It's not even seven hours later that Stiles finds himself standing just outside of the hospital, watching people shuffle in through the sliding glass doors and biting at the nail of his thumb.

He doesn't even know how he ended up here. Everything after summoning the timekeep feels like a static blur. Deaton wanted him to rest today, watch a movie or sleep some more, said that when he got home tonight they'd work on whatever half baked plan Stiles had sputtered out in gasps of excited air.

So of course he's doing the exact opposite, right?

And it's not like the bench he's sitting on is exactly comfortable, because it's not. It digs into his ass and he's shifted positions three times now, but anytime he gets more than a foot closer to the entrance he feels like he's going to vomit again.

After Deaton revealed his mom to be a spark too, Stiles had been half ready to go running off to the hospital to see her. The man had infuriatingly decided to not tell Stiles much more than 'she's just a spark, Stiles, go back to focusing on your work' whenever he tried to broach the subject again.

He doesn't even know why he's here. He should be out doing something, right? Setting some big, complex plan into motion to save the day? He's not even sure he has one anymore, though, which blows because he's always the one with the plan. Or, he's supposed to be.

He's been running the scenarios through his head all day and he still can't tell which would be the best course of action. Would telling the Hales about what's wrong set it all to rights? Does he have to find whatever loophole happened to make the set time suddenly change?

He glares at the ground as he recalls the timekeeps laughter, making mocking faces into the dirt. It definitely could've been more helpful, at least.

Someone behind him clears their throat pointedly, sending Stiles into a flailed roll off of the bench. Behind him, there's a short, old looking woman with a kind smile on her face.

"You should go in," She says, gesturing to the doors. At Stiles' disgruntled face she adds, "I know it's a scary place in there, but I'm sure whomever they are needs you more than you need your space. I bet you a dollar they're more terrified than you are, and I can guarantee you that they'll feel better surrounded by people they love."

Stiles desperately wants to argue with her, really, he does, but the look she gives him just makes him nod resolutely and stand, brushing imaginary dirt off of his jeans.

The woman watches him as he walks across the small stretch of parking lot and keeps on until the sliding doors slide shut behind him like a prison cell latching closed. Once he's inside, it's easy to navigate the way to her room. He could do it blindfolded. (Which he actually has before because he got this really weird paranoia of becoming blind when he was eleven. It was a weird time. Scott was nothing but an enabler because he liked to watch Stiles run into walls.)

It isn't until he's outside of her hospital room, door currently closed because an old guy with dementia walks the corridors after lunch and thinks that she's the long lost love of his life, that it really hits him.

His mom is behind that door. His mom who hasn't seen in six years, who he visits at her grave, her fucking grave, every weekend and after every lacrosse game. His mom who used to make caramel apples with him in the kitchen and has two boxes full of coloring books, pages splattered with perfect colorings, who made flashcards with him of police codes so they could fall asleep on his dad's late shifts, listening to the reports of robberies and the loud house parties and his fathers voice telling dispatch that he'd be there.

Stiles pulls his hand back from the door and just stares at the handle blankly.

If he does this, he can't go back. He'll never be able to pretend that she isn't here, that she isn't behind this door breathing. He won't be able to pretend she's dead, that she isn't already dying. And what happens when she does die in eighty-two days? What will he do when that hole he keeps closed inside of him is torn open again?

The choice is made for him, though, when the door is quickly pulled open and a woman is shouting, "Ty bachorze! What have I told you about walking here when your father-"

She cuts herself off, mouth instantly snapping into a tight line. Stiles forgot how she looked in the last few months, always choosing to remember her with billowing hair down to her waist, face full with a healthy glow, that it's almost like a slap to see her so pale and fragile looking.

She doesn't look fragile though, hands instantly dropping to cross in front of her chest, a white shirt with two little blue hand prints stamped on it that he recognizes. They made it when he was in kindergarten, and he knows there's a really bad drawing of a teddy bear holding a balloon that he did when she was talking to another mom. Her face had brightened when she saw it though, instantly leaning over to press kisses to his cheeks.

She looks more like she's ready to bend him over and spank him than kiss him, though. Her eyes widen as she takes him in, and then her face instantly sours into a glare. She opens the door more and whispers harshly, "Szczęsny Stilinski get your ass in here right now młody człowieku."

Stiles feels his throat tighten, and he promised himself he wouldn't cry, not anymore, but he's dangerously close to it right now. No one but his mom and his grandma had ever been able to pronounce his name right. He never thought he would miss the tongue twister, so ready to change his name to Stiles rather than force people to butcher his name, but the sound of it makes his mom need to tug him into her room with her bony fingers to snap him out of his reverie.

For lack of anything better to say, Stiles rubs at the skin of his wrist she pinched and grumbles, "I seriously don't understand how you slip between Polish and English like that. You know I tried to take a Polish class at the community college in ninth grade and I had to drop out because it was so confusing?"

"You think Polish is confusing?" His mother slams the door shut, raising an eyebrow that looks exactly like his, "Try learning English. I still don't think your father was worth the headache, that damn beznadziejny człowiek."

And Stiles instantly grins because it's his mom and he's heard her complain about traveling all the way from Poland to be with his "idiot, American father" too many times to count. At his smile, Claudia's face instantly softens and she's sweeping him into her arms before he can even blink.

He's taller than her now, only by a few inches, but it's enough to tuck her head under his chin. His hands grip her tight, hugging her like he always wanted to when she was in the hospital and he thought she was too fragile. She squeezes him back just as hard.

After a few minutes, she pulls away and walks back over to her bed, untying the bandana around her head as she goes. She pulls it off and he's met with her bald head. It's a familiar sight.

"I'm glad to see you outgrew that buzz cut phase," She says as she carefully folds up her bandana. "You're a beautiful boy but your head is shaped weird and you really weren't doing yourself any favors."

Stiles blushes and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't have any styling gel at Deaton's and it just stands on end in which ever direction it chooses.

"Excuse you," Stiles squawks, easily finding the chair next to her bed his dad has already broken in with his butt, "But I'll have you know we have exactly the same shaped head, mom."

He tries to ignore how good it feels to call someone mom again.

She grins at him, her chapped lips pulling easily into a smile he had forgotten about years ago. It hits him like a freight train. "Mine works with my girlish figure, kochanie. With you, it looks like a cracked egg."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Oh no, kochanie, that's what the drugs are for."

They share an easy smile. Stiles has never felt so bright, so happy. He can't recall a time where everything felt this right, just sitting here with his mom, her presence alone seeming to make everything better in his life.

So of course he has to ruin his delusion. Out of the corner of his eye he can see it, glowing faintly under the coat hook on the door. It's simple, probably the first ward he learned. It's one that detects auras and bathes the room in the light of the person if they touch the ward. Only the maker of the ward can see it, making it easily hidden. It's why she so readily accepted his presence, Stiles realizes, despite not being the small twelve year old he's supposed to be.

Claudia's watching him, amusement sparkling in her eyes,"Has my little Szczęsny been learning the ways of the iskra?"

Stiles looks back at her, frowning, "Iskra?"

Her smile instantly drops and her eyes widen a small bit. It's almost unnoticeable, but Stiles sees her hands tighten briefly. She instantly wipes away that look, smiling smaller now with something akin to acceptance and settles herself onto her bed, "Ah. I guess that answers that, then."

Stiles opens his mouth, head almost pounding with the suffocating feeling that he's said something wrong, but she quickly cuts him off, "So, tell me now, did you make a deal with a timekeep just to visit your mama? I hope you gave them something good, sweet one. Sending someone back in time is no small feat."

"You know about timekeeps?" Stiles asks, a frown settling over his face.

"Your dziadek called them woźny czasu," She says, "But yes, I know of them. Our family has a great rapport with them. My braciszek even had his life saved by one, so he says, but I don't really believe him. Your pradziadek is the special case. He actually fell in love with one, did you know? Almost proposed to it, too."

Stiles makes a face, trying to imagine getting to know the creature he met last night. He shivers slightly, remembering the double twinged voice and its ever changing eyes and its cold laugh that raked against his ear drums even after he vanished it.

"You never told me that story," He says, instead of the offensive outcry of 'why' burning on his tongue.

His mom shakes her head, "No, I suppose I didn't. I didn't think I would ever tell you. I didn't want you to know, kochanie. The power of an isk- spark is hard to control, and the duties that come with it are more a burden than a gift. I wanted you to have a life outside of such things."

Stiles eyes her, remembering his confusion at Deaton calling him a spark, remembering the embarrassment he felt when he learned that his training should have been started when he was ten, and says, "That wasn't really fair to me though."

"When you're a parent someday, you'll understand," Claudia nods sagely, a sad smile on her face.

Stiles chuckles bitterly, "If I even live that long."

She frowns, eyes roaming over his face in a nonstop motion, searching for anything that could have led to her bright eyed boy sounding so forlorn, "Come, Szczęsny, tell your mama what troubles you so."

And he tells her. He tells her everything, not even stopping to take a breath. He tells her everything he didn't tell the Hales, everything that's been piling on his chest until he feels like his ribs are going to collapse. And once he starts, he can't stop, and then he's telling her about his dads drinking after she died, about his panic attacks and the way they can't even talk about her without one of them breaking down. Every single thing he's kept hidden, from his dad, from Scott, from the pack, from the Hales and Deaton, from himself, it all pours out of him like a broken dam and he can't even filter out anything.

By the end of the story, his cheeks are flushed and he's been there for over and hour and his mom has tear tracks on her face.

Wordlessly, she scoots over on her bed and pulls back the cover.

Hospital beds have never been his thing. The mattress is like paper and the cover they have over it crinkles anytime you breathe. The blankets are too thin and itch and the pillows need to be fluffed every two minutes for any sort of support or comfort. But laying there, letting his mom run her hands through his hair and holding him to her, Stiles has never been more comfortable in his life.

Stiles must fall asleep because the next thing he knows he's being shaken awake.

"Szczęsny," His mom says once he opens his eyes, "Stiles, you have to get up. Your dad should be coming soon and I don't think either of us is ready to tell him why there's a teenager in my bed." Stiles groans and tries to hide his face under her pillow but she snatches it away from his face, "Do you ever change? Come on. Wstawaj, my little boy, or else I'll pinch you. I know where it hurts, too."

Stiles knows quite well that she knows where it hurts to pinch him and quickly scrambles off of the bed at the threat, landing with a groan in a pile of limbs on the tile floor. Claudia asks if he's okay, but he can hear her stifling her laughter so he doesn't take her concern to heart.

Her face appears over the side of the bed and he gives her a dirty look, making her laugh some more.

"You're like a cat!" She laughs, arm wrapped around her stomach, "Oh, kochanie, you really need to talk to yourself. The poor boy is too afraid to even look at me wrong, let alone glare at me."

Stiles instantly feels every happy feeling leave him like a balloon floating away. He remembers what he was like the months before his mom died, quiet and scared, too afraid to even touch her. He remembered that he gave her headaches, back when her diagnosis was new and they didn't have her on medication, and he tried to sit in the corner and not speak. He didn't know his mom cared then, didn't know he wasn't helping her.

"Yeah," Stiles says, getting up from the floor, "I'll be sure to pencil him in between saving millions of lives."

"Don't let your ego get too big. It's more like hundreds."

Stiles just gives her a look.

Claudia throws her hands in front of her, "Okay. Fine. You're going to save millions of lives. You're a modern day Baseballman."

Stiles lets out an exasperated breath and narrows his eyes at her, "Batman. Mother. I am Batman. We have been over this-"

She winks mischievously at him, "Whatever you say, Bluejay."

"It's Robin!"

"Whatever."

The small groan of frustration is down right loving, and without his own permission, he sighs, "I've really missed you."

It seems to sober her up and her face falls for a few seconds. She nods, sitting upright in her bed and playing with the skin around her thumb. It's a nervous habit he picked up from her.

After a minute she seems to nod to herself, face settling into some kind of resolve that looks almost wrong on her and she says, "Guestroom closet. On the top shelf there's a box, and behind that box there's another one. There should be some books your babcia left with me. You'll have to ignore the poetry, your pradziadek was a hopeless romantic. Get the books, and maybe your job will be easier."

Stiles makes a face, "Are they all in Polish?"

Claudia smiles, it's small and barely there but Stiles doesn't know what else to call it, "Good thing you took that community college class, right?"

"Dropped out," Stiles clarifies. "Dropped out."

She waves a hand, "It doesn't matter. You're a smart boy. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Now, come here and let me kiss that face because you have about five minutes before your papa gets here and I am so not letting him think his wife is having an affair with some young thing."

"Oh, but it's perfectly fine if he thinks you're having an affair with an old thing?"

His mom smirks, "Shut up and come here."

Stiles does as she says, and he hates every minute of his walk to the door. The door closes behind him with a click that feels too loud, and the sliding glass doors open too quickly.

He passes a small boy with a buzz cut and moles. He doesn't stop to say anything.

Notes:

~thank you Weronika and Ann-i-ka for being an amazing person~
Ty bachorze– You brat
młody człowieku – young man
beznadziejny człowiek - hopeless man
kochanie – sweetie, sweet one, sweetling, etc.
iskra - spark
dziadek - grandfather
woźny czasu – time caretaker
braciszek - brother
pradziadek – great grandfather
babcia - grandmother
Wstawaj – get up