come in and make yourself a home
Nov. 13th, 2014 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phnx posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
suicaFandom: Teen Wolf
Character/Pairing: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Sterek preslash?
Rating: G
Prompt: Write a short fanfic based around the Round Robin written during Meeting 004.
It was a sketch from an old Hunter’s journal, and like everything from those sources, it was probably only half true at best, but it shook Stiles deeply. He couldn’t read the surrounding text--he’d been planning to take it to Lydia to have it translated later--but he could guess at what it said.
An Alpha without a den, a pack helpless and vulnerable--a perfect target.
Stiles traced a finger along the twisted agony of the Alpha’s face and firmly resolved against drawing any parallels whatsoever.
--
The meeting was a disaster that no amount of cookies could assuage.
The arguing was constant, the threats of violence were frequent, and in the end, the only thing anyone could agree on was that the house should, at some point and in some way, be rebuilt. And considering the amount of delicate negotiation and careful phrasing that Stiles had prepared for every proposal he’d delivered to every member of the pack individually, if they hadn’t all agreed on that at least, Stiles would have despaired of anything.
Still, for all that, a demolition date had been set, and the beginning of construction would be following fast on its heels, which Stiles had every intention of being ready for.
“...Stiles?”
Stiles startled, upsetting the delicate balance of his planning station--i.e. bed--and sending half the papers tumbling to the floor. “...Hey, Dad! I, uh, didn’t realise you were home.”
“I just got in.” The Sheriff was glancing around Stiles’ room, clearly attempting to withhold himself from drawing any hasty conclusions, and just as clearly failing. “So… Anything I should know about?”
Stiles looked down at the floor plans providing a secondary carpet to his bedroom, the colour swatches lining his floorboards, the paneling samples, the wood samples, the heavily bookmarked home improvement magazines, all littering his room. “Oh, you know. Just… pack stuff.”
The Sheriff stared at him. “I see.” He stepped tentatively into the room to flip through one of the magazines. His eyebrows went up.
Stiles flushed. “We’re rebuilding the Hale House.”
The Sheriff froze and asked very carefully, “Who exactly comprises the ‘we’ in that sentence?”
“Uh… the pack? Well, I guess technically building contractors,”--the Sheriff’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh of relief, which, rude--”but we’re the ones who’re decided to have the house rebuilt?”
“Okay,” said the Sheriff slowly. “And these are your plans?”
“I guess? We’re still working out everything, I mean, the demolition day isn’t until the 23rd, I just… I want to have everything ready, you know? I want this to go smoothly, I want--”
“You want it to be perfect.”
“I--yeah. I want it to be perfect. Which is stupid, I know, I just. That’s what I want.”
The Sheriff reached over to wrap Stiles in a one-armed hug, ruffling Stiles’ hair as he went about it. “Stiles, it seems to me that you’re going about this in the wrong way.”
Stiles nodded shortly, staring at the ground.
“You’re trying to build the perfect house, right? That’s what all of this,” he waved a hand around the impossibly cluttered room, “is for.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t need a perfect house, son.”
“I know.”
“Neither does your pack.”
Stiles said nothing, gazed fixed on his feet.
“You think they do, but they don’t. They don’t need a perfect house; they don’t need any kind of house.”
Here Stiles finally looked up. “We do. You have no idea, Dad, we need--”
“I know what you need, and it’s not a house. It’s a home, Stiles.”
Stiles stopped breathing for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“And while having a perfect house might be a nice part of having a home, it’s not the necessary part. All of your plans and colour swatches are irrelevant without the people you’re planning to share them with.”
“Derek--” Stiles began uncertainly.
“Derek has his family, Stiles. He has you, he has Scott, he has all of them. You kids may not be the same family he grew up with, but you’re still his family. He can still have a home.”
Stiles closed his eyes. “So, what should I do? Just… do nothing? Everything’s fine as it is?”
“I didn’t say that. I think a house is a great idea. I just don’t think that sitting here agonising over all these plans is necessary, when there are so many people out there whose advice you should be taking.
Stiles said nothing, just scowled off into space. The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder and stood up to leave.
“They’ll just argue about it.”
The Sheriff turned back to look at his son. “And? What’s wrong with that?” He closed the door behind him.
Stiles sat alone in his room for a long while, eyes open and staring at nothing.
--
The next meeting was yet another disaster, complete with shouting and overturned tables, torn floor maps and viciously idle allegations of colour-blindness. Stiles leaned back against the charred wall and glanced over at Derek.
Their Alpha was standing near the doorway scowling at his Betas and occasionally rolling his eyes, but his shoulders were relaxed, and there were times when his glare would slip and the corners of his lips would begin to curl up before he’d catch himself and reset his sourwolf impression.
Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Derek looked like he was home.
END
Character/Pairing: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Sterek preslash?
Rating: G
Prompt: Write a short fanfic based around the Round Robin written during Meeting 004.
It was a sketch from an old Hunter’s journal, and like everything from those sources, it was probably only half true at best, but it shook Stiles deeply. He couldn’t read the surrounding text--he’d been planning to take it to Lydia to have it translated later--but he could guess at what it said.
An Alpha without a den, a pack helpless and vulnerable--a perfect target.
Stiles traced a finger along the twisted agony of the Alpha’s face and firmly resolved against drawing any parallels whatsoever.
--
The meeting was a disaster that no amount of cookies could assuage.
The arguing was constant, the threats of violence were frequent, and in the end, the only thing anyone could agree on was that the house should, at some point and in some way, be rebuilt. And considering the amount of delicate negotiation and careful phrasing that Stiles had prepared for every proposal he’d delivered to every member of the pack individually, if they hadn’t all agreed on that at least, Stiles would have despaired of anything.
Still, for all that, a demolition date had been set, and the beginning of construction would be following fast on its heels, which Stiles had every intention of being ready for.
“...Stiles?”
Stiles startled, upsetting the delicate balance of his planning station--i.e. bed--and sending half the papers tumbling to the floor. “...Hey, Dad! I, uh, didn’t realise you were home.”
“I just got in.” The Sheriff was glancing around Stiles’ room, clearly attempting to withhold himself from drawing any hasty conclusions, and just as clearly failing. “So… Anything I should know about?”
Stiles looked down at the floor plans providing a secondary carpet to his bedroom, the colour swatches lining his floorboards, the paneling samples, the wood samples, the heavily bookmarked home improvement magazines, all littering his room. “Oh, you know. Just… pack stuff.”
The Sheriff stared at him. “I see.” He stepped tentatively into the room to flip through one of the magazines. His eyebrows went up.
Stiles flushed. “We’re rebuilding the Hale House.”
The Sheriff froze and asked very carefully, “Who exactly comprises the ‘we’ in that sentence?”
“Uh… the pack? Well, I guess technically building contractors,”--the Sheriff’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh of relief, which, rude--”but we’re the ones who’re decided to have the house rebuilt?”
“Okay,” said the Sheriff slowly. “And these are your plans?”
“I guess? We’re still working out everything, I mean, the demolition day isn’t until the 23rd, I just… I want to have everything ready, you know? I want this to go smoothly, I want--”
“You want it to be perfect.”
“I--yeah. I want it to be perfect. Which is stupid, I know, I just. That’s what I want.”
The Sheriff reached over to wrap Stiles in a one-armed hug, ruffling Stiles’ hair as he went about it. “Stiles, it seems to me that you’re going about this in the wrong way.”
Stiles nodded shortly, staring at the ground.
“You’re trying to build the perfect house, right? That’s what all of this,” he waved a hand around the impossibly cluttered room, “is for.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t need a perfect house, son.”
“I know.”
“Neither does your pack.”
Stiles said nothing, gazed fixed on his feet.
“You think they do, but they don’t. They don’t need a perfect house; they don’t need any kind of house.”
Here Stiles finally looked up. “We do. You have no idea, Dad, we need--”
“I know what you need, and it’s not a house. It’s a home, Stiles.”
Stiles stopped breathing for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“And while having a perfect house might be a nice part of having a home, it’s not the necessary part. All of your plans and colour swatches are irrelevant without the people you’re planning to share them with.”
“Derek--” Stiles began uncertainly.
“Derek has his family, Stiles. He has you, he has Scott, he has all of them. You kids may not be the same family he grew up with, but you’re still his family. He can still have a home.”
Stiles closed his eyes. “So, what should I do? Just… do nothing? Everything’s fine as it is?”
“I didn’t say that. I think a house is a great idea. I just don’t think that sitting here agonising over all these plans is necessary, when there are so many people out there whose advice you should be taking.
Stiles said nothing, just scowled off into space. The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder and stood up to leave.
“They’ll just argue about it.”
The Sheriff turned back to look at his son. “And? What’s wrong with that?” He closed the door behind him.
Stiles sat alone in his room for a long while, eyes open and staring at nothing.
--
The next meeting was yet another disaster, complete with shouting and overturned tables, torn floor maps and viciously idle allegations of colour-blindness. Stiles leaned back against the charred wall and glanced over at Derek.
Their Alpha was standing near the doorway scowling at his Betas and occasionally rolling his eyes, but his shoulders were relaxed, and there were times when his glare would slip and the corners of his lips would begin to curl up before he’d catch himself and reset his sourwolf impression.
Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Derek looked like he was home.
END
