"Oh, my precious wnuczek Stiles!" Babcia exclaimed, hugging Stiles in a warm embrace. "You've grown so big, now!" She said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Stiles hadn't seen his paternal grandma, Babcia, for two years. She'd flown in from Warsaw, along with her two sons, to pay respects at Claudia's wake. She rarely traveled out of Europe, since she hated airplanes. The elderly woman had her silver hair loose around her face, and she was holding an enormous casserole dish under one arm.

" Love you, Babcia, Kocham cie Babciu," Stiles told her, following her into the kitchen as she started to rearrange the fridge to fit her casserole dish. His polish was a bit stilted from not using it very often, but he was still able to communicate with his extended family in their native tongue.

Stiles grabbed a handful of sugar cookies, and wandered into the living room. He was glad to see some of his classmates and their parents. He waved at Greenburg, and Danny Mahealani. The entire house was filled with Claudia and John's relatives, as well as many friends from Beacon Hills.

The doorbell rang, and Stiles quickly ran to answer it. Probably more of his father's friends or coworkers. Stiles was glad to see Melissa and Scott standing on the front steps, holding a large bowl of potato salad.

"Scotty!" Stiles said, hugging his best friend. Melissa went into the kitchen to help Babcia set up the food, as both boys sought refuge upstairs in Stiles' bedroom.

"The whole town's here," Scott joked, sitting on his friend's bed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Stiles said, automatically. "No, I'm not." He admitted, sitting beside Scott. He grabbed one of his pillows, and hugged it tightly against his body.

"Where's Derek?" Scott asked. "Is he downstairs?"

"No." Stiles said. "He left for a while."

"Oh. When's he coming back?" Scott asked, confused.

"I don't know." He said.

A few weeks later, Stiles and Derek were hanging out in the playground. Stiles sat on the swing, his feet scraping in the dust below him. His fingers clutched the metal links tightly, as he took a deep breath. Derek could see the kid was trembling, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You okay?" Derek asked, watching as Stiles struggled to suck in air. "I think you're having a panic attack again."

"I think i'm dying." Stiles whispered, terrified.

"You gotta breathe." Derek said, kneeling in front of him.

"That's it," Derek coached, watching Stiles slowly exhale. "Keep your breathing even." He instructed, watching the kid slowly start to become less panicked.

"See, you're gonna be okay." Derek said, listening to Stiles' heartbeat start to slow down. "We'll get through this." He said, hugging the kid.

Derek sat on the empty swing beside Stiles, and started to kick his feet. "Race you!" He challenged.

"No fair!" Stiles pouted. "Your legs are too long!"

Derek jumped off the swing, and landed on the grass. "We need to get home." He said, looking up at the sky. It was sunset, the sky was mottled with pink and orange hues.

"Catch me!" Stiles said, launching himself off the swings and into Derek's arms.

"Uhmphf!" Derek grunted, catching Stiles under the armpits and putting him on the ground. They walked back to the house, and Stiles kicked off his shoes. He sniffed the air, smelling something acrid.

"Dad? What's burning?" He shouted. John sniffed the air, and threw down the pile of paperwork onto the table.

"Oh, my god." John yelled, throwing open the oven door, and pulling out the blackened sausages. "Damnit, I wrecked them, they're not even salvagable." He said, cringing at the destroyed food.

Stiles opened the cupboard, and pulled out the box of captain crunch. "We have cereal." He said, watching John scrape the burnt food into the garbage can. They brought their bowls of cereal into the living room, and watched cartoons.

"Sorry for wrecking dinner." John said, glancing apologetically at his son. "I wanted to make something special for supper."

"It's okay," Stiles said. "Maybe you should teach me to cook, so I can help out more."

"It's my job to take care of you." John reminded him. "I'm the parent."

Stiles looked up at his dad, surprised. "Well, yeah, but we're family. I have to take care of you."

"Eat your cereal, Stiles. It's almost bedtime." John said. "We'll get through this together." He said, putting his arm around Stiles.