do. Would they show up? Early? Late? On time? Would they get here before Elijah, and stand awkwardly with him for a while? Or would they just not get out of their cars? Who would come? All of them? Just one?
His frantic thoughts were interrupted, by the distinct sound of tires on gravel, as one vehicle pulled up followed by another, and then another.
If not for the seriousness of the situation at hand, Stiles might even have laughed at the comical ness of their arrival. All arriving together like some weird band. Heck, they even got out of their cars in sync.
They three of them all came to stand in front of Stiles, not too close but at a distance where they could comfortably hear each other talking.
Stiles looked up, acknowledging them a slight smile before saying, "Thank you all for coming, you don't realise what this means to me."
He was meet with silence, while Scott rolled his foot around in the gravel absentmindedly. He also looked up to meet Stiles' gaze.
"Yea well, we figured if anything from the past few years todo with our friendship was as real for you as it was for us, then we should give you some benefit of the doubt."
Stiles nodded, and once again the conversation went cold and Stiles couldn't help but wonder if they would ever be able to salvage this friendship, even after he had taken the sledge hammer of secrets to it. He could see it in how they acted around him; they were no longer comfortable with him and Stiles could only blame himself for this.
He had broken their trust. Stiles had been the first one to know about Scott being a werewolf, partly because he was the one who came up with the idea, but Scott had always told him the truth about everything but all he had done was lie to his face.
He was interrupted from his thoughts when Malia spoke up, "Why do you have to get your brother to tell up about all this? Why can't you just tell us yourself?"
Well that got him, Stiles had a very definite reason for that; he couldn't remember most of it. But he didn't want them to know that. That his ripper tendencies had left him without a distinct recollections of more than half of his life time. Some of the most important parts he had missed.
