It starts when Derek smashes his face on the steering wheel.
No, scratch that.
It starts when Stiles’s mom succumbs under her dementia and attacks him, accusing him of trying to kill her.
Yeah. That sounds more like it.
It’s been ages since anyone touched Stiles with kindness or gentle hands. He could say he doesn’t miss it but that would be a big, stinking lie, and even though he’s gotten pretty good at lying, this is something he doesn’t do to himself. Because he does miss it. God, does he miss touch.
Sometimes he wakes up and remembers a whiff of something sweet, like an echo of a memory of someone brushing his short hair and cupping his chin, calling him with a name he no longer remembers. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t quite grasp what it was, other than something that leaves him hollow and aching inside. As time moves on, he wishes he doesn’t dream of it—her—anymore.
He visits the McCall house after his mom dies, and not only because his dad is trying to drown his sorrows with cheap whiskey and too many what if’s. No, it’s because Melissa gives awesome hugs; the kind that engulf him firmly without being too constricting. It ends a couple of years later when he grows too old and Melissa has her own issues to deal with.
And now, he has no-one.
On some level, he knows he’s being ridiculous. He’s a sixteen-year-old high school boy, he shouldn’t be whining about someone touching him. Or, well, he should, but in a sexy way, right? But this…this yearning for kindness is something he’s having a hard time to accept.
Sure, his dad touches him when he remembers he has a son. He does it in a gruff way, as a pat on the back or a firm grip on the shoulder, and sometimes he ruffles Stiles’s hair almost fondly. But nowadays, it’s been more of the moving-Stiles-out-of-his-way, pushing-Stiles-out-of-his-office, or, Stiles’s least favorite, drunkenly-pushing-past-Stiles-on-his-way-to-the-couch.
So, when Derek slams his face on the steering wheel, Stiles isn’t surprised it happened. No, he’s more surprised it hasn’t happened earlier because recently, he’s been pushed and shoved on both literal and metaphorical level. Scott is way too into Allison to realize he’s pushing Stiles away, Derek’s preferred method of dialogue is violence, and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd all love their newfound strength a bit too much to worry about one squishy human. Stiles isn’t even going to go into Peter and his bad touch -vibe.
So, he watches and learns, trains himself to shift ever so slightly to avoid touch altogether and before long, it’s automatic. And no-one notices.
He doesn’t know why he even bothers. Why should he dedicate his time to the pack that clearly neither wants him there or is particularly grateful for the work he puts in for the benefit of all?
Every now and then, as Stiles watches the pack pile close to each other, he wonders if he should’ve accepted the bite from Peter when he’d offered. Would things be different now or would he still be ostracised but in some other way?
And when the fuck did he start to care so much?
He contemplates the option of leaving. His dad is drinking himself to death whether Stiles is there or not, and Stiles isn’t sure he wants to witness the slippery slope down the drain. He calculates the pros and cons, does risk assessments, and researches viable colleges far from home.
He likes the illusion of having the chance even though he knows he’s not going to use it.
Because despite everything, despite every drunken stupor he finds his dad in, despite the all too-rough shoves and pushes, Beacon Hills is home. At least he knows what he’s in for, right?
Besides, isn’t that what they say? A known Hell is better than an unknown Heaven, and you can’t really get closer to Hell than Beacon Hills.