Work Text:
Eli gripped the hands of his grandfather and his uncle as he watched the coffin be slowly lowered into the ground. On standby was a pile of yellow carnations and sunflowers, his papa’s favorite flowers, waiting to be tossed in with the pine box. It was what had been done at babica’s funeral and it’s what his papa wished to occur for his own.
It had only been three days since his papa’s heart had stopped beating. Three days since he last cried over the loss of his last parent. Three days since he had gone home with uncle Peter instead of with his papa.
It was something that had been kept from him, but he knew arrangement’s had been made long before the beeping of machines had stopped. That everyone, including himself, had started the grief process long before his papa breathed his last breath. It didn’t make this day any less sad or any less tolling.
The only thing still left undecided was who would be given his care. His papa had been too distraught to make any arrangements before his passing or to even think about it. Dad never thought he would be without papa, that no matter what they would be strong together.
He hopes dad doesn’t hate papa for not living up to that expectation. That he understands the pain was just too much even though they had all tried so hard to ensure that wasn’t the case.
The wake that takes place after the funeral is a drab affair. It’s filled with silent whispers and empty apologies from people who hadn’t truly known his parents for a long time. Those that are truly grieving, that are hurting almost as much as him, don’t bother with the ‘I’m sorry's’ or the ‘He’s in better a place’s;’ they hug him and do their best to let him know that they’re there for him and they know he’s there for them too.
Gramps is doing everything he can not to break down. He tries to tell jokes. Tries catching up with retired deputies and those still on the force that had come to pay respects to the man that they had practically helped raise after babica passed away. The man talks to him too, tries to reminisce while staring at a full glass of whiskey that’s ice had melted long ago. It doesn’t matter that Eli hasn’t spoken a single word since he woke up -silent as the graves his fathers both lay in- he still does what he can to make sure his grandson knows he has someone he can talk to if he wants to speak up.
Peter, too, has been silent. Only speaking when he feels absolutely necessary and in a clipped, emotionally haggard voice. His uncle has been going back and forth all day, checking in with Eli before eventually leaving to tend to one matter or another.
It’s during one of those times, one where uncle Peter regrettably had to pull away gramps as well, that Eli’s approached by someone he hasn’t seen since that day he and his uncle had gotten into an argument outside of papa’s hospital room. Scott McCall kneels in front of him with a dumb, fury inducing grin as if everything's okay.
As if a man that the other hadn’t at one point in life claimed to be his best friend, his brother, wasn’t dead.
“Hey buddy,” Scott starts, voice low and simple and dumb as if talking to a scared five year old. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I know this might be really rough on you.
“I also know that with Stiles going to heaven that you might not have anywhere to go.” He clenched his jaw at the remark. “It might not be the best time to bring this up, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come with me. My fiancé and I,” so he had proposed to the child bride, “we have a really cool place up in L.A. You could make some new friends, explore the city. Sounds like fun, huh?”
He didn’t have to answer, not that he would have, because as soon as the words left the man’s mouth he sprawled out onto the floor. As if out of some TV drama there’s a collective gasp as Peter towers over the guy now discretely trying to pop his dislocated jaw back into place.
The ensuing silence is almost crushing, but the feeling of his Uncle’s unbridled rage is even more so. It’s so oppressive that Eli barely notices when gramps rushes back to his side to make sure he’s okay.
“I told you to stay the hell away from us,” Peter grounds out with a barely concealed growl. “Anyone that knows Stiles knows how devastated he was when he found out that Derek died because of your stupidity. Because you brought back the one thing none of us ever should have had to deal with again, Stiles especially.
“You have no right to be here. You have no right to try and take Eli, to try and claim him as if he was yours when you are the reason he’s lost so fucking much. Why his family has lost as much as it had when we’ve already been through enough bull shit.
“I told you before that you have no standing, no say in who Eli’s new guardian will be. And the last thing either my nephew or my nephew’s husband would have wanted is your sorry, arrogant ass raising their sun. You want a kid so bad go make one. You leave my family the fuck alone.” Peter was in near tears as he ended his rant, Eli rushing over to hug the man.
His uncle had done so much for him in the past few months and he didn’t know how he could repay that. The man was always angry and more than a little volatile but no matter what he loved his family, did his best to try and put them first.
Uncle Chris and gramps were the ones to escort McCall off the premises. And, given the smug grin that appeared briefly on his great uncle’s face, likely got a swing or two in of their own in the process.
After that, Peter and Gramps pretty much refused to leave his side. When the wake ended, the pack worked together to clean everything up. Eli, his Grandpa, and Peter all slowly worked through papa’s things and what was left of dad’s. It was a long process, and they all had to take a few moments here or there.
When they had finally managed to get through it all they didn’t all sit down together as a pack like he expected. They didn’t go to bed either to try and rest after the long day. Instead gramps and Peter led him outside and to the car before driving in a very well known direction.
When they pulled up to the cemetery he looked over to his remaining family in question.
“Just something you need to see,” his grandpa told him with a tight but genuine smile.
They walked with him to his dad’s and his papa’s graves, both holding one of his hands like they had during the funeral. When they reached their destination, they paused as the fresh and disturbed dirt that represented a fresh grave. Only now, where a place holder once was, was a gray stone.
He took a moment to admire the jeep and baseball bat carved into the base of the stone, part of it hidden behind a blue vase that matched the one that was a part of dad’s own grave marker. Though unlike with his papa’s tombstone his dad’s had a triskelion carved near the crown. The vase itself had the leftover sunflowers and yellow carnations from the service.
Finally turning away from the flower’s and the carving that embodied his papa so well he read the inscription.
Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski-Hale
April 8th, 1994 - February 3, 2027
A loving & devoted father, husband, and son;
A spark that never got to be a flame,
Now forever more in the embrace of his true love and watching over their greatest creation.
By the time he had finished reading Eli had melted to the ground as tears poured down his face. His uncle and his grandpa were right there with him, all grieving together knowing they would be there as long as they could be.