4th November 2005
That day wasn't going to be anything special.
Stiles was ten years old at the time, and he was supposed to go shopping for shoes with his mother after school. In fact, he was supposed to do so the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. But Stiles hated shopping and had been able to postpone it all week.
He didn't even understand what was wrong with his actual shoes. Sure, there was a hole near his big toe, but he thought that it gave him more street cred. He hated when his shoes were new and white and shiny and he had to keep them clean. In fact, the first thing he usually did with new shoes was to jump in the mud and dirt.
Shoes weren't mean to be that clean.
Sadly, his mother never understood that.
Anyway, going shoe shopping that day? There was no way it was going to happen. Plus, Scott's dad had just sent him the newest and coolest game, Guitar Hero, and there was no way Stiles was missing his chance to try it.
Sadly, his sound reasoning didn't seem to persuade his mom. His pestering did though. He had been telling her about Guitar Hero and how important it was that he played it that night with Scott since the moment he woke up that morning. He even sat in front of the bathroom door like he was holding a siege while his mom was showering, just talking and talking and talking.
By the time Lisa stopped the car in front of the school that morning, she looked like she wanted to smash her head into the wheel.
"Okay! You won! No shoes tonight!"
"Yes!" Stiles couldn't help exulting triumphantly, throwing his hands in the air, accidentally smashing them into the roof of the car.
"But I'm coming to get you at seven and you better be ready to go. And Saturday," she added pointing him, "we're getting you new shoes. Saturday morning"
"What?!" he started protesting. "But mom, I promised Scott that we would go check out the new…"
"Tut tut, shoes. You will be checking out the new shoes on Saturday, or no Guitar Hero today, your choice".
"Okay," Stiles accepted grudgingly, grabbing his bag on the backseat. "But there will be a breakfast burrito."
"Yeah, right", his mom scoffed. "Cereal. And broccoli for dinner."
"What, no!"
"What, yes," she lightly mocked. "And the next time you try to manipulate me like this…"
"I wasn't…," Stiles started to deny the accusation, but his mother stopped him with a glare. "It was for a good cause! Guitar Hero is the coolest, mom!"
Lisa rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep a smile off her face.
"Kiss me goodbye, and go away", she said pointing toward the school entrance, pretending to be angry.
Stiles remembers hugging her that morning. His mom was awesome and he didn't care if Jackson saw it and teased him about it later. She ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek. He got out of the car and ran straight toward Scott, victorious, and bearing the good news.
He didn't look back.
Later, he'll wish he had. He'll wish he could have that last image of his mom in his head. That he would remember what she was wearing that day, or if her hair was loose or in a ponytail, or if she waved at him and he didn't see it. He will wish to remember her like she was on that exact morning. But try as he might, years later, when he'll tries to conjure her face in his mind, he can only envision her like a photograph. Frozen in time, lacking the personality and life that made his mom, his mom.
Sometimes, he thinks about how ironic it is that he can't remember his own mother's face, but he will never forget Melissa McCall's face when she hung up the phone that night.
His mother was late in picking him up, so Melissa had proposed that he stay for dinner. He knew his mom; he knew that she always felt guilty when she was late. The guilt of being nearly half an hour late to come get him would probably gets him curly fries for dinner, so he passed on the offer.
He was on the couch with Scott berating him because it was his turn to try and beat the song and Scott was refusing to give him the guitar, when the phone rang. Ms. McCall disappeared into the kitchen, reminding her son to play nice and share.
Stiles had just managed to wrangle the controller away when he heard a clattering noise from the kitchen which startled him, giving Scott the opportunity to tackle him and get the guitar back.
For a second, Stiles debated on whether he should continue to fight for the guitar, before he decided to go check on Ms. McCall instead.
When he arrived in the kitchen, she was standing near the sink, one hand on the counter for support and the other one covering her mouth.
"Are you okay, Ms. McCall?" Stiles inquired.
She looked up and there it was: the face he would never forget. The face he would always associate with that night. Her eyes were round, but her eyebrows were frowning like she was surprised and concentrating at the same time. She was biting her lower lip and breathing so hard he could see her nostrils flaring.
It was only when she wiped at her cheeks that Stiles noticed she was crying. Stiles first instinct was to approach her and to try to reassure her. Mr. McCall gave Scott great gifts, but he was really mean to Scott's mom ever since the divorce. Scott had told him that he could sometimes hear her crying at night, and was worried about it and wanted his dad to come back home. Stiles wasn't so sure that Mr. McCall coming home would make Scott's mom cry less, but he didn't say anything, because talking about it always made Scott sad.
He walked over to Ms. McCall and tried to hug her, because his dad always told him that he had to be a gentleman, and hugging moms was okay as long as Jackson wasn't around to mock him, but she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She squeezed really hard and leaned a little too much on him for a second before she crouched down to his level. For a few seconds, she just looked at him, opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something but couldn't remember how to talk.
That made Stiles very nervous. He suddenly realised that she didn't look like she wanted him to comfort her, she looked like she wanted to comfort him. She looked…sorry. She had that same look on her face that his dad had when he had run over Stiles' brand new bike, or Scott had when he confessed to trying to pet Muffin (Stiles' hamster) and then dropped him.
His ears started ringing before the words were out of Melissa's mouth. He felt that something was very very wrong and he didn't want to know what it was.
That was probably why, to this day, he couldn't remember exactly what she said to him.
All he remembered later was how his throat had hurt when he started screaming and sobbing at the same time, how he kept calling for his mom, knowing it was in vain. It would always be in vain now. He cried uninhibited like he did when he was a toddler: loud, wet and gross into Melissa's shoulder. She tried to comfort him, knowing it was hopeless, but never stopping, wiping his tears with the edge of her shirt even as they kept coming.
At one point, he stopped calling for his mom and started calling for his dad.
Why wasn't he there? Was he okay? Was he gone too? he asked. But the words were faint and unintelligible, his throat felt tight, like it was squeezing shut until he felt like he couldn't breathe anymore. He started panting, panic blocking the air from entering his lungs, making him gasp for air that didn't seem to exist anymore. He couldn't hear Ms. McCall's voice, he didn't want to hear her voice, he wanted his dad, he wanted his mom, he wanted this to not be real, he wanted to wake up, he wanted to know how to breathe again.
He'd never had a panic attack before. He had never felt hopeless before. It was, truly, the first time Stiles ever felt genuinely scared, like he was facing something that nobody could protect him from. It never really stopped after that.
"Genim Genim"
Stiles blinked, his terror abating at the sound of the voice he was searching for. He looked around, but he couldn't find him, he couldn't find his dad.
"Breathe, son. Come on, calm down"
"D...dad?"
Suddenly, air seemed to re-enter the room and he took a deep breath, clutching the phone against his ear.
"Are you okay, daddy?"
His voice was trembling, barely there, and when his father answered him, he realised his voice sounded as rough and worn as his was.
His dad tried to reassure him, promised him he would come as soon as possible, but that he couldn't be there right now. He tried to explain why, but Stiles didn't want to hear it, not on the phone. He wanted his dad right there, right now. He begged, kept asking him if he was okay and when he was coming and why he wasn't there, until the sheriff relented. He heard his dad tell something to someone and then he was promising he was coming right now. Stiles was still begging for his presence when his dad stopped trying to reassure him and just hung up, promising he was on his way. Stiles kept the phone clutched to the side of his face a few more seconds before he felt Ms. McCall caressing his cheek and taking the phone away.
It was only when he dropped his arm that he realised that Scott was plastered against his back, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
Ms. McCall tried to convince him to sit down on the couch to wait for his dad, Scott tried to guide him to his bedroom to calm down, but Stiles wouldn't hear any of it.
That's how he ended up wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on the doorstep of the McCall's house's porch.
Scott was dozing off, sitting more on him than on the step.
His friend had tried soothing him with his Nintendo DS, offered chocolate from his secret stash, and even tried petting his hair, but Stiles had ignored him. So now Scott was just kind of clinging to him like a giant octopus. It wasn't very comforting as Scott's elbow was in his stomach, but other things felt worse right now, so Stiles was clinging just as tightly to his friend.
He was looking at the road, waiting for his dad's car to appear, trying to make it appear by sheer will alone, when a sound made him jump. At first, it felt like it was coming from afar, but then it got louder and louder, until the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at the same time.
A howl.
It sounded like one of those wolf howls in the movies, but it wasn't as scary. It wasn't scary at all, but rather heartbreaking. Somehow, that howl resonated in him. For a second, it felt like he could understand what this sound was trying to communicate.
Despair.
It was rough, like the wolf didn't have enough breath to hold the sound and was going to break out coughing at any second. It reminded Stiles of his father's voice on the phone and he tightened his hold on the blanket they were wrapped in, putting a hand on Scott's sleeping head, and shivered.
He looked at the sky, closed his eyes and imagined screaming like that.
Would it make him feel better? If he were to scream his emotions like that, would they disappear in thin air – bleed out of him and never come back? Was this what this wolf was trying to do?
He wiped a tear from his cheek and imagined himself howling with the wolf.
When the sound died down, Stiles felt strangely alone.
The first few weeks following the death of his mother were the worst of his life.
His mother was dead, another victim in the Hale house fire, a fire that had claimed nine lives.
The fire wasn't an accident, someone purposely burnt this house down with all those people in it, someone killed his mother and eight members of that family. By the time the firemen had arrived at the burning house, deep in the forest, they could only save one person. And that person wasn't his mother.
The thing was, nobody knew what she was doing out there, not even Stiles' dad.
Some people had decided that she was the odd one out, that her presence there was suspicious. The Hales themselves were a mystery, they always kept to themselves and while they were never viewed as bad people, they sure as hell didn't fit the Beacon Hills' mold.
People were suspicious and curious so instead of respecting the Stilinski family loss, the people of Beacon Hills focused on gossiping about the circumstances surrounding her death. And apparently Stiles was viewed as a prime source of this gossip. People either pitied him or seemed intrigued. It wasn't always obvious, of course. They would offer their condolences, ask him how he was, and only then would they start their not-so-subtle interrogation on Lisa's reason for being at that house, on that day.
The sheriff refused to entertain the possibility that his wife was responsible for the fire, which only made people more suspicious. They all thought he was trying to cover up the truth.
His wife was dead and he had no idea why. It didn't bode well for a sheriff to have his wife at the center of the biggest criminal case Beacon Hills had ever seen.
The sheriff wasn't doing so well. He was relentless in his pursuit of the truth, in his search of a culprit. He uncovered all the information he could on the Hale family, interrogated everyone that spoke to any of the victims or had even passed them in the street. He barely ate and only slept when he passed out due to extreme fatigue or too much whisky. He was obsessed. He was determined to find out what happened and nothing was going to stop him.
Or at least, that was what Stiles thought. He thought it would be his life now, watching his father destroying himself in search of an answer, and missing his mom.
Until Kate Argent.
It was late one night; Stiles had already gone to bed when he was awoken by voices. He slipped out of bed and crept towards the staircase. He remembers how cold the ground was under his bare feet, how chilly the mid-December air was, even in the house.
He could hear his dad's voice. He sound tired and upset, but he was using his sheriff voice, the one he sometimes used on Stiles when he had to clean up his room or had forgotten to close the refrigerator door. A female voice answered him and Stiles tiptoed down the stairs until he could hear what was being said without being seen.
He craned his neck to try and identify who the woman was. His father was standing in the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, and pacing. He looked mad, and upset. There was a blonde woman sitting at the kitchen table. She looked young, in her early twenties. She was dressed all in black and was asking Stiles's dad to sit. There were two men flanking the woman in the chair. They looked like robbers in a movie, tense, all in dark clothes, with winter hats and boots.
Stiles was suddenly feeling really nervous. Those people didn't look very friendly and his dad looked edgy.
"Please, Sheriff Stilinski, sit down," It was phrased like a request, but Stiles could sense that the woman was used to giving orders.
His dad ignored her, turning his back on her and leaning against the kitchen counter. He took a deep breath as if to calm himself before running his hand down his face, and turning around. He looked pissed off and incredulous.
"You come to my house and tell me…," he stopped for a second and wiped his mouth again. "You tell me that my wife was killed by…by monsters…out of some damn fantasy book. And you want me to just sit down and accept it?"
"No, I want you to sit down and let me explain it to you," she answered calmly.
His father gave a pointed look to the two men behind the women. She waved her hand and the two men left the kitchen. Stiles ducked, hoping they wouldn't see him as they went out the front door. They didn't leave, but waited on the doorstep, with the door open, so they could also eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen
When he turned his attention back toward the kitchen, his dad was sitting in front of the woman and she had started talking.
"…by the time we got there, it was, sadly, too late."
"This doesn't make sense. Why would they kidnap my wife?"
"They are animals, Sheriff. You shouldn't try to find a reason for their actions. Once we discovered what they had done, we decided it was time to act."
His dad laughed bitterly and put his head in his hands.
"Time? You obviously knew these monsters were living here, that they were a danger to this community and you decided to what? Wait until they killed someone to act?"
"We have a code. We don't kill if they don't…"
"Your damn code cost my wife her life!" his father raged, standing up, and leaning toward the woman.
"I can't tell you how much I regret it, Sheriff Stilinski. It wasn't meant to happen. But you have to understand that we did everything we could to try and save your wife. As soon as we learned that the pack had taken a human…"
"I don't…," the sheriff interrupted her. "You burned down a whole house. There were children in there."
"Werewolves. Believe me, no one in that house was innocent."
"My wife was," he told her with conviction.
"And she has been avenged."
The sheriff scrutinized her for a minute.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Excuse-me?" the woman seemed surprised.
"You said your family has been hunting wer…those monsters for centuries, but it seems like it's a well-kept secret. So why are you telling me this, now?"
The woman looked contrite.
"You want me to stop my investigation," Stiles's dad realized.
"As you have understood, the existence of werewolves is a fact that should be kept secret. You're a very good investigator, Sheriff. We've realized that the best way to keep this matter discreet would be to tell you the truth. You deserve to know the truth about your wife's death," she adds.
"It won't be that easy. The investigation won't stop just because I decide so. And I won't decide to stop investigating just because you come to me with some fairytale about werewolves and hunters."
"It is no fairytale, Sheriff, believe me. We will offer you proof if you need it. And we wouldn't dare ask you to risk your career, of course. As far as the fire department is concerned, some new information in the course of their investigation will lead them to rule out arson. They will determine that the fire was an accident due to faulty wiring."
"What about my wife?"
"She won't be a person of interest in the investigation. In a few weeks, nobody will be wondering at her presence there anymore."
Stiles's father closed his eyes for a second.
"You know the truth, Sheriff Stilinski. This is your chance to offer closure for your family, for your son. Your wife's death was a horrible tragedy; those who were responsible have already paid for…"
"What about the survivors? Did you…did you killed those kids too? The two who disappeared after the fire?"
"I can assure you that they will be taken care of."
"They're just…they're just kids. Only a few years older than my son…," his father was stopped by the woman, placing a hand on one of his and fixing him in the eyes.
"They're not kids, Sheriff. They are monsters. Look at what happens when we try to treat them as human."