As a Sheriff John knew the importance of informing loved ones. But after the crash of Flight 471 LAX to ORD he just couldn't. He of course had been informed but he couldn't pass it on. He had informed so many people over the years but this was just too different. It was one thing to watch grief and shock another entirely to be a part of it.

So he waited. The first call came a week later from the halls Stiles had been staying in. His friends and roommate were worried. The university was also wondering where Stiles was. John explained Stiles had been on Flight 471. The woman on the other side of the line went 'oh' and hung up.

That was easy as John didn't have to deal with her grief. Scott was so much harder.

He opened his front door 10 days after the crash and there was Scott. He broke down.

"When he didn't text me that he had landed safely I thought he was just busy with school and friends. But Mr Stilinski I'm really worried. Have you heard from him?" John just stood there body shaking from deep sobs.

"I'm so sorry" was all John could say. Scott led him back into the house and sat him on the sofa. The house was a mess, newspapers strewn everywhere. There were no dirty dishes, but there was rotting food in the fridge. The Sheriff had not been eating. It appeared that he had just been sitting. The days washing over him as he sat there lost.

It didn't take long to figure it out. Scott joined John on the sofa refusing Stiles to be dead. Refusing to live a life without Stiles. Tears poured down his face but Scott didn't really notice. He wanted Stiles, Stiles would know what to do. Stiles would hug him and make him play 360 games. Stiles was the only person Scott trusted not to leave him, to stand by him no matter what. He text his mom.

A tiny part of Scott always worried that she would leave him to start a new family too. That she would have enough of her dumb son and working 50 hours a week. That she'd realise that she could do so much better. After the big reveal Scott worried that it would be the last straw. But she had stayed. Scott was starting to see his fears as that of a confused abandoned 8 year old. They were irrational, but knowing that just didn't make them go away.

She came, she saw, she conquered. Melissa dealt with her grief by action. She tided the place up, cooked until the freezer was full. She hugged her son. And she informed.

Soon the whole of Beacon Hills knew. And then Melissa was kept busy with flower deliveries and funeral arrangements. She got in contact with the airline. Out of 170 bodies only 3 had been identifiable. Hitting the water at such a high speed it was a miracle that those three bodies had been that intact. (They were a hand, a head, and a torso with a unique tattoo on it.) Stiles had not been part of this body mix.

He was sea foam now. Without a body to bury arrangements were quicker to make. Next Melissa busied herself taking care of other families. She formed a Flight 471 support group. She kept an eye on NTSB proceedings. She took flying lessons to better understand the jargon.

She kept busy and tried so hard to stop her son from falling apart. To dig the Sheriff out of his work. After a fortnight of almost comatose grief, he buried himself in his work. Beacon Hills had never been safer.