Stiles had been sitting on the front steps of his house when he finally lost it. He hadn't been able to go in, hadn't been able to face all the memories, all the moments that would never happen. He would never get to tell his dad he loved him. Never get to here his mother singing softly to him a polish nursery rhyme her own mother had sung to her. Never get to go in the living room and see all the pack crowded on the sofa having a Star Wars marathon while Stiles made several dozen cookies.
Sitting there Stiles felt their loss, he felt it like a physical, and unstoppable ache in his chest that left him breathless and wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep the tidal wave of sadness from seeping out into the world. Sure, Stiles still had Sott, but it wasn't the same. Scott wasnt pack, at least not in the way they had been. Scott had been Stiles’ brother, his best friend for as long as Stiles cared to remember, but he would never be able to trust him, not after what had happened with his father. Though even before any of the major pack drama, Scott still had never been pack, Stiles had never felt the physical bond with him in the way he did with the others, which just made Stiles ache even more for the bonds he didn't have any longer. It also didn't help that not Stiles was surrounded by a group of people that called themselves a pack without any of them truly understanding what the word meant. Pack was more than just friends, pack was a physical connection to each other that tied one's soul to another’s.
Now Stiles wanted nothing more to go back to the way things used to be. He wanted to be able to open the door and see the pack all waiting for him with cheap takeout and a demand of what kind of cookies they wanted. He wanted Erica to use him as a pillow and antagonize him until he gave her head rubs. He wanted Boyd to roll his eyes whenever Stiles made a bad joke, but then be genuinely curious about how he made his icing to fluffy. He wanted Isaac to go from being an adorable puppy that just wanted cuddles and hand fed cupcakes, to being a leather jacket wearing, eye rolling badass that almost matched Stiles in his level of sarcasm. He wanted Cora to play dirty in Call of Duty and refuse to join in on hugs, but then crawl into his window at three in the morning and make herself the big spoon, grumbling about how it was “just for his protection”. He wanted Derek in all his eyebrow raising glory that slam him against jeep doors and make threats about ripping out Stiles throat with his teeth, then they’ll save each others asses two seconds later. Hell Stiles even missed Creeperwolf who never underestimated Stiles strength and who was his equal in sarcasm and willingness to anything to take care of the pack. Most of all though, Stiles missed his Dad. He missed his deep chuckles and awkward conversations, he missed how open he was when it came to the pack, and how he treated everyone (even Derek who secretly loved it) like they were his child. Stiles missed making sure his Dad ate his vegetables and not to much red meat.
Not a second went by that Stiles didn't wish he could bring his Dad back, bring them all back. Stiles was magic for god's sake, but magic didn't work like that, so that's how Stiles wound here, crying his eyes out on the front porch of his house because his pack was all gone. He didn't blame the Hales for leaving, hell Stiles was tempted to go with them back when they had first left. Looking back on it Stiles would give anything to go back to that moment and agree, to pack up his bags, grab his Dad, and flee to south America with the Hales and start over again. But Stiles had been foolish and he had chosen Scott. Stiles had always chosen Scott, and look where that had gotten him. It was then that Stiles came to a decision, one that he should have made a very long time ago. Suddenly Stiles got the energy to move, pushing himself of the steps and walking towards the jeep with such determination that nothing else mattered.
Stiles was going to leave Beacon Hills, he was going to leave and he was never going to come back. He was going to promptly tell Scott to fuck off, and then ride in Roscoe until he was at least 300 miles away from this town that had caused him nothing but loss. Maybe he would go live with the Hales, maybe he would live in some cheap apartment in Florida and work at a fast food restaurant, who the hell knows. All Stiles knew was that he was leaving this town, and that alone was the liberation of the century.
If only Stiles had been paying more attention to the road in front of him, and less to possible ideas on how he was going to make money for the rest of his life, he might have seen the very large deer that decided now would be a perfect moment to cross the road, because one second Stiles was feeling more exhilarated than ever, and the next he could feel his magic explode in his chest though all he could think about was the fact that he was literally the biggest cliche ever.
"Of course I’m the one to die from a literal deer in the road, and not some supernatural bad guy like everyone else in the goddamn town."