Since becoming involved with supernatural beings almost a year ago, Stiles had accepted the heightened possibility of death. He'd always fought his hardest to survive, but had known that one day things would go too far and the gnarled hands of Death would steal his soul. He no longer feared death itself, more so the mannerism of it. He feared the crushing black that would sweep over him; the arctic cold that would forever bind him to the earth; and finally the painful gush of his last heartbeat and breath. And now his worst nightmare was coming to pass.
He could feel the warm arms cradling him against Derek's chest, but that didn't evade the compressing chill holding his lungs. He could see the flashes of light and color around him, but that didn't hold back the daunting darkness creeping over his eyes. He let a few stray tears leak from his eyes while his heart continued to throb painfully in his chest. He blinked, concentrating on the wild thrumming of the heart holding him, the rasping pleas, and bitter choking of unshed tears. He held onto it as the light slowly faded and despairing blackness overtook him.
He had gone to church sparingly in his life, once when his mother died, and every Christmas or Easter. He believed in God, but could never sit still long enough surrounded by stuffy old women who liked to assault him with their bosoms or talon like fingers. But he remembered clearly when the preacher had described heaven to his Sunday school class. He remembered it because the man had looked him deep in the eyes and told him that his mama was there at the pearly gates waiting for him, and that one day they would walk the streets of gold together. He was positive that was what Heaven looked like, so he was confused to open his eyes, lying on his back in his own home.
The house was peacefully silent, all besides the soft twinkling of bells. The luscious scent of lavender and mixed fauna wafted up his nose, calming his racing pulse. There was a nice breeze tickling his bare chest. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his mattress. He rubbed his face, surveying the room warily. He gasped, suddenly feeling so small. He was in his childhood bedroom, racecar bed and all. Numbly, he crossed the room to the buzz light year calendar he'd gotten that year for his birthday. He couldn't suppress the tight smile as he overlooked the childish scrawl on certain squares, each marking a day his mama wasn't there. Then his eyes strayed to the empty little box in the corner. He suddenly felt the stinging in his eyes as he realized exactly what day this was. This was the day his mama had died.
He waited for the constricting of his chest that accompanied every thought of the woman, but it never came. He swallowed the lump in his throat, turning away from the calendar. Why was he here? Was this his hell? To relive that day over and over? He sat with his back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on top of them. He glanced at the Elmo clock on the wall. It was barely scraping eight o'clock and he knew that in ten minutes the phone would ring and his life would end. He closed his eyes and waited, counting each ominous tick of the clock. He waited, but the sound never came.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He was still there in his room, but the time was now nine thirty. Had an entire hour passed so quickly? Shaking, he hurled himself from the room. The hall was oddly illuminated and the sound of bells was growing louder. He crept down the stairs, feeling an unnatural pull by the sweet twinkling. The siren sound dragged him to the kitchen doorway. At first he couldn't believe anything he was seeing, then his knees gave out and he sank to them, an agonized sob filling his throat.
The woman stood about five-feet-five-inches. She had soft, silky chestnut hair that fell in wavy crests down to her waist. A few strands hung in her heart shaped face, caressing her warm dimpled cheeks. When she blinked, her lashes lightly kissed her cheekbones. She lightly brushed some of her locks from her face with dainty hands no larger than tea saucers. She cocked her head to the side, the unnatural light catching her face and gliding over her flawless skin. She breathed in slowly, a delicate smile touching her baby soft lips. Her chest rose and fell gently, as if she never needed support. She easily spun around the kitchen, eyes closed all the time. Her cherry red sundress twirled around her athletic legs. His bottom lip quivered as she played with a worn apron spotted with several colors and a crudely painted picture of a tiny stick figure boy and his parents. The woman continued to ignore him and he was drawn to her mouth. They were moving smoothly and he heard the bells. She was singing. He listened harder as the words became clear and crisp. He whimpered, recognizing his mother's favorite song Concrete Angel. The woman paused at the sound, facing him for the first time. He watched the smile broaden sadly and her arms open, inviting him in. He held his breath as her lids pulled back, exposing the honey and amber irises he'd inherited.
"Mom." He choked. It was impossible that she was here in the kitchen, but here she was. She nodded, a golden tear leaking from her eyes.
"Oh Stiles, my little boy." Her voice was just as he remembered; soft and gentle like the wind, but warm and embracing like a fire in winter. He went to her, entranced by her sweet smell of lavender and honey and…him. She rubbed his head as he wept into her, feeling like a child again. She continued to sing softly, giving him a minute. Every tear that touched him from her eyes warmed his heart and fluttered in his stomach. "Mom." He sighed contentedly.
She smiled at him, suddenly lifting him effortlessly. She cradled him against her chest as she glided to her favorite rocking chair. He was dimly aware of a glow accompanying her as she moved. The sat and she continued to hold him, caressing his face like she had when he used to have nightmares. He felt a lightness in him that he hadn't felt in a long time, since she had died actually. This must be heaven, he thought. This was something singled out for him and perhaps his father, but no one else. He snuggled against her, wanting to remain there forever.
"Stiles sweetheart I am so proud of you," she whispered, "I could not have wished for a better son."
He looked up at her angelic features, momentarily choked up. "Y-You're proud of me?"
"Of course I am. You are everything to me. You kept control of your father after I passed…you never forgot me…"
He sat bolt up, holding her hand between his. They weren't cold as he'd imagined, but similar to the sun filtering down to them in early spring. He held her eyes, his eyes, with quiet intensity. "I'll never forget you mom. Never." He swore softly.
She smiled sadly. "I know you won't love; I will live though you."
He looked at her, suddenly confused. "But mom…I'm dead. I'm with you forever." He didn't understand what she was saying. Wasn't this Heaven? Wasn't she waiting for him? Unless…unless she really did blame him for her death. Did she? Did she want him?
Her hand cupped his chin and pulled his face to hers. She was crying again, but he'd never seen a crying woman look so beautiful and breathtaking. "Stiles sweetheart, you can't stay here. You still have much to do in your life; you are too young to join me. I have never blamed you sweetheart, nor will I ever. You are my heart and your father's heart. As much as I want to keep you in my arms I have to let you go."
He wound his arms around her slender neck. "Why mama? Why?! I can't do this anymore! I'm weak, I'm nothing. This entire time I missed you and now you can't keep me? Mama I need you." He sobbed. She went to rubbing his back again as he sniveled against her shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose and he grabbed two fistful just like he used to. It was as soft as a feather, sliding through his fingers like pure water.
"You are strong son. More than I could fathom. You mean more to your friends than they are willing to let on; even the Whitmore boy is fond of you. Look at me Stiles." She waited until he pulled away and looked at her. "You are loved more than any person can be. You may be human, but you have forged a bond with them stronger than any pack mentality. You have created a family through love, son. A pack does not mean that all members love one another, that they even respect one another. But your pack, they are a family to the core. Peter Hale did many terrible things, but in the end he stood by the lot of you when murdering his nephew and taking back that power would have been easy to accomplish. No, you all are family, and despite what you may think they all love you and each other. At this moment they are at wits end, grieving over you."
He said nothing; just laid his head on her chest to get control of his breathing again. He knew in his gut that she wasn't lying to him, that they really did love him. He knew it, but it did not lessen the blow any less. Here was his mother, everything he had wanted and back in the world of the living was his father and friends, everything he could have. He looked at his mother through his wet lashes. "Do I get a choice?" he mumbled.
She tightened her grip ever so slightly. "Of course you do. But before you decide I want you to remember how you felt when I died. The impact I had on you, your father, everyone. Do this for me son."
He refused to meet her eyes. He remembered that first crushing year vividly despite his best efforts to lock them away in the darkest corners of his mind. She stroked his cheek and began rocking gently. "I left an impression on this world that is hard to forget, but painful to remember. It was horrible to watch as those I left behind succumbed to the pain and hid away that spark they had for fear of remembering the piece of that spark that belonged to my memory. I wanted nothing more than to be with you then Stiles. When your father began to drink himself away I wanted to live again, at least for that moment to hold you and him. But I could not, and I watched over you, being a shield only when I could. But you have done so much more. The impression you left on the world has even outshined mine. If you do pass there will be no turning back. You will have to watch the destruction of those you love one by one and be helpless to stop it. If you die they will not overcome Stiles; they will fall apart. Your father will self destruct, and no one will be able to stop it; poor little Scott, that boy will be scarred for life, blaming himself for what happened to you; and Derek….he has lost so much already, to lose the love of his life will utterly destroy him. Think of them my son, if no one else. I will still be here for you when it is your time, but that day is not today."
He nodded against her, squeezing his mother for what felt like the last time. "I love you mama." He closed his eyes as she embraced him, her skin glowing brighter than the sun. He heard the sound of bells again, feeling her press her lips against his forehead. "I love you too my boy." Her arms slowly left him and he was left holding her apron in his fists. He held it to his heart, drawing in the faint traces of her there. There was a knock at the door and he just knew that if he answered he wouldn't be returning to this place for a very long time.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed to his feet, neatly folding the apron and laying it across the rocking chair. As he neared the door he heard the twinkling of his mother's voice again in the kitchen. He hesitated, hand on the doorknob. He bit his bottom lip, wanting to turn back and go to her arms, but he had a sinking feeling that if he did there would not be another knock for him. The door pounded again and he heard them, his friends. They were calling to him on the other side. He swallowed fresh tears at the one that struck him in his heart the loudest. Derek was calling to him pleadingly, the heart break evident in every whisper. He steeled himself and opened the door.
Author's Note: Hi my faithful readers. I want to just tell you guys that I only have two chapters left in the story, but I have a special treat for you guys. The last chapter is planned out; the only problem is building up to it. You guys have a chance to send me any ideas for the second to last chapter, and I'll pick the idea that best flows with the story. I know, HIGHLY unconventional, but I'm curious what you guys think. So you know the drill: review or PM me anytime!