"Dad?" Stiles looked around corners for his father. His car had been parked out front in its usual spot, but Stiles had yet heard his voice. At last, he turned the corner into the kitchen and saw his father sitting at the table, an empty glass sitting by his right side and his head buried deep into his hands. "Dad, why didn't you answer me? I've been calling you for…" but his sentence trailed off as he realized how unsteady his father's hands were as they wrapped around his skull. "Dad?" He tried again, slowly getting closer.

"Why'd you have to do that, Stiles?" His father mumbled from beneath his hands.

Stiles straightened himself out and looked down at the man. "Do what?" Stiles asked, even though he knew the exact answer to this question.

"You forced me to show you that information." His father looked up from his hands, his eyes slightly frosted with tears. The sight sent a pit straight into Stiles's stomach and he found it harder to breathe as the guilt began to take him over.

"Dad, I – "

"Just shut up, Stiles, okay? For once in your damn life, let me speak."

Stiles did as he was told. He could tell from the nearly empty bottle of scotch on the countertop exactly how intoxicated his father was, and he knew that the only time he had been this drunk before was the night that his mother had died, which wasn't a good night for either of them.

"You ruined everything," his father continued, digging the guilty feeling deeper and deeper into Stiles. "I had one good, steady thing going for me, and you ruined it."

Stiles stared at his broken father, feeling the worst that he had in a long while. "Dad…" Stiles began, but couldn't find the words. Everything his father was saying was right – he had ruined everything.

"Leave me alone, Stiles!" His father screamed at him. Stiles couldn't move. His feet were planted in the ground in shock at how real all of this was.

He saw his father's face contort with anger as he picked up the glass that had been by his side. "I said leave me alone!" He yelled again, before hurling the glass at Stiles. Stiles ducked behind the wall and lifted his arm as the glass shattered against the surface. "Leave!" His father shouted again, but Stiles found it impossible to move his legs. Instead, his father picked up other plates and glasses and continued to throw them at his son. Stiles felt his knees give as he fell to the floor, covering his head to the best of his ability as he felt the glass hit his arms again and again.

After a few more things flew his way, he heard footsteps going into the other room and he knew that it was okay to uncover his head. When he did, he saw broken glass everywhere. After he processed the scenario, he found that his legs worked well enough so that he could lift himself and run for the door. He ran back out to his truck, slamming and locking the doors as quickly as he could. And it was then that Stiles let out the most heartbreaking cry to ever escape his chest.