“December 24, 1989, 9:00 PM Eastern Standard Time
From here on in, I shoot without a script. See if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit.”
Stiles sat alone on his couch in his Mark Cohen sweater, watching Rent on DVD instead of his father getting ready to leave for his double shift, the one he most definitely didn’t have to take. His father was distancing himself again. Stiles hated it.
Rent was a family tradition for them. His mother loved theatre, and though Stiles was too young to see the original production, the movie came out just in time for the two of them and the Sheriff to watch it together. The hospital let her out for the night to go to the movies, and fortunately, she was lucid enough to tell Stiles on the way back how the movie differed from the stage production, and how she liked how Adam Pascal’s hair was in the movie, to which his father rolled his eyes affectionately.
A few years later, the Sheriff took a vacation and brought them to New York City, where he surprised his then 10 year old son with tickets to the show on Broadway. At the time, Anthony Rapp was reprising his role as Mark, and Stiles was absolutely awestruck, and kind of in love, though he didn’t tell the Sheriff that.
That next Christmas, his father got him a copy of the movie on DVD, and they’ve been watching it together every Christmas Eve since. Tonight, Stiles was watching it alone.
Ordinarily, his father would get off for Christmas Eve and then work Christmas. Then, he and Scott would get together and do their thing, which was usually just playing board games in the McCall living room while waiting for Melissa to get home. But when Stiles called Scott earlier and asked what time he should be over, Scott just paused for a few moments, and then awkwardly said he has plans.
Stiles didn’t need super-wolfy senses to tell that Scott was lying. They still weren’t past the whole Stiles-killed-Donovan thing, even though Stiles tried more than once to tell him the truth. Scott wasn’t listening anymore. They weren’t friends anymore, and Scott was just a good enough guy to try to let him down gently.
Whatever. That phone call was Stiles’ last attempt to reach out to his now former-best friend. He tried so hard, but he wasn’t going to harass the guy. He always knew Scott was too good for him, and that eventually he’d realize this and leave. He just figured it wouldn’t be so soon.
He always wanted friends like his on-screen/onstage idols, and as much as he tried, he never really had that. He thought maybe if he called up some of the others, someone would be free, but it seems that they were all going to Scott’s. And so, if he could stretch the metaphor any farther, he’d say he’s now the Benny of their group- around when needed for something, but really not one of them.
And thus, he had nowhere to go for tomorrow. Christmas. Alone.
The door clicked shut as Mark shows Roger the eviction notice, and the phone rings. Neither of the Stilinski men said anything to each other before the Sheriff left.
All there was left was the defiant rock and roll blasting from the TV.
The next morning, Stiles woke before the sun. It was a leftover habit from the days when he would wake extra early to go shake the presents under the tree before his mom got up to make breakfast. Once she was up, he wouldn’t be allowed to touch them until his dad got up. Stiles would open them all as the (then) deputy ate his breakfast before going into work.
There was no point now. There was no tree. There hadn’t been in years. And the Sheriff had already gotten him a Christmas present a week earlier- a beat up, old Jeep Cherokee to replace his mother’s hand me down Jeep CJ5. Well, 98 was still a lot newer than his old 76, but it was still old, and the interior was kinda rough, and the outside was green rather than blue. But, it would get him from point A to B, so that was something.
Stiles had got his dad a new watch. His needed replacing.
For them, apart from their annual Rent viewing, the holidays usually passed without much fanfare, but today, he had no clue what to do with himself. All he knew was he didn’t want to be alone.
So, his father would be on patrol all day, and therefore it would be pointless to go hang around in the police station. His friends were at Scott’s, and Scott disinvited him, so that was a bust. Melissa was sure to be busy in the ER, so also not a good idea to head there. Derek and Argent were still in South America, so they’re a no go, either. Maybe Deaton? No, Deaton mentioned last time Stiles was at his office that he and his sister were leaving town for the holidays for some special Druid ritual thing. Who the hell else was in town right now?
No. Nope. Not going there. Not if he was the last person who might just let him in.
Maybe he could go to Eichen House and go see Peter instead?
No, that was also a bad idea. Creeper-Wolf would probably eat him (or worse, smell him) if there wasn’t a sheet of plexiglass between them for Stiles’ protection. It was sometimes hard to tell with He-wolf-who-shall-not-be-named-again what he’d do if he was near the teen. Everything about him was unpredictable and wrong. Stiles couldn’t even believe that he thought seeing… him would be an idea worth considering.
So, no one. But surely there must be something to do today?
He grumbled to himself as he got out of bed and went down to make his own breakfast. French toast was the norm, even if he couldn’t make it as well as his mom used to. Coffee and bacon were quick to follow, because fuck it. Stiles was going to have a good day, no matter how lonely he felt. He didn’t need anyone to be there with him to be merry.
The only thing he needed to decide was what to marathon: Star Wars, or Harry Potter.
“Star Wars it is.”
December 25, 9PM Pacific Time
Cut to Stiles, sleeping on the couch with Star Wars playing in the distance. Enter Sheriff, who covers him up with the blanket from the back of the sofa.
“Merry Christmas, kiddo.”