The bark of a dog wakes Stiles from a restless, chilly sleep, and it is followed by a feminine voice from behind the locked door.
"Shhh... what is it Dougie?" it says.
Dougie? Stiles thinks to himself as he stands. When he was a kid he named the family dog Dougie. How strange.
Dougie is scratching at the door; whining, inbetween the odd bark.
"Okay, okay... I know... please don't tell me she's done this again..." the woman mutters.
Her voice sounds so familiar.
The lock clicks open and Stiles takes a step back as the door begins to open. His heart is beating fast now and the light temporarily blinds him.
He shields his view, trying to focus on the figure in front of him, and after two, three seconds he cannot believe his eyes. He cannot even speak. Before him stands the round faced, dark haired woman who died over eight years ago from an incurable degenerative disease - his mother; Claudia.
"Stiles?" she says his name quizzically.
Dougie sniffs at Stiles' feet. The big, tatty, friendly dog is the same dog he remembers from his childhood, except now he's older, shaggyer, and fatter.
"What are you doing in here honey? Have you been in here all night?"
Stiles feels his knees buckle and reaches out to the wall to steady himself. A moment later and his mother has an arm around him and is guiding him out into a dimly lit kitchen. He almost jerks away, afraid she's a demon in disguise.
"Mm..mom..." he finally stutters out.
Through blinds, light drapes over a sink of unwashed plates and bowls, an empty fruitbowl atop a table covered by a colourful knitted tablecloth, shelves overstacked with steel pots and pans. A tall gray fridge and a strip of magnets with knives and scissors hanging from them.
"What happened darling?" she asks.
Stiles still cannot believe that his once terminally ill mother has her arm around him and is leading him into a chair.
"I must, I must be dreaming. I'm dreaming..." he stumbles as he sits, disorientated.
"Are you?" she laughs, pushing his dark brown curls out of his face as she pulls her chair to face opposite him. He reaches up and touches the curls...
"...My hair..."
Yesterday he had a buzzcut. His mother runs a hand through the now thick hair.
"Yes, you do have hair... is that a lump? Did someone hit you Honey?"
Stiles looks into her eyes properly for the first time. He stares long and hard, reminding himself how Dad used to comment on her hazel eyes - how often they would switch from from brown to green, how he never could tell what they would be from one day to the next. Lost in the thought, Cludia's expression slowly shifts to deep concern.
"Stiles, tell me what happened."
"You're real."
"What else would I be?"
"Erm.."
"Yes?"
"Dead" he says.
Claudia inhales deeply, places a hand across his forehead.
"Oh Stiles, I'm not going anywhere. I'm very much alive baby--".
"--Of course you are" - a man's voice interrupts them as he enters the kitchen from an open door, "why wouldn't you be?"
Claudia shifts her eyes in his direction. The man smoothes back his short blonde hair as he opens the fridge door. "Is that bacon still in here?" he asks casually.
"Jack, get Charlotte down here now" she states, glancing back at Stiles with a kind smile.
Jack continues to eye the contents of the fridge, "what's she done now?" he asks as he takes out a carton and pours himself a glass of milk. He looks over at Stiles.
"Stiles?" he says, raising eyebrows at him playfully.
Stiles doesn't know what to say - he's never seen Jack before and he doesn't know a Charlotte.
He quickly looks away from Jack and focuses back on Claudia. She puts her hands on Stiles' knees and asks...
"Was it your sister Stiles?" she leans in, "You can be honest - did she lock you in there again?"
"...Sister?" he manages.
"She hit you didn't she?" she says.
Jack pushes in with "Claudia - you're putting words in the boys mouth".
Jack doesn't hold back on his cupboard banging and opens the grill with a squeak, slipping a few slices of bread beneath it.
Stiles doesn't take his eyes off his mother. "You're older" he whispers.
"I think we need to take him to the hospital Jack, maybe it's a concussion..." she says, and then she continues directly to Stiles "...you seem somewhere else honey..."
Claudia is taken aback with surprise when Stiles throws his arms around her and squeezes her tightly.
"I missed you so much" he says, "so much.." his voice cracks, "Mom, oh God, I missed you..." his eyes are wet. "I love you...".
"I love you too sweetie...You, you missed me?"
When Stiles begins to shake with sobs and his grip on her becomes tighter than ever she asks with her most serious voice, "What's happened Stiles...please tell us?"
Stiles buries his face in her shoulder, taking in the almost familiar scent of her vanilla perfume. It smells better than anything ever. If this is a dream, he'll hold onto her as long as he can. If it's real it makes no sense at all, but every confusion and question in the world isn't going to stop him from taking in this moment completely, utterly and completely - not when he can be with her again.
Claudia glances at Jack, who awkwardly lingers by the countertop. He distracts himself by flipping the bread slices over.
"This isn't right Jack. It's bullying.." she says, "Shhh... it's okay Chickadee".
Her nickname only serves to make him sob harder.
"I...I... missed you calling me that..."
Claudia shoots a frustrated expression at Jack, who walks over to the open door leading out into the hallway.
"Charlotte!" he looks up at a staircase, "Come down right now Charlotte!".
A second later, he disappears from the room and can be heard shouting the name again from the bottom of the staircase.
Stiles's sobbing begin to slow and quell down. Slowly, he relaxes into his mother's arms.
"I don't wanna wake up" he says, his tone fragile, "I dont want you... to be sick again..."
Claudia stiffens, pulls him back in a sudden movement.
"Sick?" she says, "What do you mean Stiles?"
He looks back at her.
"Sick, how?"
He looks down.
"You were dying..."
For a moment she cannot speak, and then... "I wasn't--" she starts, but the groan of a nineteen year old girl interrupts her.
Entering the room, Charlotte is quickly followed by her father, Jack.
"--I didn't hit him" she moans, "I don't know what you're talking about..."
Charlotte looks at Stiles and his red, tear streaked face and quickly looks away again.
"I locked the door, but I didn't hit him. I swear!".
There's a burning smell in the air.
"Charlotte!" Jack raises his voice, "Don't lie to us-- Oh, shiit!"
Jack rushes to the grill and pulls the smoking tray out. "Ow! Fuck." The toast is slightly charred; fumes rising.
"Jack?!" Claudia shouts. "Language."
Charlotte bursts out laughing. She catches eyes with Stiles and he can't help but let a small smile slip himself.
Claudia catches it as she turns back to him - "Ah! A smile. Thank God".
"Stiles, tell them I didn't hit you" Charlotte says.
"I, I dont remember what happened" he mumbles, "I don't know you..." he says looking at Charlotte again, "who are you?"
"Stiles, you dont remember your sister?"
"I don't have a sister."
Jack closes the oven door and is now buttering what's left of his toast.
"That's a bit harsh Stiles".
Claudia exhales deeply and looks at Charlotte.
"Not when she's been bullying him for God knows how long...".
"I haven't!" Charlotte complains.
Stiles is feeling restless from the drama. He touches Claudia's arm.
"Where's Dad, Mom?" he asks.
Jack, taken aback, chimes in, "I'm right here, boy".
"No..." Stiles starts, "I mean, my real Dad".
Claudia is stunned for a moment. Nobody says anything for a whole twenty five seconds and it feels like several minutes.
"Honey, you... you don't remember?"
"Rememer what?" Stiles says, an unsettled heaviness beginning to form in his chest. "Mom, remember what?".
"Stiles, Noah...your biological Dad, don't you remember?" Her tone has shifted to soft and careful. "He died... in Iraq. When you were seven. I don't understand, baby, what's this really about?"
Stiles stares ahead - What the actual fuck?! No...
"You're lying. This isn't even real..."
He suddenly doesn't see the patchwork knitted tablebcloth his mother inherited from his Nanna, or the antique clock on the wall that his Dad bought at a sale when he was six. He doesn't see anything. All is dark. Cause how can he process losing another parent all over again. How?
To be continued...
Hey. Review if you're enjoying the story and let me know what you like and what you think could be improved, if you like. :)