Unsteady | Sterek

Thirty One: Hey, heey

It's funny how life fucks certain people over, Stiles thinks. It's like there's a list full of names, and every person got the crap luck that everyone else missed out on. Stiles had accepted his life a long time ago, when his mother had gotten sick, but lately, he'd had trouble keeping his head above water. Especially when it kept raining and the water kept rising.

But then, for people like Isaac and Derek, who had hurt so much for so long, Stiles was glad to see life giving them a break. They were a pack now, an Alpha and a beta. And Peter of course, but Stiles seemed to be the only one to like him at least a little bit.

They had a little family there, had made their own happiness. Stiles was proud of them, he was so proud and he didn't begrudge them their pack bonds. He was fine with being on the outside. He really was.

"I heard your interesting heart rate," Peter says, plopping down on the sofa next to the human. "You're either lying to yourself a lot or thinking of me."

Stiles snorts. "Don't flatter yourself, zombiewolf."

Peter makes a noise. "I'm utterly wounded, Stiles." When Stiles doesn't react, he stops joking around. "Why aren't you with the pup and your Alpha boyfriend, cuddling or whatever?"

Stiles shrugs, drags his eyes back to the duo currently standing near the kitchen. Isaac is talking excitedly and Derek is listening contentedly. If he didn't know better, Stiles might imagine him purring. "Isaac has him occupied," he says. "I doubt a human like me could give him quite the same comfort as pack can."

Peter shakes his head, huffing. "You're either really stupid or extremely blind," he says, flicking Stiles on the side of the head. "And I doubt it's the first one, since you're surprisingly clever."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stiles scowls, glaring at the older werewolf. "What am I blind to?"

"I'm not going to just give you the answer," Peter smirks.

Stiles flips him off. "Whatever. I'm going to raid Derek's kitchen and made dinner. You hungry?"

Peter leans back and blinks up at him, something strange entering his eyes. "You're going to cook for us?"

"Yes," Stiles snaps. "Although I'm contemplating just giving you dog food. In a bowl. On the floor."

Peter raises his hands, the strange gleam dulling. "Touchy. Yes, Stiles, please feed me."

Stiles rolls his eyes and stands up, doing his best not to glance at Derek and Isaac lest his heart betray him to Peter. He really doesn't want creeper Hale on his ass about his insecurities.

He rifles through Derek's cupboards and gathers things for nachos. It's his mother's recipe that he's following, and as he starts cooking and preparing, he loses himself in memories of her when she'd still been as radiant as the sun.

Claudia used to bake all the time, had always taken batches of cupcakes and biscuits to the station and the hospital. She'd hum to herself in the kitchen as young Stiles played with the flour beside her, making a mess. He'd broken an egg once, accidentally dropped it and shattered it on the floor. He'd cried, but Claudia had smiled and helped him clean it up now.

"Stiles?"

He snaps out of his thoughts as a hand rests on his arm. His face is damp, he realises, and he curses as he wipes away the tears. "It's the onions," he lies. "Damn things want to dehydrate me. Well not today onions!"

Derek shakes his head, but doesn't dispute Stiles' words. "Anything I can do to help?" He asks.

Stiles glances around. He's already got the mince cooking and the chips are laid out on the plates. "Set the table?"

"Sure."

It's strangely domestic, Stiles cooking while Derek sets the table. It feels intimate and foreign and nostalgic, all at the same time because Stiles and his dad don't sit down for dinner anymore. Not like this. They haven't for a long time and Stiles knows that he's to blame for that.

"Something smells good!" Isaac says loudly as he bustles over to the table. Peter trails him silently, eyeing Stiles as he quickly washes up the dishes.

Stiles stares back for a moment, but he's not really looking at Peter. He's looking at him and seeing his dad, coming in for dinner. His mother is already sitting at the table and Melissa is next to her, young Scott babbling about being hungry.

He looks at the Hale family and he sees the Stilinski family, a long time ago.

He dishes the food up quickly, sits down at the table and takes a few bites as the werewolves devour theirs. He loves this mismatched mess of a pack, but he can't stay. He has a home to go to, a father to confront, a life to live where he won't intrude on anyone.

"Stiles, are you not hungry?" Isaac asks, scraping the last of his food of his plate.

Stiles shakes his head, smiles shakily. "Nah," he says, and nobody calls him out for a lie so he figures his heart doesn't stutter. "Here, you have it."

Isaac dives in without thought, but Derek sets down his cutlery and watches Stiles avoid his eyes. "Stiles," Derek says quietly. "What's going on?"

Stiles takes a deep breath and braces himself. "I'm going back home," he admits. "I have to talk things through with my dad. We have to...we have to sort some things out."

It isn't fair, Stiles thinks desperately as a wall appears in Derek's eyes. Because Stiles had fought tooth and nail to pull that wall down, and it had worked. Derek had let him in. But now, Stiles looks at the werewolf and he can't see anything but a shield of pain and anger that keeps him out.

Peter's displeasure is harder to pick than his nephew's, but Stiles can tell the older werewolf doesn't like the news. "I thought your father wasn't keen on being in your presence."

"What?" Isaac asks, mouth full.

Stiles looks away, takes a moment to compose himself. Saying goodbye shouldn't be this hard. "Talk to Scott, Isaac," he says tiredly. "He'll be able to help you more than I can."

"But I prefer you," Isaac says and damn it, Stiles doesn't want to cry.

"I know," he manages. "But I have to go home, Isaac."

Then Derek speaks and yeah, Stiles is definitely a terrible person who deserves to die because his werewolf sounds so heartbroken and angry as he says, "I thought you already were home."

Yeah, Stiles wants to say, has it sitting on his tongue, so had I.