Chapter 11: In Which a Treasure Chest is Opened and Stiles Falls Asleep to an Old VHS Tape

Stiles woke up at the crack of dawn and lay in bed, watching the lazy rays of sun penetrating the curtains and crawling lazily on the ceiling. When he turned to his side he could see Derek's strong profile, his chest was rising and falling in an even motion. Stiles took a moment to reflect; there was something stirring in his chest which the youth could no longer ignore. Lying by Derek's side, as right as it may have seemed, was not normal or, at least, usual. Stiles had to admit that something has shifted between the two, way back when Derek's howl erupted through their cabin on that very first night. Whatever happened that night, it brought with it many changes. On several occasions, Stiles felt as if suddenly he was granted a certain very intimate insight into the wolf's being. On several occasions, he could pinpoint exactly what the wolf was feeling. Often now, Stiles could guess what the wolf was thinking and could predict Derek's emotional predisposition. That unique connection scared Stiles but it intrigued him more. His thoughts drifted to the previous night and to their conversation in regards to Stiles' mother.

Stop.

Mom's trunk, Stiles thought suddenly getting uncomfortable, itching to get up and go look for it. Eventually, he decided it would be best to wait for Derek to wake up. He tried going back asleep but, instead, just kept tossing and turning, expectantly looking at Derek and barely holding up from shaking the werewolf awake. Finally Stiles realized that, at that rate, he would likely wake Derek up. Not really liking the prospect of that, he got up and snack out of the room, deciding to walk around and maybe fix some breakfast, fully intending to stay away from the attic, at least until Derek woke up.

It was only half an hour late when Derek awoke to an ear splintering bang coming from somewhere above him. Fully alert and disregarding his wounds, he sprinted out of bed and up to the second level. There, in the hallway. A ladder stretched from an opening in the ceiling. What looked like a treasure chest peeked from the opening. Stiles Stalinski lay on his back, across the hall, rubbing at the back of his head.

"Morning," he greeted from his place on the floor.

"You couldn't wait, could you?" Derek replied and, for once, Stiles couldn't tell whether the man was mad or simply amused.

-8-8-8-

Derek didn't let Stiles open the treasure chest until after they ate breakfast. Stiles whined and grumbled and complained but complied nonetheless. When they were finally done, the dishes cleared away and Derek's wound bandaged anew, Stiles cleared off the table in the living room and place the chest on top of it. For a while, they both sat on the couch and simply stared at it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Derek prompted.

"Ah," Stiles let out. "Yeah, I guess," he said but didn't move, staring at it as if he was willing it to open on its own.

"Stiles," Derek tried again but was interrupted.

"Could you, maybe..?" the boy wandered off. "Please."

Derek hesitated at first – it was delicate ground he was treading here – but complied. The heavy latch was coarse with mild rust and it opened slowly and with difficulty. The hinges creaked as the top lifted revealing a mass of boxes and trinkets, notebooks and books. He took out one of the medium sized box and handed it to Stiles. With unbending fingers Stiles finally got it to open and as he did, all the dread and stiffness seemed to leave his being. Seeing that, Derek let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The box contained a bronze wind chime of a seemingly crude cut.

"We made that," Stiles jingled the wind chime lightly. "We had this random sheet of metal lying in our garage and mom just sort of showed up with a metal cutter one day. We never really used it after this time."

"Let's put it up," Derek plucked the bronze mass of curled metal from Stile's fingers before the boy had a time to respond and walked towards the window.

"Wha–" Stiles quipped but Derek just hooked it on the curtain rod. Stiles eyed it, uncertain while the werewolf walked back to the coffee table.

The next box was even smaller than the previous one and it held a tiny casket. Stiles opened it carefully and jumped almost dropping it.

"Hey!" his voice went up a pitch. "It's my first tooth!"

Derek took the box from the boy, and taking a look at the white stone inside it he thought of his own first tooth, resting somewhere amongst the ashes and the dirt. Stiles, obviously perked up, got up and started rummaging through the treasure chest.

"Hey, look," he exclaimed taking a thick stack of carton fastened with a white cord. It turned out to be a stack of post-cards.

"She loved to travel," Stiles explained. "She and dad had all sorts of tales about Europe. They almost split up because of that, once. Way back when they first met, mom was going to head out in a month and backpack all over Europe. Dad wasn't thrilled. Instead she shortened her trip by more than a half and talked him into going with her. She was just like that," Stiles smirked going through the post cards. "Some of those are ones she sent to dad, some are from the both of them to her parents. Some are just random notes about their trips. Look, here's one from Barcelona."

When the post cards came to an end they took out a shoe box with a tattered pair of Dr. Marten's boots that seemed like they have been through everything and back and definitely saw better days. First Pair was neatly labeled on the side. Under all the tissue, at the very bottom, they found a letter the sheriff wrote to his wife after they first met.

A couple of photo albums came out next, dated as far back as the 80's and 70's. A separate album hosted pictures of a younger version of the sheriff – sometimes accompanied by a tall beautiful brunette with bright green eyes – at the park, at the zoo, in some restaurant, and so on and so forth. Two albums with Stiles on the cover where out aside for later examination. Derek hid a smirk as Stiles' ears turned crimson. They found a notebook from Stiles' early years, where his mother noted every crazy, goofy thing he ever did or said; every misbehaviour, every worry of hers about Stiles' health or upbringing, every happy thought her son brought into her mind. That was also put aside, along with the albums.

There were many letters and trinkets in the treasure chest; key-chains, theater tickets, Stiles' earlier toys and articles of clothing, colourful jewelry and kandi bracelets, bracelets weaved and rings bent into shape. Eventually, Stiles finally reached the Polaroid he mentioned – a lovely 1977, 420 Land Polaroid. It was in an excellent shape with the film pack still in place and the battery compartment free of corrosion. Stiles just held it in his hands for a bit, contemplating, before he lifted it up and took a snapshot of Derek.

"It still works," he exclaimed as the apparatus droned into life and a pictured zoomed out with a murmur. Stiles waited for a bit before peeling the protective film off and taking a look at the picture. Derek's surprised face, softened by the camera's aptitude, stared back at him.

"Just like I remembered it," he said quietly.

"Don't waste your film," Derek advised to which Stiles just snapped another shot.

After the Polaroid was put aside, Derek took out a heavy leather jacket that seemed way too big for the tiny woman Derek saw in the photos. However, there was no mistaking that it was hers as it starred in many of her images.

"Mom was such a rocker," Stiles said pulling it on. Derek thought, rather uncomfortably, that it suited him well.

At one point, they found a series of VHS tapes, one of which was now blaring through the boxy TV. Stiles fell asleep halfway through it and was currently curled on the couch. Derek kept going through the contents of the trunk. He was laying things in piles on the table and waiting for the human to wake up when he finally reached the bottom.