A month after things had settled down and strict safety regulations were set on Scott and his pack, John Stilinski hefts a box from the top of his closet to the floor. He lowers himself to the floor, hands running slowly over the cardboard, heart aching.
It takes a moment, but with a sigh John finally lifts the lid of Claudia's belongings. He moves through the scarves and jewelry leisurely, setting them outside the box to get to the bottom. He sets out pictures of happy memories that tugs at him, but John smiles back at Claudia's radiant smile.
John ends up off track and lost in a photo album when Stiles comes home from school. He hears the door close downstairs, the call of "Dad?", and he panics a little; Stiles hasn't seen him go through his mother's possessions since after her death, throwing away what hurt too much, keeping the necessary. With Stiles thundering up the stairs, John wonders what his son will think when he sees him.
Stiles' footsteps falter as soon as he turns into his father's bedroom. His mouth is open to speak but now he's speechless. John watches his son's eyes roam over his mother's things, sees him swallow. Finally he looks at him. John smiles, tired.
"I have something to give you," John says. "Sorry for the mess."
Stiles comes closer and kneels, fingers reaching for a picture of all three of them at the park. Stiles is five in that picture, some time before his birthday, and the photographer captured a great shot despite the falling leaves the wind gave them.
He sniffs and quickly uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his eyes. John's heart hurts just a little more watching him, so he shifts and sets the photo album beside him. He digs in the box again, feels the cold ring brush against his finger, and pulls out a well-used journal.
"Stiles," he says, and Stiles with his red-rimmed eyes looks up. John inhales deeply, hands clenching around the journal because how much of a fool was he? He didn't believe his son, but he wasn't the first to face John's doubt; Claudia tired to show him the same thing, and he scoffed at her and it wasn't brought up again.
John holds the journal out to his son. "This was your mother's," he says heavily on his exhale. Stiles gingerly takes it from his hand, fingers flitting over the cover. "After I spoke with Deaton about your involvement with all the dangers around Beacon Hills, he said you have your mother's talent. I didn't even know Deaton knew her."
Stiles opens the journal and its not surprising to see his jaw drop open again. "M-mom was...?"
John nods. "I had no clue, trust me." Or maybe he would, if he'd only listened. He clears his throat while his son continues to slowly flip through pages. "Deaton said he can help you learn what she knew, if you want."
That makes Stiles look at him. "I can?" Just a few weeks ago he and John were screaming at each other about Stiles' stubborn need to be in constant danger when he ran with the werewolves and fight alongside them. John didn't like it any better when he realised he couldn't stop his son from risking his life for his friends and family, which lead him to Deaton and his advice. This way, Deaton assured, he would not be defenseless and not just dependant on a circle of Mountain Ash.
John hardly felt better, to be honest.
"I mean, if you want to," he answers lightly to evade another fight.
He isn't expecting Stiles to lunge over the pile to give him a tight hug. The father inhales from the surprise and releases it with an embrace of his own. In a way, he feels like he was giving his son permission to enter adulthood early, but John guesses Stiles' has been more mature than he gave him credit for for a long time.
"Thanks, Dad," Stiles croaks into his shoulder. "This... This means a lot to me."
"I know." He pulls back some to look Stiles in the eye. "Just, promise me you'll be careful. Please." Stiles nods.
"I promise."
"And its not to come before homework."
That cracks a smile from his son. "Of course," he replies and glances to the picture of them at the park. "May I-?"
John sighs and leans away, picking up the photo album. He took down those pictures eight years ago, all of them that had Claudia; the walls and fireplace mantle were bare for a long time until he couldn't bear the emptiness he was trying to hide and only made strikingly visible. Maybe it was time to bring her back into their lives, maybe he could learn from his mistakes and listen to his wife's wisdom through Stiles, everything he ignored before.
"I miss your mom," he whispers. "I need to see her."
Stiles is wiping his eyes again and nods. "I'll see if I can get someone to make picture frames at school."
"Good idea, son. Now help your old man up."
After the both of them place framed pictures around the living room and hallways, John takes Stiles out to eat, noticing quietly that his son is carrying Claudia's emissary journal still. This might be what people mean by 'angels are watching over us', because in that journal is all of Claudia's protection spells and healing remedies, John thinks. This would be Claudia's way of watching Stiles.
And he's relieved he's no longer a single parent teaching their child anymore.
