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It's 4:15 A.M in Beacon Hills, California USA. And Stiles is awake. In bed. But awake. Every hour or so a car passes down the street. It's almost time for his Dad to wake up. One more hour till the coffee maker starts to bubble quietly. Two more hours until those cars start to pass by every 30 minutes or so.
It's 4:16 AM. Stiles is still awake. Laying flat on his bed. One hand casually curled up on his stomach the other casually hanging just barely over the edge of the mattress. Eyes causally pointed at the ceiling. Teeth casually biting his lips. Mind casually thinking about what he'll become.
It's 4:24 AM. Stiles hands have switched places. His ankles have been crossed. He decides not to think about what he has become.
It's 4:26 AM. Stiles doesn't think. Well he doesn't think about anything productive at least.
I should finish that playthrough of the Witcher. I wonder if there's a bug in my room somewhere. I wonder who invented paint. Two more months. I should get new jeans. Is there a healthy way to make fried chicken?
It's 4:29 AM.
Who thought of drinking milk? That's really weird actually. What if drinking milk was outlawed. Wait then would cheese be outlawed?! No butter either oh my god. Then dad would be used to eating mashed potatoes without butter. Weird.
He doesn't think about the angry text messages from Scott. Or the missed calls from the others. Or the look of disapproval from the resident Alpha Derek Hale for ignoring everyone else. Doesn't think about anything worth thinking about.
Holy shit who thought of freezers. Oh my god and how did they think of them. If I went back in time would I be able to build these things and take all the credit? Imagine if medieval times had the technology we had. Oh my god Mecha-medieval times! New level of entertainment. Chivalry and technology! I'd buy a ticket.
It's 4:36 AM. His eyes are starting to droop.
Derek Hale is sitting on his bed. It's 7:34 PM. He looks comfortable. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants. He’s a stark contrast from when he and Stiles first met. They are friends. Funny how they are both quiet now. Even more funny that Derek seems to understand how Stiles needs to leave. How Stiles can't leave his father unprotected. How Stiles doesn't have the energy to be let down by Scott again.
“I’m leaving.”
“I know. I’ll take care of him”
“I know. There's a binder full of weekly meal plans under my bed.”
“I won't ask you to stay.”
“Thank you”
It’s 4:17 PM. Stiles is sitting in a bright red booth across Peter Hale in a family diner. It's warm but not too warm. The fan over head spins lazily. A kid is crying about not being allowed extra syrup on top of the hefty amount he already has on his pancakes.
Peter Hale steals some of his fries.
“Now, now did you expect me to stay behind to the beck and call of the inherently good True Alpha? I’m much too valuable for that.”
“I think you mean much too dramatic.”
“That too.”
It’s 4:54 PM. The kiss Peter gives him taste like french fries and vanilla coke. Stiles buys an extra plane ticket. His father doesn't say anything. But he nods to Peter on the street. Just one more month.
It's 2:01 PM. Someone is ringing his doorbell. Stiles groggily answers the door.
“Finally! Stiles what is wrong with you! Why haven't you answered my calls? I’ve been waiting for you to text me back all week!”
It's Scott. He’s angry.
Stiles groggily shuts the door. Makes sure the mountain ash is intact. Puts on some headphones. Then goes back to bed.
23 more days.
It’s 7:42 AM. There’s a girl in his bed. Her head full of red hair is on his chest. She’s wearing sweat pants, an old hoodie, and pink ankle socks. They fall asleep after a murmured conversation. They don’t wake up till 5:00 PM.
“I expect bi-weekly Skype sessions”
“Then I expect monthly care-packages with Reese’s cups and home baked goods”
“Deal.”
12 more days.
It's 6:23 AM For the past two months he’s fallen asleep at 4:30 at the best. For the past two months he’s slept until 3:00 PM. His flight boards at 7. He’s sitting in a grey plastic chair thinking about the spaghetti he cooked last night.
Man I should have brought some. Maybe I could’ve mailed the container back to my dad?
There's a new case. A murder he’s glad he’s not going to be here for. His dad gets called in and can't afford to see him off. Stiles gets a kiss on the forehead, a promise to figure out Skype, a promise not to tell anyone, a new bank account with 12,000 dollars, a tight hug, another kiss on the forehead, and a couple of poorly concealed tears.
Peter snorts at him when he sniffles after his dad leaves. Then he kisses him snot and all.
It’s 9:14 AM. He’s asleep on Peter’s shoulder.