Chapter 1: Ro-ràdh

"Hey, buddy," greeted the man. There was a bite in the air, the cool twilight breeze blowing. He could feel it even through his thick jacket. Shivering, he continued, "It's been quiet around here lately, huh?"

No answer.

He didn't really expect any. "Sorry I haven't visited you more often. Vet school really is a bitch." He laughed. "At least I'm getting credits working for Deaton now."

The wind whistled, rustling the fallen dead leaves on the ground, making them dance and twirl. It was getting pretty cold now, welcoming the oncoming winter.

The man sat down, not caring about the wet packed dirt. He almost immediately regretted the decision, but sitting down definitely beat standing in the cold. At least he could make himself smaller, shield himself better from the wind. And that was what he did. He curled up, encircling his legs with his arms and burying his face between his knees.

"I got into an accident the other day. Wrecked my bike pretty bad."

There wasn't really a point to this particular line of one-sided conversation but he carried on.

"My mom really freaked out. Swore that if I ever bought another one she would ground me for life." He chuckled. "Which is funny. Since I moved out eight months ago."

That was one of the major decisions he'd had made. Since he was going to a community college, he'd figured he could still stay at home. But he suddenly got the urge to move out. Not that he was getting tired of living with his mother or anything. He just wanted to be by himself. Taste a little freedom. See how things would turn out. Since they'd already planned on sh—

He didn't let himself finish the thought. Instead, he continued talking. "We're having our annual bonfire-eat-and-drink-until-you-puke celebration tonight. They finally finished renovating—more like rebuilding—the house.

"Everyone is comin'…" he stopped. "Well, at least everyone that could come."

He let out a small grin. But it couldn't really mask the tightness in his chest. Or the misting in his eyes. And try a he might, he couldn't really blame the cold anymore for the shivers that was wracking his body. He finally let it loose.

Tears freely fell. He could feel the beginning of an asthma attack. But he knew it was just the pent up emotions making it hard to breathe. This happened every year. For three years now. He couldn't help it. And he knew no one would really comment on it.

"Scott!"

He heard someone yell.

He got up, wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks and looked one last time at the marble in front of him. "I promise I'll visit more."

He dusted his jeans and walked back, but turned around to look one more time. Even after all this time, he still couldn't make himself look at the name.

Stilinski

Son, Best friend, and Hero

1995-2012