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tamingthemuseTitle: lost and found
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 458 - twister
Warnings: Pre-series AU.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1930
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is eight years old when he loses both of his parents.
A/N: For now, this is just a one-shot. I like this 'verse and kind of maybe have some ideas of how to expand it. But not right now because another WIP is the last thing I need.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
Stiles Stilinski is eight years old when he loses both of his parents. His mother had been sick for months, her illness slowly stealing pieces of her until she was so depressed and withdrawn that she barely got out of bed and could barely string together the most basic sentence. Stiles had sat beside her hospital bed every day after school until the day she died. She was buried on a warm, overcast Sunday afternoon at the end of May. That night, when he and his father went home, he lost his father to the bottle.
By then, Stiles was well-versed in taking care of someone else - his mother had been confined to their home long before she’d been hospitalized - so he did the best his eight-year-old self could manage and made meager dinners, did the dishes, cleaned up after his father and himself, figured out how to do the laundry. But it didn’t take long for his father’s coworkers on the police force to take notice of his condition. They’d given him a grace period to deal with his grief, but when he couldn’t find his way back from the bottom of a whiskey bottle, they stepped in.
In the end, Stiles was placed temporarily with a foster family by CPS until they could contact one of his relatives that could take him in. His babcia was away in Poland taking care of her brother, but tried to make it home to take custody of him while her son got himself help. CPS reached out to his mother’s family and found a great aunt that he’d never met that was willing to look after him. So Stiles’ caseworker packed up a bag for him and shipped him off to Illinois.
Stiles’ great aunt Tess was in her early sixties, a tiny woman with graying hair and tanned, wrinkled skin. She met him in the airport terminal with a hug, kneeling down in front of him to hold his face in her hands, smiling at him with his mother’s smile while telling him how he was her niece’s spitting image. She kissed his forehead and took his hand, led him to collect his only bag then outside to an old red pickup truck.
Aunt Tess lived out in the middle of nowhere on a farm where she raised a bunch of animals and grew a bunch of plants. Her little house was gray with white shutters, two stories full of old, worn things and knick-knacks and scuffed wood floors and fraying crocheted afghans that smelled like maple syrup. Stiles’ room was painted a dusty blue a few shades lighter than the comforter on the bed and the curtains on the windows. She left him there with his bag, told him to take some time to settle in, put his things away, get used to the space, and that the bathroom was right across the hall. She told him to come down when he was ready - she’d be in the kitchen working on a late lunch - and that they could make a list of other things that he needed and would make a trip into town.
Stiles dumped the contents of his bag out on his bed and put all of his clothes away into one of the drawers of the dresser against the wall across from his bed. The two books he’d brought he set on the small desk and the picture of his family he put on the nightstand, propped up against the lamp. He went to his window and looked out over the yard and beyond to where there was a wooden fence penning in sheep or goats or something. After looking around his small, bare room, he crossed the hall to go to the bathroom and wash his hands before going to find his great aunt.
Aunt Tess was in the kitchen making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?” she asked.
Stiles shook his head and sat at the table where she set his plate.
“Do you want it cut a particular way?”
Stiles shook his head again even though he liked when his mother had cut his sandwiches in little triangles.
Aunt Tess nodded and got glasses down out of the cupboard. “Do you like milk?” At Stiles’ nod she continued, “Will you drink it plain?”
Stiles nodded again and took a big bite from his sandwich, jelly squishing out the side and in between his fingers. Aunt Tess just smiled at him and set a paper towel down next to his plate.
“Can you think of anything you need?” Aunt Tess asked when they’d both finished their sandwiches and milk. “Toothbrush, shampoo, snacks, books, socks? Anything?” She sat down next to him with a notepad and a pen.
“Miss Sanders didn’t let me bring a lot of stuff, only a couple pairs of jeans and… four shirts… five pairs of socks and,” quieter, “underwear. And my red sweatshirt and my pajamas.”
“Not a whole lot, then.” She scrawled some things down on the notepad then tore off the sheet, folding it in half and sticking it in the pocket on the chest of her purple-checked flannel. “Let’s you and me make a trip into town, then I can show you the farm when we get back. If you want, you can try calling your daddy while I start on dinner.”
Stiles nodded, excited and nervous at the prospect of finally talking to his dad - Mrs. Walker, the foster mother he’d stayed with, didn’t let him call home or Scott.
They went to Target and Aunt Tess let him pick out his own toothbrush and toothpaste and shampoo and body wash. Then she let him pick out clothes and some books and a new pair of sneakers. She got groceries and asked for his input on things that he did or didn’t like, made him choose between peanut butter cups and soda, let him have juice instead.
When they got back to her house, he helped her put away the groceries and took all the tags off his new clothes so they could be washed. After that, she led him outside to show him all of her animals: the sheep and the alpacas that she raised and sheared to make yarn that she sold at the farmer’s market, the chickens in the small coop next to the barn that supplied her with fresh eggs every day, goats that she milked, and a bunch of cats. Behind the barn was a greenhouse where she grew a bunch of flowers and herbs, and an acre or so of various small trees and bushes. She explained to Stiles that he would have chores and would be expected to help out around the farm. It sounded like a lot of work, but Stiles had learned that his ADHD didn’t seem as bad when he had a lot of things to keep him busy.
So Stiles learned how to feed the animals and clean their pens and gather eggs without getting his hands pecked and milk the goats without getting kicked or head butted. He learned how to water and prune the plants, helped Aunt Tess start a vegetable garden in a corner of the greenhouse. He woke up and did chores, cleaned up, ate breakfast, went to school, did more chores, then cleaned up again, did his homework, ate dinner, tried calling his dad, and went to bed. He did the same thing every day, sometimes finding time to write letters home to his dad or Scott, or reading books on the weekends.
Six months passed and Aunt Tess tried to contact his dad to see about the holidays - if he could come out to them or if he wanted to have Stiles fly home - but his dad wasn’t better yet. They celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas just the two of them, endured a blizzard and an ice storm, then returned to the same routine.
Spring came and Stiles called home less frequently, only wrote Scott once a month instead of every week. Summer brought thunderstorms and Stiles’ first tornado. Fall crept up on them, then winter, and the holidays were spent with just the two of them again. Stiles got a package from Scott and his mother, a tin of homemade cookies with a Gryffindor scarf and a card signed by both McCalls and his dad.
The seasons passed again, and just after Stiles’ third Christmas with Aunt Tess, she got a phone call. There was a lot of hushed conversation, Tess sending him out to check on the animals while she kept an eye on him from the kitchen window, phone at her ear. Four days later Mr. Robertson showed up at their door with another man - Alan - and a girl about Stiles’ age. Alan introduced her as Cora, and Stiles thought she looked familiar. They were left in the living room while the grown ups went to talk in the kitchen and Cora sat squeezed into one corner of the couch, looking like she was going to cry, and not saying a word. Aunt Tess didn’t have cable so they couldn’t watch TV except for the news or other boring shows. Stiles offered Cora a book - she took it, but didn’t open it.
Alan left after talking to Cora, and Cora left a week later.
The following spring, Stiles left too. His dad showed up on his birthday looking better than Stiles remembered him. He started crying as soon as he saw Stiles and gathered him up in a rib-crushing hug. Stiles was happy to see him, and shocked and angry. He felt a lot of things, but Aunt Tess had made sure he knew why his dad was the way he was, made sure he understood that it wasn’t Stiles’ fault and that there wasn’t anything he could do but give his dad time and not give up on him. She said it was okay to be mad at him, but that just because he was mad didn’t mean he couldn’t still love his dad and forgive him.
So Stiles hugged his dad and told him he loved him, forgave him when he said he was sorry, and cried and clung to him. Aunt Tess made them dinner and presented Stiles with the cake she’d made and a big afghan that she’d crocheted herself from yarn that Stiles had helped her spin and dye. His dad stayed for a week and they packed up all of the things Stiles had accumulated during the past three years.
It was harder to leave Aunt Tess than Stiles had imagined. He kind of wanted to stay, but he wanted to go home more. Aunt Tess hugged him and kissed his forehead as he got ready to get into the SUV his dad rented, made him promise that he’d come back and visit her during the summer, told him that he was always welcome and that he’d always have a home with her. He hugged her back and didn’t wipe off her kiss, promised he’d write and call and visit when he could. He hung out the window and waved goodbye to her as his dad drove down the lane, watched her disappear behind a hill before sliding back into his seat and buckling his belt, turning to look at his dad who was already looking at him.
Stiles smiled and his dad smiled back.
He might have lost both parents when he was eight, but his dad had returned and they were both going home.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 458 - twister
Warnings: Pre-series AU.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1930
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is eight years old when he loses both of his parents.
A/N: For now, this is just a one-shot. I like this 'verse and kind of maybe have some ideas of how to expand it. But not right now because another WIP is the last thing I need.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
Stiles Stilinski is eight years old when he loses both of his parents. His mother had been sick for months, her illness slowly stealing pieces of her until she was so depressed and withdrawn that she barely got out of bed and could barely string together the most basic sentence. Stiles had sat beside her hospital bed every day after school until the day she died. She was buried on a warm, overcast Sunday afternoon at the end of May. That night, when he and his father went home, he lost his father to the bottle.
By then, Stiles was well-versed in taking care of someone else - his mother had been confined to their home long before she’d been hospitalized - so he did the best his eight-year-old self could manage and made meager dinners, did the dishes, cleaned up after his father and himself, figured out how to do the laundry. But it didn’t take long for his father’s coworkers on the police force to take notice of his condition. They’d given him a grace period to deal with his grief, but when he couldn’t find his way back from the bottom of a whiskey bottle, they stepped in.
In the end, Stiles was placed temporarily with a foster family by CPS until they could contact one of his relatives that could take him in. His babcia was away in Poland taking care of her brother, but tried to make it home to take custody of him while her son got himself help. CPS reached out to his mother’s family and found a great aunt that he’d never met that was willing to look after him. So Stiles’ caseworker packed up a bag for him and shipped him off to Illinois.
Stiles’ great aunt Tess was in her early sixties, a tiny woman with graying hair and tanned, wrinkled skin. She met him in the airport terminal with a hug, kneeling down in front of him to hold his face in her hands, smiling at him with his mother’s smile while telling him how he was her niece’s spitting image. She kissed his forehead and took his hand, led him to collect his only bag then outside to an old red pickup truck.
Aunt Tess lived out in the middle of nowhere on a farm where she raised a bunch of animals and grew a bunch of plants. Her little house was gray with white shutters, two stories full of old, worn things and knick-knacks and scuffed wood floors and fraying crocheted afghans that smelled like maple syrup. Stiles’ room was painted a dusty blue a few shades lighter than the comforter on the bed and the curtains on the windows. She left him there with his bag, told him to take some time to settle in, put his things away, get used to the space, and that the bathroom was right across the hall. She told him to come down when he was ready - she’d be in the kitchen working on a late lunch - and that they could make a list of other things that he needed and would make a trip into town.
Stiles dumped the contents of his bag out on his bed and put all of his clothes away into one of the drawers of the dresser against the wall across from his bed. The two books he’d brought he set on the small desk and the picture of his family he put on the nightstand, propped up against the lamp. He went to his window and looked out over the yard and beyond to where there was a wooden fence penning in sheep or goats or something. After looking around his small, bare room, he crossed the hall to go to the bathroom and wash his hands before going to find his great aunt.
Aunt Tess was in the kitchen making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?” she asked.
Stiles shook his head and sat at the table where she set his plate.
“Do you want it cut a particular way?”
Stiles shook his head again even though he liked when his mother had cut his sandwiches in little triangles.
Aunt Tess nodded and got glasses down out of the cupboard. “Do you like milk?” At Stiles’ nod she continued, “Will you drink it plain?”
Stiles nodded again and took a big bite from his sandwich, jelly squishing out the side and in between his fingers. Aunt Tess just smiled at him and set a paper towel down next to his plate.
“Can you think of anything you need?” Aunt Tess asked when they’d both finished their sandwiches and milk. “Toothbrush, shampoo, snacks, books, socks? Anything?” She sat down next to him with a notepad and a pen.
“Miss Sanders didn’t let me bring a lot of stuff, only a couple pairs of jeans and… four shirts… five pairs of socks and,” quieter, “underwear. And my red sweatshirt and my pajamas.”
“Not a whole lot, then.” She scrawled some things down on the notepad then tore off the sheet, folding it in half and sticking it in the pocket on the chest of her purple-checked flannel. “Let’s you and me make a trip into town, then I can show you the farm when we get back. If you want, you can try calling your daddy while I start on dinner.”
Stiles nodded, excited and nervous at the prospect of finally talking to his dad - Mrs. Walker, the foster mother he’d stayed with, didn’t let him call home or Scott.
They went to Target and Aunt Tess let him pick out his own toothbrush and toothpaste and shampoo and body wash. Then she let him pick out clothes and some books and a new pair of sneakers. She got groceries and asked for his input on things that he did or didn’t like, made him choose between peanut butter cups and soda, let him have juice instead.
When they got back to her house, he helped her put away the groceries and took all the tags off his new clothes so they could be washed. After that, she led him outside to show him all of her animals: the sheep and the alpacas that she raised and sheared to make yarn that she sold at the farmer’s market, the chickens in the small coop next to the barn that supplied her with fresh eggs every day, goats that she milked, and a bunch of cats. Behind the barn was a greenhouse where she grew a bunch of flowers and herbs, and an acre or so of various small trees and bushes. She explained to Stiles that he would have chores and would be expected to help out around the farm. It sounded like a lot of work, but Stiles had learned that his ADHD didn’t seem as bad when he had a lot of things to keep him busy.
So Stiles learned how to feed the animals and clean their pens and gather eggs without getting his hands pecked and milk the goats without getting kicked or head butted. He learned how to water and prune the plants, helped Aunt Tess start a vegetable garden in a corner of the greenhouse. He woke up and did chores, cleaned up, ate breakfast, went to school, did more chores, then cleaned up again, did his homework, ate dinner, tried calling his dad, and went to bed. He did the same thing every day, sometimes finding time to write letters home to his dad or Scott, or reading books on the weekends.
Six months passed and Aunt Tess tried to contact his dad to see about the holidays - if he could come out to them or if he wanted to have Stiles fly home - but his dad wasn’t better yet. They celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas just the two of them, endured a blizzard and an ice storm, then returned to the same routine.
Spring came and Stiles called home less frequently, only wrote Scott once a month instead of every week. Summer brought thunderstorms and Stiles’ first tornado. Fall crept up on them, then winter, and the holidays were spent with just the two of them again. Stiles got a package from Scott and his mother, a tin of homemade cookies with a Gryffindor scarf and a card signed by both McCalls and his dad.
The seasons passed again, and just after Stiles’ third Christmas with Aunt Tess, she got a phone call. There was a lot of hushed conversation, Tess sending him out to check on the animals while she kept an eye on him from the kitchen window, phone at her ear. Four days later Mr. Robertson showed up at their door with another man - Alan - and a girl about Stiles’ age. Alan introduced her as Cora, and Stiles thought she looked familiar. They were left in the living room while the grown ups went to talk in the kitchen and Cora sat squeezed into one corner of the couch, looking like she was going to cry, and not saying a word. Aunt Tess didn’t have cable so they couldn’t watch TV except for the news or other boring shows. Stiles offered Cora a book - she took it, but didn’t open it.
Alan left after talking to Cora, and Cora left a week later.
The following spring, Stiles left too. His dad showed up on his birthday looking better than Stiles remembered him. He started crying as soon as he saw Stiles and gathered him up in a rib-crushing hug. Stiles was happy to see him, and shocked and angry. He felt a lot of things, but Aunt Tess had made sure he knew why his dad was the way he was, made sure he understood that it wasn’t Stiles’ fault and that there wasn’t anything he could do but give his dad time and not give up on him. She said it was okay to be mad at him, but that just because he was mad didn’t mean he couldn’t still love his dad and forgive him.
So Stiles hugged his dad and told him he loved him, forgave him when he said he was sorry, and cried and clung to him. Aunt Tess made them dinner and presented Stiles with the cake she’d made and a big afghan that she’d crocheted herself from yarn that Stiles had helped her spin and dye. His dad stayed for a week and they packed up all of the things Stiles had accumulated during the past three years.
It was harder to leave Aunt Tess than Stiles had imagined. He kind of wanted to stay, but he wanted to go home more. Aunt Tess hugged him and kissed his forehead as he got ready to get into the SUV his dad rented, made him promise that he’d come back and visit her during the summer, told him that he was always welcome and that he’d always have a home with her. He hugged her back and didn’t wipe off her kiss, promised he’d write and call and visit when he could. He hung out the window and waved goodbye to her as his dad drove down the lane, watched her disappear behind a hill before sliding back into his seat and buckling his belt, turning to look at his dad who was already looking at him.
Stiles smiled and his dad smiled back.
He might have lost both parents when he was eight, but his dad had returned and they were both going home.
