Title: Calming Chaos
A/N: Original opening to “Calming Chaos” Every Fandom Reverse Bang story. It gives a bit of an inner look into Stiles’ headspace. Link to completed story with a different beginning.
Summary: When Peter Hale’s human side awoke, it had been six years since the events of the Hale fire – and its aftermath – triggered the Great Cataclysm.
Word Count: 738
Stiles sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. Today was going to suck. Everyone was going to be in a mood and there would be tears and anger and Stiles would need to be everyone else’s emotional support. Even though he had plenty to scream and cry about himself.
But no one would be there for him to lean on. Metaphorically lean on. Because people would expect him to physically lean on them, hug them, scent mark them. But the comfort would only be for them. He would need to project an aura of control and care, force his hormones and chemosignals to release waves of hope and strength.
Before he left his bedroom, Stiles had to lock down his own sorrow, anger, and resentment of his position. The entire day would be filled with services and speeches and rituals of memorial. And Stiles had to be the rock for everyone to cling to.
Stiles understood. This was his position, his duty, his place in Beacon Hills. But it was also a pain. Stiles had lost people, too. His entire world had been just as upended as everyone else’s. Moreso in some cases. He was only 16. But the responsibilities of his life meant that he was treated as an adult, an elder, for occasions like this.
All Stiles wanted was to change and crawl into his den in his backyard. But he couldn’t. He had to attend every memorial service, every ritual.
Sometimes, Stiles thought it would have been easier if he had been made into a wolf or another animal with heavier pack instincts than his own fox. But when the magic washed over him and his spark had met it, a fox was what his soul was made to be.
As he showered and dressed, Stiles allowed himself to feel the emotions he would need to suppress for the rest of the day. He needed the minor outlet or he would explode. Or rather, his magic would overload and cause who knew what problems.
So, he would meditate and lock himself down with magical, emotional shields so as to protect everyone, including himself.
The first memorial service of the day was at the school. It was during what would be advisory and first period during a typical day. The people of the town wanted the disruption to the children’s education to be as minimal as possible while still acknowledging the grief they held.
Stiles sat on the stage in one of the main chairs and bowed his head as the principal, Ms Morrel, took to the podium and asked for a moment of silence. When she cleared her throat, he raised his head and looked out at the sea of faces, mostly young, the students, with a handful of adults, the teachers and staff. There were only just under four hundred students, and they ranged in age from 8 to 18. Stiles could remember when just the high school had nearly twice that many students.
He pushed the thought away and breathed in and out slowly, keeping a calm look on his face and projecting comfort as best as he could as the principal began to speak.
“It has been six years today since the first disruption of the Great Cataclysm. We are finally getting our feet under us and rebuilding our society from the remains of the horror. But we cannot forget those we lost to death or those who are still missing.”
Stiles’ thoughts couldn’t help but drift to the major loss he experienced during those first few days of the Great Cataclysm: Scott, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, a stubborn, asthmatic boy who couldn’t handle the transitional magic that flooded Beacon Hills and the world.
Scott wasn’t the only one lost because of that. But there were others who were sick or who had chronic health conditions who managed to survive. But not Scott.
And then just three months later both of Scott’s parents died in the upheavals. So many dead, too many, everywhere.
Stiles pushed the thoughts away, behind his walls, and focused once more on his duties to the packs. Calm, comforting, healing thoughts.
Thirty minutes, two more speeches, a couple of songs, a ritual farewell, and a ritual of seeking for those lost later and the service was over. It wasn’t exactly boring but it was tiring to maintain the masks and walls.