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The Weight of the World

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Stiles Stilinski received the text that started the falling dominoes to the ruins of his Beacon Hills life on a Saturday morning at precisely 8.56 a.m. The text was a simple order of 'come to the loft' sent by his further and further estranged best friend, Scott McCall.

He was trudging through the woods on the look-out for Theo the night before, so he figured that he could just go straight to the loft without coming home. Stiles always knew that Theo was trouble with the devil's horns; this was confirmed after the night on the hospital and when he threatened to reveal what happened to Donovan.

Inside the loft, the whole pack was gathered. Scott, Lydia, Isaac, Kira, Malia, Liam, Jackson and even Derek and Cora were there. The only surprise that shouldn't have surprised him was Theo. Of course that lying motherfucker would be there, cause why not? Stiles was rarely included in any pack meetings nowadays but finding out that the outsider was included was a whole new level of 'low blows'.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, letting the question hang in the air, uneasy from the glares and queased faces he was receiving.

Scott's glare was the harshest one, a smirking Theo lurking right behind him. "I heard what you did to Donovan."

Oh, that little fucker he's going to--

"You killed him."

Wait, what?! Stiles backed in his mind, whiplashed by the accusation. “Killed him? Scott, no.” He stepped forward only to be cut by Malia’s growl. Because apparently that was the thing now, Malia and Scott, slutting up the halls of Beacon Hills High. “It was self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” Isaac scoffed, followed by a couple others from his back. “We heard of how you stabbed him with a construction pole in the library. And how you hid the body.”

“I didn’t sta—“

“Stiles, that’s cruel. That’s murder. At the very least you shouldn’t have gone through hiding his body and just confessed to the police.” Kira, sweet loving adorable Kira, was even on Theo’s side. “Your father’s the Sheriff, Stiles.”

“When it was the Nogitsune,” Scott started, making Stiles flinch noticeably, “I understood that you had no control over that. But now?”

Stiles sighed, frustrated and betrayed by how the pack was treating him. “I’m going to repeat myself. It was self-defense. Donovan attacked me out in the parking lot and chased me inside, then the scaffolding fell while I—“

“Stop lying, Stiles!” Lydia screeched at him. The girl was admittedly close to the boy, but that was before she knew how much the boy had to offer to the world. She grew up in a world without competition, Lydia Martin who had everything she wanted in a snap would bound to be jealous. “Theo told us everything.”

“Theo?” Stiles breathed, his eyes stinging from the fact that his pack—who he had died for and got possessed for and killed for—was abandoning him for fucking fourth grade (really though?) classmate unknown Theo.

“We know he was targeting your father and I get your intent of protecting him. But we don’t kill people Stiles. We don’t kill those we’re trying to save. We’re better than that. There’s always another way.” Scott reasoned, Theo’s hand on his shoulder for a false sense of comfort.

Stiles took one deep breath, knowing a loss in words when he sees one. No one will understand, anyways. “Fine, what is that you want? For me to apologize?”

“You’re human. You’re weak, you’re reckless and you’re a burden that needs protecting, dragging us down on top of a hindrance.” Derek, who had been quiet this whole time with an even more quiet Cora by his side, spoke up with a shake of his head. “We want you out.”

The red-hooded boy had to literally swallow his cry; he could hear a few whimpers from the pack, particularly Cora, Liam and surprisingly Jackson, but he did his best to ignore them. “Out?”

“Of the pack.” Scott finished his sentence.

The sun shone through the tall wall windows, glaringly bright, at that moment. Streaking the pale mole-stricken face with a hint of shadow. The pain in his eyes and the tears glazing over, it was too much to bear. Betrayal. “Fine.” Was all Stiles could say, his throat choking from the need to shout. “Have fun not dying without me. I won’t help even if you begged.”

He was out the door, in his jeep, and driving aimlessly before the wolves could even snark a reply. On the wide expanse of the road, he drove and drove. Without a destination but home, added with a million detours. Stiles rationally knew this was coming. It didn’t make it any less painful. They were the closest thing to family he had, and they threw him away like yesterday’s garbage.

What hurts most is that everybody seemed to have agreed with Theo. He’d known that Scott, Malia and Kira would be on Theo’s side because those three come in a weird package. Lydia and Isaac though? He was there for Lydia and saw the real beauty between the facade. He was the one who comforted Isaac through his nightmares from both his father and Allison. Stiles wasn’t sure about Cora, Jackson and Liam, but they didn’t come to his defense. That said enough.

But Derek? In the base terms, Derek and Stiles never got along. Stiles knew that. But for the past months, they’ve reconciled. They’ve talked and Stiles became the closest thing to a confidant the former Alpha had. He should’ve known it would be like this. Fucking Derek and his stupid fucking hair and jaw.

Stiles hit the brakes abruptly, the jeep jostled by the motion. His feelings were a turmoil of anger, pain and sadness. He didn’t know wether to scream or cry or punch a whole in the wall. The jeep started shaking. The ground underneath it forming hairline cracks. The coins in the cupholder rattled against each other before bouncing off the car, embedding itself into the dashboard and door of the car. Stiles snapped from his rage, controlling the magic boiling in his heart.

Another thing Stiles kept from the pack was his magic. He was human but he wasn’t weak. He was a Spark; a natural magic user. He was going to tell them eventually, but now?

All the emotions finally broke loose in a loud cry. Wrecking sobs tore through his body, slumped against the steering wheel. He’d been driving for the whole day and he still found no answer. All he knew was the pain, unbearable and scarring. He had cried until nightfall that day, for the loss of his pack. Loss of his family. Loss of his home. All he wanted to do was run.

And so he did.

That night, he applied for a transfer of school through his father’s email, pending on the next location. Grabbing multiple books he had of his magic and supernatural, he reached for his laptop to copy the bestiary and important documents and programs into a USB. He packed it into a duffel bag and withdrew the money he’d hid under his bed from the Benefactor’s funds; it was never returned and split evenly between Scott and Stiles after all their bills were paid. $50,000 cash, all in untraceable 100 dollar bills. He left his phone in the bath tub, ruining the data inside so they couldn’t track him. He’d left a note for his dad in the dining room, telling him that he couldn’t bare to stay and leaving, and he didn’t feel sorry for leaving. After all, his father was never home, traumatized and scared by his son ever since the possessing.

The place he once considered home, a warmth of comfort in a bad day, was gone. The memories of his mother long faded from the couches and walls of the Stilinski household. He looked back through his life and all it had been through. He’d found out all the things that had gone bump in the night existed. He’d been through horrors and pain unimaginable to what a sixteen year old should have been familiar with. He’d grown and lost so many things, and now, two years later, became a person his past-self wouldn’t recognize.

Did he regret it? Honestly, no. If he hadn’t brought Scott out in the woods that night, none of it wouldn’t have happened and they could’ve avoided a lot of tragedies, yes. But all the lives they’ve saved would've died. He has to believe that was more true than the lives that were lost that could’ve been saved otherwise.

In the end, reflecting on everything, Stiles knew. This changed them for life. They matured, hardened like officers and tortured like veterans. Scott desperately kept hold of his innocence and scout-boy honors and moralities, Stiles knew that too. He couldn’t blame him. Scott will always be Scott. He had never had to make a hard choice because everyone else was doing it for him. One day he’ll learn, or maybe not. But that has nothing to do with him now.

With that, Stiles slung his duffel into the backseat of his mom’s Jeep and closed the door. Sliding the gear to drive, he headed for the airport. Not even looking back once.

He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, or even less, what he wanted to be. But he was sure that he’d start over. For better or worse, New York is his future.

Besides, nothing can possibly beat the dangers of staying in Beacon Hills, right?