I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!

Being told that you have frontotemporal dementia is not something that you can take lightly. It's not like you can just smile and say "oh, well". Maybe you like to think you would say something like that, but you can't brace yourself for things like this. You are, in fact, expected to start crying and wailing that it's not fair, you still have a life to live, people to see and love so many things to do! That is actually what Stiles' mother had done when she had been told about her FTD. But she hadn't been crying and wailing for herself, but for her little boy, her little Szezcny, who was probably going to grow up without a mother. Stiles was seven when she was diagnosed, but he was incredibly smart for his age and had immediately run to the library to find out everything he could about FTD. And every passing day, his mother would grow weaker and weaker, until only a month after her diagnosis she was put in a Hospital bed that would two years later become her death bed.

Now, on the day that would make his mother's death count up to eight years, Stiles really wasn't in the mood for any of the werewolf crap going on in Beacon Hills.

So, since it was only 8 a.m. on Saturday, he thought he could have at least two hours of peace without the pack bothering him. He stared at the wall, trying to think about anything but his mom. All he really wanted to do was lock his bedroom door and window, close the curtains, curl into a ball and cry. But he couldn't, since there was always a chance that one of his wolfy friends stopped by and cracked the window open, not quite caring that there was probably a reason it was locked.

This is exactly what Scott did at 2 p.m., worried that something had happened to his best friend, who wasn't answering his messages or his calls. He found Stiles still on his bed, staring at the wall, aware that the werewolf had entered the room, but choosing to ignore him.

"Stiles?'' asked Scott, scared that something was wrong, ''what's wrong?''

He could just feel the grief and sadness and anger radiating off his friend. The ever-present anxiety was still there, but all the other emotions swirling around were slightly overpowering. Slightly.

Stiles didn't answer the question, but turned his big cinnamon colored eyes on Scott.

''Do you know what today is, Scott?'' he finally asked, voice raspy from unusual lack of use and grief. Scott was confused.

-Saturday…?

-Saturday 13th of August 2014. Eight years.

Scott winced. Oh. In all the training and commotion, he had forgotten that today was Stiles' mother's eighth anniversary of death. Stiles knew what was coming.

''Are you okay?'' he asked stupidly, knowing the answer before he asked the question.

Stiles didn't answer.

-Stiles…I'm sorry. Is there anything I-

''There's nothing you can do, Scotty'' interrupted Stiles, turning on his side so his back was to Scott, putting his arms around his stomach as if he was going to puke'' I'll be okay in a couple days, you know that. Just…please, just leave me alone.''

Scott heard and felt the plead, grief radiating off the boy like he was made of it. He sighed and jumped back on the windowsill, turning back just in time to see Stiles bury his face in his pillow, a sob escaping him, so quiet even with his werewolf hearing he had to strain his ears to hear it.

-Stiles, I-

''Scott, just go away!'' shouted Stiles, now openly crying, curling in on himself and rocking.

Scott felt his heart clench with sadness for his friend, and he silently climbed down, regretfully leaving his broken best friend to cry alone.

''So?'' asked Lydia when Scott came back from checking up on Stiles, head down and eyes sad.

-what?

-what is wrong with Stiles? Why wasn't he answering our calls?

-oh...N-nothing.

''you're lying.'' Said Isaac, who had overheard their conversation. Lydia turned to Scott, eyes flaring angrily.

-Scott. Tell me the truth. What is wrong with Stiles?

Scott sighed as he realized that the whole pack had gathered in the living room and was interested in the conversation.

-He just needs some space, that's all.

''why?'' asked Derek concerned for the human he now considered pack.

Scott bit his lip. Stiles was so going to kill him. After a moment, he sighed.

''Today's the anniversary of his mother's death'' he answered staring intently at the floor. '' eight years.'' Derek closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Liam sat on the floor, his face a mask of sadness. Isaac's shoulders slumped. Lydia gave a gasp.

'' I'm going to see him.'' She stated, starting for the door. Scott stopped her.

''wait.'' He said. '' I really think you should just give him some space. He's a mess, and he really needs this.''

'' Needs what?'' she asked exasperatedly.

'' This day.'' He answered calmly. Well, as calmly as Scott could say anything. '' Stiles doesn't let any of his emotions out, because of reasons I am not going to say, so don't even try. This day is the only where he just lets it all out. So just let him. He'll be back to normal in a couple days. OK?''

Lydia stared at the floor ''OK.'' She answered begrudgingly after a few moments.

Stiles was still in bed. Except now, he was on his stomach and he had his pillow over his head. No, he wasn't trying to suffocate himself. He was trying to suffocate the memories that had resurfaced after Scott had needed a reminder. Try as he might, the more bitter than sweet memories floated up.

His mother always loved to sing. She would sing regularly, and her voice would carry up from the kitchen, where she would be cooking breakfast, to his room, waking him up for school. She always sang in different languages, she was multi-lingual. She would always speak to him in multiple languages, so by the age of six, he had a perfect vocabulary of French, Spanish, Arabic and Russian and could speak all of them fluently. But her favorite language was French. He still remembered her song, the one she would sing when he was sad, it always cheered him up.

Tout au fond de l'océan.

J'irai chercher ton reflet.

J'arrêterai même le temps.

Que tu sois près de moi tout le temps.

Dévier les chutes du Niagara pour te prouver mon amour.

Traverser le Sahara.

Pour toi je ferai tout ça.

The song brought a fresh bout of tears to his eyes and he didn't even bother wiping the off. His mom was from a foreign country. She was originally French, but she loved learning and teaching new things, and she probably knew more languages than she taught him, but she probably realized five languages was enough for a six year old.

Nobody knew anything about his mom's personal life, not even Scott. By now, Stiles was full on sobbing. He and his mother were always very close. The languages were their little secret. She had plenty of secrets. ''One day'', she would tell him when he would ask her why all the secrets were necessary, ''one day, you will understand. You will not be able to help yourself from keeping your own secrets.''

After crying out all his tears in his poor bed, Stiles got up grudgingly to check his phone. 46 messages from Scott, 13 voicemails from Scott, and a measly 2 voicemails from his dad.

Speaking of his dad, where was he? Stiles had woken up at 5 a.m., and hadn't gotten out checking on him. Usually, when this day came around, you could be sure to find John Stilinski sitting in his living room with a bottle of scotch in his hands, looking at an old photo album. And usually, Stiles would hear him go down at 9 a.m. and come back up at 1:30. But it was 4 past, and there was no sign of his dad. He looked outside his window into the parking where his dad's squad car would normally be, and felt a tiny irrational feeling of anxiety.

The car wasn't there. He shook his head so he could think clearly. Maybe his dad just went to the cemetery. He took a deep breath and pressed on his dad's message, holding the phone up to his ear.

'' Hey, Stiles, it's dad. I wasn't sure if you were awake or not, so I left you a message. I'm at the cemetery, so don't panic if you don't find me. I'll call you back later.''

Stiles let the breath he had been holding out. He was right; his dad was just at the cemetery. He clicked on the second message and pressed the phone back up to his ear.

'' Hey…it's me again. Your grandma called, said she wants me to go to a stupid family reunion tomorrow, so I'm driving up today. I've got some stuff over at her house in case anything like this ever happens. I guess she's just trying to get my mind off things. She asked if you could come too, but I said you weren't feeling it. You're welcome. See you Monday kid.''

Stiles removed the phone from his ear and went on to read Scott's messages. They were mostly the same.

You OK?

Want me to come over?

Feeling better?

Stiles didn't respond to any of them, because he knew of he did, Scott would jump in for a conversation, and as much as Stiles loved the guy he really wasn't feeling up to it. But he did decide to listen to some of Scott's voicemails.

'' Hey, you OK? Oh, 'course not…um, whatever, just call me back when you feel like it…bye.''

'' Hey, man, sorry for bothering you, but I just wanted to make sure you're, like, still alive. Not that I think you're suicidal or anything, I was just… uggh, just call me back.''