A/N: I don't know where this came from. I heard a piano song and bang. Here ya go.

Stiles sat down on the bench, his fingers lingering over the keys of the piano, a sharp white color in the setting sun. He moved to let his fingers finally make contact with the smooth keys, but, as if there was an invisible force guarding them, Stiles couldn't bring his fingers all the way down. He moved them away, wiping the sweat from his palms and swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Come on Stiles," He muttered darkly to himself, "It's a piano. You deal with werewolves all day. You fight the supernatural while attending college. You go to bed at three in the morning sometimes and still make it to eight o'clock lectures. Why does this scare you?"

He tried again to let his fingers press into the keys, and this time a soft note fluttered into the room, long and high, and it slowly faded into the darkness. He smiled fondly at the noise he didn't know he missed, and pressed on, the notes slowly turning into a song.

"What is this?" Stiles asked despite knowing what it was. It was obviously a piano. A black, sleek piano. What Stiles really wanted to know was why it was in Derek's living room.

Derek gave Stiles a smirk. "It's a piano."

Stiles rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance. "Obviously it's a piano," He said, gesturing at it, "But why is it in your living room?"

"We used to have one," Derek said simply, and that was answer enough, because Stiles knows what it's like to have something special with someone, and then have it end suddenly.

Stiles closed his eyes, letting the music drift around the room, filling the house with a song he learned a long time ago. The song was filled with memories of his mother's hands wrapping around his, showing him how to play each note, and when to play it.

It wasn't long until the tears started to slip from his eyes and travel down his face.

"What are you doing mommy?" Stiles asked, his head drifting to the side curiously, his pink lip sticking out in a pout. His mother laughed, rubbing her hand on the piano bench beside her, and Stiles ran up to it happily.

"I'm playing, sweetheart," She said quietly, presenting the keys to Stiles happily.

Stiles watched her play in awe, the way her hands moved across the keys, hitting each one with a light touch that sent music through the room. His eyes were wide, his six-year-old brain thinking that the bigger his eyes were, the more he would take in.

When she was done, Stiles moved his head to the side to stare at her. "Will you teach me?"

Stiles sobbed as his hands continued to work the keys. It's a reflex by now, the way he can move his hands and just know where and when to press the keys, even though he hadn't played in years.

Stiles didn't notice the crowd he gained. The group of werewolves and human the peeked through the doorway as he played. He didn't see the way Scott nodded his head in understanding before shaking it at Derek, who tried to go to his boyfriend.

"Mom!" Stiles yelled, dropping his back pack on the first step before nodding at Scott to come into the house.

"I'm in the music room," His mother's voice fluttered out to him, before being devoured by a beautiful melody. Scott raised an eyebrow, and Stiles grinned.

"It's music, man," The thirteen year old said, "Real music. Listen." And Scott did.

"You play?" Scott asked once the song ended. Stiles grinned.

"I'll show you."

While he played, Stiles thought. His mind wandered to his mother, with her long fingers and fast hands that would dance around the keys. He thought about the way the music would brighten her face, and that when Stiles would play, she would send him the biggest smile. He thought about his promise to her on her death bed, that he would never stop playing, and he thought about the music room in his father's house that he hasn't entered since she died.

"Derek's mother used to play," Peter said on a Saturday after Derek left to go deal with Scott drama. He had told Stiles he'd be back in an hour, and to do whatever until then. Stiles had been spending his time glaring at the piano, and Peter watched him with understanding. "Laura too, and Derek had tried to learn, but he couldn't even get hot cross buns right."

"Okay," Stiles had said,because he wasn't ready to reveal his whole life story to Peter. Peter was the pack creep.

"Okay," Peter agreed before leaving, but Stiles felt like he knew more than Stiles wanted him to.

Stiles sniffed, removing his hands and leaning back, finally opening his eyes and seeing the concerned faces of his friends. He smiled weakly.

"You okay?" Scott asked first, nodding at Stiles, who returned it.

"I think I will be."

"I've been trying to learn," Derek admitted one day when he saw Stiles staring at the Piano. They had been curled up on the couch, watching the fire flicker in the fireplace, but Stiles attention would always drift towards the corner where the piano sat, glistening in the soft glow of the flames.

"Really?" Stiles asked, humming a little. He felt Derek grumbled beneath him, his head rising as Derek took in a deep breath.

"Peter says I'm tone-deaf." Stiles smiled weakly, but something gripped at his chest.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Erica asked, sounding upset, as if this had been some big secret.

Maybe it had been.

"That was really good," Isaac said, looking awed.

Derek went to him, sitting next to him and pulling him into his chest.

"I want... Stiles... Do you... could you... play?" His father asked through his tears, "At her... at the... funeral... she would want."

But Stiles couldn't. Every time he thought about playing, he'd think about his mother, and the tears would start, the pain would claw at him, and his throat would close up.

So he stopped playing, and instead filled his ears with words.

"I'm here," Derek chanted, rocking him, stroking his hair. "I'm here."

Stiles blinked through the tears and looked at the piano, gulping.

Maybe he didn't need to be afraid of it anymore. His mother had been dead for six years, since he was fourteen, and slowly Stiles was able to put himself together. The piano was a big part of him.

"I'm okay," Stiles said, and for the first time in six years, he was sure he finally was.