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New Beginning

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Stiles was really getting sick of Scott. Since he became a ‘true alpha,’ Scott had taken that to mean that he was always in the right, that he was better than everyone else. It was getting ridiculous. At first, it didn’t really affect him. Scott hadn’t been the best friend he thought he was since Allison. Then the nogistune and Donovan and Theo happened, and the chasm between the two seem irrevocable.

Stiles knew that Scott looked at him different, that Theo was whispering in his ear, and that he still blamed Stiles for Allison’s death. That definitely hurt since he was still dealing with the guilt of what happened during the nogitsune. Thankfully, his dad was being super supportive, and he was starting to actually believe that just because the nogitsune chose him, it doesn’t mean he’s weak. Deaton told him the reason that he was targeted by the nogitsune, and it made sense, but the mind and feelings never seemed to be rational.

Since Scott seemed to be pushing him away, though, so was the rest of the pack. Kira sent him a sad smile every once in a while, but all-in-all, the others mostly ignored him, other than the mean looks from Scott and Isaac, and damn, didn’t that burn.

This week, the ‘Big Bad’ was a small drove of pixies. According to the Hale and Argent bestiaries, pixies were nasty shit. The only option was to kill them. They were evil little tricksters, they looked small and cute but they were not. When they were out for blood, they could take out an entire town of humans.

“Scott,” Stiles signed for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Both bestiaries cited that pixies are bad, real bad. The only option is to kill them.”

“No, Stiles,” Scott sneered, Stiles flinching at the level of venom in his name. “You may be okay with murder but I’m the alpha here. You may not value life, but I do. We can talk to them, find a solution.”

Stiles huffed. “No, Scott, that’s not what’s gonna happen. Pixies aren’t exactly that smart. And whatever intelligence they have they use to murder people. They’ve already killed a little girl, are you really prepared for more blood on your hands?”

Scott flashed his alpha eyes at Stiles, claws unsheathing, and advancing on Stiles. “You,” Scott punctuated this with a stab of his finger in Stiles chest, not seeming to care that Stiles was in pain and he had drawn blood. “May be okay with having blood on your hands, more blood, but I value life. You’re useless, just a stupid, weak human, who’s blood thirsty. You killed Donavan in cold blood-”

Stiles hands balled in frustrated fists. “Donovan was self-defense. Theo’s manipulating you!”

“No, Stiles!” Scott roared. “I thought we got past this! This has nothing to do with Theo. This has to do with you being a murderer!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Scott?! Self-defense! It was self-defense! Would you have rather he killed me?!”

“Yes!” Scott roars, shifted into his beta shift. “You would have been better off dead! We would have been better off with you dead! You murdered Allison!!”

Silence fell and Stiles was fighting back tears, several cuts in his chest, shirt soaked in blood and an angry alpha basically snapping his jaws at his face.

“How da-re you, Scott?” Stiles voice broke. Pleading eyes meeting vicious eyes. “That wasn’t me. How can you still blame me for that?”

“Because!” Scott snarled. “Because of your weakness, Allison is dead. She was far better than you ever will be. We’d have all been much happier if you”-another clawed jab-“were the one to die.”

Stiles looked absolutely wrecked. He looked to those around him, witnessing what had just happened. Kira’s bottom lip was quivering, not meeting his eyes. Isaac met his eyes with such loathing that he flinched. Lydia just looked disinterested, apparently too below her. Liam just looked confused, eyes wide. Theo, the bastard, just looked smug. None of them moved to help him, defend him either in words or against the claws raking through his skin.

Scott looked down at him, pure loathing in his eyes, no once of pity or empathy. “You need to leave, Stiles. None of us want you here, you don’t belong here. You never were and never will be pack. We have no use for the likes of you,” he sneered.

After a breath, Stiles started to sob, looking around at the people who used to be his friends, people who didn’t care enough to defend him. He ran out the door, and climbed into his jeep as fast as he could. He knew that he shouldn’t drive this affected, his dad was the sheriff, he was acutely aware of these things, but he just needed to get out of there. Get away from them as soon as possible.

He drove the speed limit, holding his tears in the entire ride home, breath ragged. When he got home, he wasn’t sure if he was upset or thankful that his father was home. He got up the porch and in the door before he broke down sobbing. He felt his father’s arms wrapped around him. At first he sounded worried, though Stiles wasn’t able to make out words, but eventually he settled into soothing Stiles with gentle words and light touches.

Stiles didn’t remember falling asleep, or passing out, but he woke up in his own bed wrapped up in his favorite blanket. He blearily rubbed his eyes, looking at his bedside alarm clock, 8:02 PM. That means that he only slept for about two hours.

He got up, pulled on a pain of pajama pants, noticing that his chest was bandaged now, and headed downstairs. The sheriff was sitting at the kitchen counter, a cup of tea in his hand and an aged expression on his face.

Stiles grabbed some of the coffee that he put on before the pack meeting, cold now, and gingerly sat down across from his father.

“You bandaged my chest?” Stiles finally asked.

“Yeah,” his father said, his voice tired. “While you were asleep.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before John finally broke. “What happened, son?” He asked gently.

Stiles teared up and his breathing grew ragged just thinking about it. He took one, big, slow breath, trying to calm down. “Scott. Scott, he… He got mad and then he was saying that I’m bloodthirsty and a murderer. That I killed Allison and it would have been better if I-” a sob interrupted him.

John rushed over to his son. Worried but also pissed as all hell at Scott. “Scott did that? Tore up your chest?”

Stiles nodded. “The little girl that was killed was killed by pixies. Both the Hale and Argent bestiaries say that there is no dealing with them. You either kill them or they can wipe out entire towns. That’s what I said, but then Scott got on about me being useless, and weak, and that I should have died-”

John cradled his son closer, already planning all the horrible things that he would do to McCall. He used to be like a son, but Stiles was always going to be his number one. This might make things difficult between him and Melissa, but Stiles was like a son to her as well and he knew she would be almost as pissed as he

“And they all just stood there. No one did anything, they just”-sob-“they just let him-”

John hushed his son. “It’s okay, kiddo. It’s okay, he was wrong. They were all wrong. None of that was your fault, none of it.”

Stiles sobbed loudly one more time before trying to quiet down again to talk. “I can’t stay here, Dad. I just can’t. At least not now, not after what they did, what he did. I want to leave, at least for a little while. It’s close enough to the end of the semester and I’ve already got the credits I need to graduate. I just can’t be here.”

“I understand, I understand,” John murmured, soothing his son, petting his hair. “I can makes some calls tomorrow morning, ask about taking the finals for the classes you’re taking now or just skipping right to graduating, it probably won’t be a problem. Once we settle that, I can send you to visit an uncle in New York.”

Stiles hiccupped, rubbing the tears under his eyes away. “I didn’t realize I had an
uncle. And New York, as in the big apple, I’ve always wanted to visit.”

John continued to soothe Stiles, petting his hair and rubbing his back. “I know,” he said with a gentle smile. “And he was your mother’s brother, after she died, we never really kept in contact that often. Just the holiday cards every year. But he’s been asking about actually meeting you, seeing the man that you’ve become. I can call him tomorrow as well.”

Stiles sniffled, “Thanks, Tata,” using the language that his mother so loved. After she dies, both of them couldn’t really stand the painful reminder of her.

John and Stiles stayed like that for a little while longer, feeling safe and comfortable. Eventually they separated, going to bed, the promise of tomorrow finally hopeful for Stiles.