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It took Stiles a year to realize that he was in multiple abusive relationships.
More specifically, it took him ten months and struggling to breathe after Erica got tired of his presence to realize that this was the type of shit his dad arrested people over.
Stiles hobbled out of the loft door, not being able to fully breathe and knowing that each step he took made him ooze pain, but none of the wolves did a thing to help. Instead, they laughed and jeered at his pain, and Stiles slowly felt his pain float into rage territory as he listened to their comments.
“Hey guys,” Jackson interrupted their laughter, “doesn’t he sound like how Scott used to?” Apparently, this was the epitome of humor to all the teens present since they all started making noises akin to those of a cackle of hyenas rather than that of a pack of wolves.
Stiles grit his teeth and shuffled towards the steps, not even bothering to glance in the direction of the elevator since Derek refused to cough up the key for anyone, and Peter wasn't there to pester into handing it over. Instead, he glanced over the railing and resisted the urge to throw a bitch fit and steeled himself to shuffle down six flights of stairs.
After getting down the first flight, he was tempted to throw himself down the rest just so he could experience the pain all at once instead of the slow build he was currently enduring, but he knew the momentum wouldn't be enough to get him down all of the remaining steps.
Making it down one more flight, his phone started vibrating so he leaned against the railing and fished it out. The caller ID displayed Isaac’s name, and Stiles let his shoulders drop a bit from the tense position they held from the pain of moving. Isaac was a douche sometimes, but Stiles knew that he still had nightmares about the things he went through with his dad and had been present a few times when he was complaining to Melissa and Scott about how it sucked that so many people knew what he was going through and just watched. As he answered the phone, Stiles knew that Isaac was probably already making his way out of the loft to come help him.
Maybe Stiles was overreacting and Erica just didn’t know her strength and the pack forgot that Stiles was 100% human.
Putting the phone on speaker since lifting it to his ear caused everything to hurt just a bit more, Stiles let his lips curve instead a slight smile of relief that didn't stay on his face for too long.
“—long do you think it’ll take for him to call and beg one of us for help?”
Stiles’s face completely fell.
“I’m not taking that bet. He’s more likely to faint on the steps and one of us will have to take his annoying ass to the hospital.”
“I call not it!”
“Well, I’m definitely not taking him. It’s bad enough I hang out with him here; if people see us together with me taking him to the hospital, rumors will spread again, and it's always so much work to start a new one.”
Stiles finally hung up the phone. Is that what they all really thought of him? That he was some weak and pathetic person all because he wasn’t a fucking wolf and that he was such a burden to deal with?
It was a shock that no one bothered to defend him but instead chose to keep piling on, especially when they had two non-wolves there who were both much more reliant on others. Like Lydia hadn't been in the hospital for longer than Stiles’s mom had been before she died. As though Allison was all there mentally and was good for anything besidesusing a fucking bow and turning into a racist psycho at the drop of a hat.
Stiles shook his head, then centered himself before continuing his trek down to Roscoe. He would not allow any of those asshats any more of his time. Every single person in that room was dead to him, and he resolved to block them and line his house with mountain ash just as soon as he could move without flinching in pain.
Finally reaching the final landing, Stiles was completely resolute in his decision. He would ask his dad to have a “long visit” to Kraków to see the Gajoš side of the family. That would be infinitely better than trying to start over at a school where everyone has known him and disliked him since pre-k.
Stiles reached his Jeep and let out a few tears as he wrenched the door open and hoisted himself into the vehicle. When he was finally relatively settled in the seat, he went to lean forward and rest his head on the steering wheel so he’d have a chance to catch his breath, but the pain caused him to rocket upright. He leaned back in his seat and looked up at the roof of his Jeep.
This shit fucking sucked.