Claudia

I walked through the door, and heard the sound of feet running in the hall upstairs. I hung my jacket on a coat hanger, and walked into the kitchen. A bowl filled with half eaten macaroni was still on the table. I picked it up and carried it over to the sink. I emptied the contents into the garbage can and rinsed the bowl off before putting it in the dishwasher. I felt tiny arms wrap around my legs. Smiling, I looked down to see my son.

"You're home!" he grinned. His light brown eyes were gleaming in excitement. Just looking at him, made me feel a pain in my chest. He looks exactly like his brother when he was that age.

"He got really excited when he heard the cab pull into the drive way," My mother said, leaning against the door frame. "We unpacked some of his boxes today. All of his toys. It kept him busy." she told me.

"Thank you for watching him," I said, embracing her. "It's hard being back here after what happened." I sighed.

"That was the past, Claudia. Accidents happen." she insisted. "Dylan, why don't you go play outside, with the cars that we unpacked today? We'll watch you through the slide door." she told him.

"Okay." My son smiled. I heard him running up the stairs.

"It's my fault that Dylan will never meet his older brother." I sighed, holding my head in my hands. "I sold the car from back then, but nothing can take away the memory."

"That wasn't your fault," she insisted. "Claudia, why are you bringing this up now?" my mother asked. "It's been almost ten years. "Why the sudden guilt?"

"It's this town." I muttered. "All the memories here."

"You shouldn't have moved back here if it is going to be this hard, Claudia." My mother sighed. Dylan ran past us, opening the back door.

"Dylan?" I asked.

"Yes?" he responded, looking back at me.

"Don't forget your jacket. And your shoes. It isn't summer anymore. It's autumn, so it can get pretty windy."

"Okay." Dylan sighed. I waited for him to zip up his jacket and velcro his shoes before turning back to my mother. "I saw this boy today," I started.

"What boy?" she asked quickly.

"I know that it can't be him," I sighed. "But I saw him, across the street from me. And he looked at me. He, his eyes were watering. Even from where I was, I could tell. I felt like he knew who I was. I swear, I knew him from somewhere too. He looked to be around the age that he would have been,"

"Maybe it was a friend of his." My mother interrupted.

"Maybe," I nodded. "He didn't have that many friends, but there was one that used to come over everyday. I feel horrible," I laughed nervously. "This kid used to come over everyday for four years and I don't even remember his name,"

"Well maybe it was his friend then. Even if they were young when you moved away, I'm sure he would still recognize your face." she shrugged. "Claudia, the best thing that you can do for Dylan is move forward. Raise him right. Stop living in the past. It may be hard to let go, but your other son is dead. He has been for close to ten years. Just remember that he is watching over you and Dylan. I know that he wouldn't want you to keep living in the past. He would want you and Dylan to be happy." she insisted.

"I know that," I nodded. "It's just hard. Especially now that we're back in town."

"It will get easier," she told me. "It always does."

Stiles

I sat in my room, staring up at my ceiling. That couldn't have been her. I tried to convince myself. But the more I replayed the memory in my mind, the more convinced I became. She looked exactly like her. But people can't come back from the dead. It was a silent argument in my head. One voice trying to convince me that my mother was alive, and the other trying to convince me that she wasn't. Peter came back from the dead. One voice said. But Peter is supernatural. Mom wasn't. A soft tap at my door interrupted the argument.

"Come in," I said quietly. It was dad.

"You're friends with that girl, Malia, right?" he asked.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Why?"

"Her father just called," he said slowly. "He and Malia got into an argument and Malia ran off. He hasn't seen her since and I was wondering if maybe you've seen her?"

"Sorry, dad. The last time I saw her was when we all went to the bowling alley yesterday," I told him.

"Alright." he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Stiles, if you see her," he trailed off.

"If I see her," I told him. "I'll let you know." He muttered an almost silent thank you before half-closing my door. I waited in silence until I heard his car start up. I watched out my window for his car to disappear completely from my sight before leaving. I hopped into the front seat of my jeep, and turned the key to start it. I drove in the opposite direction and stopped when I reached the Beacon Hills Preserve. I turned the lights on my jeep off, and jumped out of my vehicle. My teeth chattered as the cold, night air hit the exposed skin on my arms and face. I wish I had been smart enough to wear a jacket. I could barely see where I was going. I heard the snapping of twigs and the crunching of leaves beneath my feet. So much for being silent. I walked slowly. It took what seemed like forever to reach the car wreck. I stopped, and looked around. All I could hear was an owl hooting in the distance. "Malia?" I called out. I heard something rustling behind me. I spun around, and there she stood.

"How did you know that I would be here?" she frowned. I couldn't see her face in the darkness. Just the silhouette of her body.

"Where else would you go?" I retorted. I took a step towards her. She didn't move. "Why did you run off?" I asked curiously.

"You seriously want to know?" she crossed her arms.

"Yeah." I took another step towards her. "I do." She sighed, and sat down on a rock. I sat on the ground beside her. I could feel the pointy stones and little sticks digging through my jeans but I ignored it.

"My father," she started. "The one that I grew up thinking was my father anyways, isn't actually my father." she said slowly. "Does that make sense?" she asked me.

"A little bit." I told her. "What do you mean by he isn't your father?"

"I mean, he isn't my father. Peter, he came by my house today. I thought it was because he was going to keep teaching me how to stay in control, like he's been doing for a while, but that wasn't why. He didn't come to talk to me. He came to speak to my father." she paused, taking a deep breath. "I listened in, I couldn't it." she admitted. "Peter said that he was my real father." She the one? The one Lydia was talking about? "You don't look surprised," she muttered.

"No, it's just that a while ago, Lydia told me that,"

"Hold on," Mali interrupted. "You knew?" she hissed angrily.. "Stiles, you knew that Peter was my father and you never said anything?" She stood and started walking away.

"Malia," I grabbed her hand. She spun around to face her, her eyes flaring. "I didn't know that it was you. I just knew that Peter was a father."

"The scary part is, I believe him Stiles." she said quietly. She took a deep breath, her body shaking. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her. She buried her face in my chest. "I don't want to, but I believe him. It would explain why I can change into a coyote, sort of. I was never bitten, and neither of my parents are supernatural. I just don't know what to do," she sobbed.

"Running away and hiding isn't the answer." I told her. "Try talking to your dad about it," I suggested.

"You're right," she sighed, pulling away from me. "You're great Stiles." she smiled. "Thank you."

"No problem." I told her. Maybe I should take my own advice and talk to my dad about what happened yesterday. I shook my head. If my dad knew, he would think I am hallucinating again.

Well? What do you think? Please Review! Also, I need a first name for Stiles. Like, what should his real name be? And I'm going to have it so that everyone started calling him Stiles after his mother 'died' so if you have an idea as to why they started calling him this, it would be helpful. Thank you!