tampered | (no subject)

Scott tries to convince her to hold off. He can't up and move out overnight without a word. He's trying to do something right with Derek. He's trying to keep the peace. He appreciates what Derek has done for Stiles and abandoning him all of a sudden seems like it will do more harm than good. It also seems mean.

Luckily, his mother agrees to stay at Derek's until they find a place. Until they find and furnish a place. With the place found (four bedroom, two bath) the next step includes finding furniture.

They haven't done this since moving to Beacon Hills. It reminds Scott of starting over. Again, with his mom which he wasn't expecting. But, he's not complaining. He just has a lot on his mind. He thought he'd be in Beacon Hills till at least past college. Not that he'd had time to think about college since the summer. Everything had ramped up. Taking all that time to better himself and to better his life seems to have gotten him nowhere.

People are dead. Virgins. Soldiers. Healers. Not Deaton. His best friend is different. He's dealt with stuff Scott never realized had affected him like that. Thanks to a curse, he now knows exactly how bad it got for Stiles.

Scott is going to help with the money if need be. He gets an allowance and he thinks Penny might be able to help. She's a friend now. Scott is going to help in any way he can. It's a lamp that reminds him of the one on his mother's dresser that causes him to space out. Then he's asked a question. He looks down at the couch, now. Right, this is a joint effort.

"It's bright." Not too bright and it might be the lighting but it seems, what's the word Lydia used - loud. It seems loud. "What about that one?" This one's black. He doesn't know what they should be looking for color-wise. What goes with what. He sits on one cushion and bounces once. It's not too comfortable.

He's so distracted, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She can see it in every look in his eyes, the way he's living all up in his head. He's growing up way too fast, and it breaks her heart. And then there's Stiles, who's off dealing with his own issues right now, and that's worrying. She is considering herself standing in loco parentis for him since the Sheriff wasn't around. He would do the same for Scott in a heartbeat, and she wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes if she just...let that boy run off on his own.

And then there's Derek. She needs to have a looooooong chat with Derek.

"I'm not a big fan of black furniture," she says, but at least joins him on the cushions. Nope. Too hard.

"It always seems so...I don't know. Yuppie?"

She pats his forearm and stands up, on her way to the next sofa. Wondering how she can start to bring him more out of himself. She has a fine line to walk with her teenage boy, after all; if he starts to get defensive, he could shut her out entirely, and that would be a disaster.

"Yuppie like the fish," he asks, putting a hand on the cushion on his other side. He's up and following behind, trying to see if any couches speak to him - or what that would even mean. How does stuff speak to designers. How does a person just know something is right for their apartment or how one pillow will look perfect on a sofa or a bed. And don't get him started on bed pillows. Extremely pointless.

"How about that one," he says as he steps beside her, pointing out a longer red one with another perpendicular piece. (Hint: Lydia would not improve.) But, he likes it. It's ... red.

"...You're thinking of a guppy."

She has to resist the urge to reach up and ruffle his hair, because whenever he did that, she found it absolutely endearing. But he'd be embarrassed by that, so she keeps her hands to herself.

"Yuppies are not fish, they're just rich and snooty."

Oh. Oh wow. That is indeed a very red couch. Maybe she could soften it with a throw blanket or seven? She does her best not to wince too noticeably at his choice. And he thought the blue one was bright? Oy.

"That's...definitely red," she says, trying to keep from crushing his red-sofa dreams.

"Oh," he replies, not really getting two of those things are completely separate ideas. But, he'll file that away, while also making a mental note to research the difference. That probably means guppies aren't blue. And then his mother clears his confusion up. This is one of the many reasons he loves you!

This is Scott McCall and despite his mother attempting to not wince, he can still smell her horror. She does not like the red. So, he keeps walking. He sits on a grey one, before laying back against it and then rolling his back, keeping his shoes off the furniture.

"This one's pretty stiff," he gets up from that couch, looking to their left. "Which one do you like?" Maybe he should defer to her since he's not really an expert.

One of these days, he's going to have to tell her that he can smell her emotional changes. She'd probably be horrified, but then after that maybe some honesty could happen.

"I like this green one..."

She leads him over to a three-piece sectional, a nice soft sage green, with big squashy cushions. She flops down on it and is instantly hooked. She needs something with a lot of give to it, something very comfortable after her long shifts.

It's really weird to tell someone that. It's like you're inside their head. You think he likes when he can tell when Stiles likes a girl? Or, Isaac? Isaac has a wandering eye. Besides that, he's like, on the cusp of always been angry. So, that's fun. Point being, maybe it's a little better he keeps that under wraps for now.

"I like the color."

It isn't too bright. Or, black. It's cool.

Keeping up with her, her eyes fall on the three-piece sectional. He drops down next to her and slides back, sitting against the cushions. He sighs, closing his eyes. Yeah. He likes this one definitely. Opening them again, he smiles at her.

"It's nice. Soft." But, not too soft. He's not sinking into it. But, it still moves with his weight. His thoughts move from the soft couch to them having to get a soft green couch. He keeps the smiles but the glint in his eyes lessens. It's great to have his mother here, don't get him wrong. But, she's stuck, now. Is it his fault? He had thought about her a lot in the last two weeks. It's his mother.

"I'm sorry," he finally lets out, his mouth curling down apologetically.

She sees his mood flag, like a sad little deflating balloon, and it feels like he's squeezing at her heart. He's always been able to do this to her, from the day he was born. Every little triumph, every single pain, it just went right through her. She could see him, at six years old, staring up at her with a scraped knee, big tears shining in his eyes. He has that same expression still, and she misses being able to kiss the boo boos away.

"Oh, honey, no" she murmurs, reaching over to take his hand. "Don't be. This isn't your fault. There's no way this is your fault. I'm glad I'm here. I'd rather be here with you than not."

"So would I," he assures her, his eyes not letting up. "But, you're stuck here. And I can't do anything about it. I can't get you out. Or, Stiles out. I can't get his dad here," he adds, his lips meeting in a thin line. He lets out a quiet, tense breath. "The morning before you arrived, Stiles' - I don't know, maybe it was a memory - it was shown to everyone. On our devices."

"Scott. You don't have to get us out."

She's keeping her tone level, and reasonable. Her son, her good son, trying so hard to save the world and keep his loved ones safe. She's always done her best to instill that in him, to be present. That's the one lesson she'd always hoped he'd take from his father leaving. But he's turning it into something else, and she has to nip it in the bud.

"Nobody can do everything. It's physically impossible. You don't have to do everything, you don't have to solve every problem. You don't have to figure this particular problem out. Okay, we're not in Beacon Hills. But we're together. And we'll live our lives until we figure out how to get back home. Believe me, I've been stuck before, and I survived. We survived. That's life. We'll start your clinic, and I'll get a job at the hospital. We'll do what we can. And we'll be okay."

She takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

"As for Stiles, well, how bad was this memory being broadcast? Can I see it now? Or is it too late?"

He wants to protest, to prove her wrong - or, say that yeah, he does. All he's done for the past few weeks back home is try. They got Boyd and Cora. That was a win. They got Aiden suspended. That was a more abstract, win the battle but not the war idea. But, then Derek confronted the alpha pack. And Scott couldn't take it. And then the motel. They won again, but at what price? Danny almost died because the darach is ten steps ahead of everyone. As did Deaton, his mentor. As impossible as it is to save everyone and do everything, Scott still tries. He feels he owes it to his friends, his family. Why else would he be like this?

He locks eyes with his mom before nodding, agreeing with her. He can't worry about back home - even though he does, every second. Something is going on with Lydia. He'd almost died himself. He didn't exactly share that information with his mother. But, even if anonymous and Tristero are lying, that means there won't be a way home any time, soon.

A way home unless whatever sends them back, does send Scott. But, he can't let that happen. He can't get here and then abandon everyone. He won't let the City take him. He will stay by sheer force of will.

He lets go of his mother's hand, reaching into his pocket for his device. He has to scroll. Everything can be accessed. Everything is public. He cues up the video. Standing, he takes a few steps away while she watches it in full. He knows he shouldn't feel guilty. He knows everything happening with Jackson and the Matt thing, even Stiles getting kidnapped isn't his fault because Gerard did that - but the rational side of him takes a vacation when guilt comes into play.

And then, she presses play and Stiles is drowning all over again. He's talking to Ms. Morrell. It has to be after Matt was drowned. Connecting the dots, it had to be Gerard considering he controlled Jackson at the end of the school year. Panic attack. He closes his eyes, looking away. What if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and then it's just hell later on.

He opens his eyes.

For the first time, he's seeing something clearly. Survival. It's what they do. It's what they're trying to do, every day. Ms. Morrell gets that. She also sounds oddly stoic for a guidance counselor dealing with an overwhelmed student. There's something up with her. Allison said she was at the bank. She sounds like she knows what she's talking about. So, he's turning back.

Sorry to interrupt your heart breaking, mom.

"How much does someone need to study to become a guidance counselor?"

Yeah, her heart is definitely breaking. Stiles is very much like her own son, in so many respects. She's always wanted to tell him that, but was afraid he'd react badly, in light of his mother's passing. She didn't want to disrespect his actual mother by offering to step in.

But Scott's words pull her back to the now, scattering her thoughts of going to find Stiles.

"Uh. Depends? I think you need at least a teaching degree. Why? Is there something wrong with Ms. Morrell?"

Of course there was. There was something wrong with every teacher in that school, it seemed like.

"Nothing's wrong with her," he says, figuring something out in his brain. He's looking past her now, mouth forming an O shape as he tries to follow his train of thought. "But, she was at the bank. When we tracked down Boyd and Cora. Allison saw her. And she's my boss' sister."

And Deaton is a part of everything, somehow. He's helped him out, time and again.

"She was at the clinic when Stiles and I got there." He would apologize for skipping school but, he thinks she knows how important things can be. "He called me in class and told me he'd be taken." She doesn't know that. Just that he was missing.

"Oh. Oh!"

That she didn't know, and she's a little surprised to find out just how reliant Deaton is on Scott. And vice-versa. Memo to self, have a chat with Alan. As...soon as they can get back home.

"So, you think she knows what's going on? With everything back home?"

He squares his jaw and finally makes eye contact again.

"She has to, right? She pointed us in the direction of Lydia." To find him, he means. But, that really just led to Danny and his report on currents. "She knows more then she's letting on."

It's only frustrating because he's not there to confront her or ask her questions. If she's Deaton's sister then she must be on their side, right? Only Scott can start out feeling guilty about Stiles and end up in Albuquerque with Ms. Morrell and her secrets.

"What she said to Stiles. How she said it. It sounded..."

"...Almost like she was trying to warn him."

She's following his train of thought now. So much of his new life has left her in the dark, but damn it, she's going to keep up with him if it kills her. There is nothing, nothing she won't do for him.

"But...again. This is all happening there. And we're here. Time is frozen back there, right? So it'll have to wait, Scott."

"Yeah," he finally says, realizing this revelation is two weeks and four days too late. Unless she somehow joins them all and can answer questions, he's hit a deadend there. He should make a list of all his hunches, though. He'll do that when he gets back. He's decided!

Except, he probably won't remember making this connection.

He shakes the thought out of his head, realizing it's too little too late.

"I like the couch. The green one." And he does.

"Then we'll get it."

She stands up off said couch, and pulls out her measuring tape. This is how she is, practical and down to earth. Right now, they're here, and stuck. So she'll make it as comfortable as possible for both of them. All of them, if she has her way.

"I know everything feels like it's the end of the world. I was a teenager once, too. Amazing as that might be to think about. I'm just saying that you shouldn't feel guilty about things out of your control."

Scott takes the other end of the measuring tape, holding it in place. He leans his head forward, slightly, before keeping his voice lowered.

"I know I can't control how Stiles' feels." He can just sense it. "But, I didn't know. How bad everything got for him. How scared he was." He should've. Besides his super nose, he'd been so preoccupied with Gerard threatening his mother and trying to save someone. He missed his best friend's cries for help.

Which, fell on Ms. Morrell's ears.

"Well, you can be there for him now," she points out, scribbling down the dimensions of the sofa in her notebook.

"Scott. People make mistakes. Every day. There is absolutely nothing wrong with making mistakes, and it doesn't mean you're a moral failure for it. Did Stiles reach out to you first and you ignored him? If that's the case, then yeah, you should apologize. But if he bottled it all up and didn't tell you, you can't blame yourself. Just like, oh I don't know, you bottling things up, and not telling me?"

She glances up at him with eyebrows raised, pointing out just how ridiculous his guilt can be.

Okay, that is ... fair - but not fair at the same time. Stiles did not let him know. That's true. But, he can sense these things, literally smell them. And then he got kidnapped! And beaten up. He takes a few steps, closing the tape measure.

"I thought I was keeping you safe." And, how wrong had he been with that? And there back to Sheriff Stilinski. Or, Scott is, in his head. They do need to tell him. They have no choice, do they? But, they can't because they're here. Well, then.

Scott also knows what his mother means. She doesn't mean before. She means now. She means back home. She means even before the bite ever happened. It's what he does. Scott doesn't need help because he does the helping. He takes care of others. He saves others.

Or, he tries really hard.

"We should look at beds."

Moms are the queens of fair not fair. It's part of their mom arsenal, given to them the second the water breaks and the labor begins. Sixteen hours in the hospital with you, young man, brought you into this world, et cetera.

She smiles softly, and reels the measuring tape back in with a snap.

"I know," she says, "and I appreciate it. Now maybe you can start to recognize that I need to do the same for you? Keeping you safe is my number one priority. And it always has been."

Standing back up, she makes one last note as to the model name and number of the sofa, and nods toward the beds.

"Lead the way."

"I know," he replies, feeling way more like a kid then he has in months. But, she'll have to realize there are some things she can't save him from. That she can't even be near. He'll tell her things. He will. Not all things. Not the motel. But, he'll tell her things. She just has to realize sometimes, he won't be able to right away. He's a werewolf now.

It changed everything.

Tacking on another smile, he does, heading straight past a pink one with a canopy. A giant no there, mom. But, he sees a few more modern ones.

It wasn't her intention to make him feel like a child, but to remind him that she's there for him, supporting him. Although...yes, not telling her about the motel is a very good choice, because she'd probably never stop crying. There's very little in this world that would make her freak out. Her baby boy killing himself would be one of those things.

She deliberately ignores the pink bed, because oh god no. That's not her style either, thank you. But she does see a nice wood-frame bed that catches her eye.

"Ooh, this looks comfy. I wonder if they have a pillow-top option?"

He doesn't feel patronized (he thinks he's using that word right) - he just feels young. Sometimes, he forgets how young he is. Crazy, right? He's seventeen. Not a virgin anymore. A werewolf. His life is insane enough without being dropped into an alternate universe. He's not going to kill himself. He is not going to kill himself. And Stiles saved the day, there. But, that happened weeks ago.

Somehow.

"What's the pillow-top option?" He barely remembers furniture and bed terms from the first time they went through this. But, he remembers liking a more modern look. That's what his mom had called it when he'd pointed out all the ones he'd liked.

"That's where they have an extra fluffy part on top of the mattress, makes it more squishy."

She's pushing down on the mattress now with both hands, testing the firmness of it. And she looks back up at him.

"So...one for me, one for you. This is gonna be expensive, Scottie. Are you sure we have enough money for this?"

It's the first time in two decades that her finances haven't been in her direct control and it's very worrying.

"Oh, I like that," he thinks, remembering back. While she pushes, Scott just jumps, dropping his behind down, bouncing a few times. He considers it his lips meeting each other.

"I haven't used a lot of my allowance for the last two weeks. And your starter money can get us the apartment." It'll work. "You'll get a job at the hospital. I'll get a part time job until the clinic is ready. We can do this." He looks up at her. He means it. "And we can make Stiles get a job and pay rent." He's mostly joking. He would never make Stiles do anything - except for not get drunk and pity himself in the Xanadu gardens, but that's hours from now.

"Are you going to invite Derek?"

She's still fretting about the money, and probably will until she can establish a comfortable margin of fallback money. Ever since Scott's dad cleaned out their account when he skipped out on them, she's been mildly obsessed with having savings.

But then she nods, setting her lips just like Scott is. Like mother, like son.

"I am. Whether or not he takes me up on it, I don't know. But I don't want him to think I don't want him around. He is part of your...pack or whatever, right?"

Her voice is very low when she says that, barely audible, so they can't be overheard.

Those lips part, attempting to answer her. He doesn't know. Technically, he'd be a part of Derek's pack but he resisted all last year.

"We're on the same side," he finally comes up with. "But, I'm not in a pack." He's oblivious to what some things might mean, how Isaac has been acting - how even though Isaac and Derek are pack, Derek still sent Isaac packing. Though, the details about that are fuzzy. "He tried. Last year. I couldn't." He still didn't like what Derek did to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Even though they had a choice. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

"We can trust him."

She nods at that again, and then also sits down on the bed. A beat. And then she falls backwards, to lie down, her legs dangling off the edge. She was right, this is comfy.

"Then we're on the same side," is the simple answer. "And he's on his own as well, from what you've told me. So, he can come stay with us temporarily, or for good, it's up to him. But there will be an invitation extended. After he and I hash some things out."

He follows suit, draping an arm back. He turns his head.

"Hash what things out?" That may be the most foreboding thing he's heart all day. Perhaps this week. He doesn't love the sound of it but he knows his mother still has to be a mother. She's a parent. And not an overworked, exhausted parents right now. Not on her way out or her way to bed. Maybe things would be easier if she got to those 'I think I've parented enough for the night' moments were more frequent, like when she asked him and Stiles about the mandatory curfews.

But, things have changed. And now that they're all here in a relatively smaller space and Derek can actually be found? He knows things are going to have to be said.

"You remember it was Peter who bit me. Not Derek."

"I know."

She rolls her head just enough to take him in out of the corner of her eye, and she gives him a wry little smile.

"Peter is one of the things I want to talk to him about, frankly. But the main thing I want to talk about is thanking him for watching over you and Stiles before I got here."

"Oh," he replies, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling fan. His head falls to the other side before sitting up. "I like that one." It's a black, modern frame. Sleek. Simple. He's up and moving towards it. He checks the tag. "It's on sale." How they ever schedule sales here, he doesn't know. And he jumps, diving onto it, feet up, he's not a barbarian before rolling over onto his back.

"I think I like this one for me."

She chuckles a little bit to herself, and sits back up to watch him.

"If you like it, get it."

His abrupt change of subject is endearing, and a trick he so obviously learned from Stiles. She can only go along with him, and trust in him. Because she does trust him, he's shown he's more than capable of making good choices. Most of the time, anyway.

And he sits up again, arms flopping to the sides of his legs.

"Do you like that one?" he asks, up again and taking a step towards the other bed.

"...You know? I think I do."

She pats the mattress one last time, and then stands up.

"So, we'll need sheets and blankets, too. I wonder if this store offers credit? Not that I can prove my FICO score to anybody here, but hey."

"We can find out." Everything is easily obtainable here. He has friends. They won't go without the essentials. And, if Derek agrees to go with them, they already have food for another week.

"So, tables, now?" he asks, before, looking around them. "That one looks like the bed Stiles has back home." Maybe giving him actual incentive to stay will help Stiles decide to move with them. Because, he cannot live in the forest alone with Derek Hale. They can't all be that far apart.

She smirks knowingly, and then starts jotting down item numbers. All three beds, including the frame that Scott had pointed out for Stiles.

"Tables now. I have a feeling we're going to need more than just four chairs."

He smiles at his mother before moving beside her and making his way across the store to kitchen and dining room tables. He does have the best mom. Hands down.