Heya! Sorry about this chapter, I just wanted a little background for the story. And I know that The Sheriff is really, really OOC, but it's how it all happened in my head. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! Hopefully there'll be more later today!

"You can't hang on to her forever, Stiles."

The Sheriff's voice was low and his tone truthful, it was his words that had made him angry. It was a Sunday morning, and also 'the day.' This day, four years ago, Stiles's mother had died.
Stiles had been confused when his uniformed father had come into his room to announce that he was leaving for work. He had planned to watch home movies and sift through old photos like they had done in the past, like they alway had done. When Stiles had protested, his father had said those words, stabbing Stiles in the heart, knocking the breath out of him. He immediately lost all motivation to fight back or even speak. He had just glared, tears of rage springing to his eyes, at his conflicted father. His father got the message, pity filling his eyes, and left. Stiles spent the rest of the day alone and in random fits of hysterics. He ignored Scott's calls and texts and even pretended he wasn't home when he had tried his house phone, but really, who even has a landline anymore? Stiles knew that Scott could sense him, he could have easily climbed into his window, or even walked right in the front door, crashing Stiles' day of being a depressed, self-pitying, emotional teenager. But he hadn't, and Stiles was grateful that he had recognized his need and want, to be alone. Stiles eventually drifted into a light, dreamless sleep, feeling better every time he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Scott had woken up in a cold sweat. From the moment he had opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong. After a few moments of thinking, he remembered that it was that day. He frowned, already picking up Stiles' grievous scent. He sighed, walking down the stairs to his mother making breakfast. He was grateful that despite everything that had happened this past year, his mother would keep things as normal as they were before. She greeted him with a sad smile and a kiss on the forehead. She had been good friends with Mrs. Stilinski ever since he and Stiles had become friends.

"Make sure you call him today," Melissa said in a quiet voice.

"I know."

She sighed, "His dad went to work today."
Scott just stared at his mother, "What?"

"Yeah...I think he's trying to help."

"HOW? By leaving him alone?"

"Scott, I think he's trying to show him how to get over it."

He shook his head, barely hearing his mother's voice. His eyes flashed golden as rage pulsed through his body.

"Scott-"
"I know."

He spent the next few hours trying to get in touch with Stiles. He had called, texted, messaged, tweeted, left voicemails, everything. Melissa walked in to see him sitting at his desk in his room, his head in his hands.

"Still nothing?"

When he didn't answer, she continued, "Don't you have that study group today?"

Again, he didn't say anything, before he announced that he was going to see Stiles.

"Maybe he just needs space."

"It's Stiles, that's the last thing he ever needs."

"Scott-"
"Mom, every year, he'll at least pick up the phone to say that he's alright." But today he's not alright, Scott added in his head, and he had the feeling that his mom knew exactly what he meant.

Her eyes crinkled, revealing her expression of worry, as if it were for her own son, "Okay...just be mindful."

Scott reached Stiles' house and got out of his mother's car. He could sense the negative aura and already knew the state he was in. He knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he was upset, but not surprised. He glanced around before climbing into his window. He quietly opened it. The room was dark, his light were off and his shades were drawn. Scott had struggled with them for a solid five minutes before safely getting inside. He sighed as he made his way over to the chair at Stiles' desk and observed the sleeping boy. The atmosphere was down, making the wolf in him want to whine out of impulse. Stiles's face was raw from crying and his eyelashes were wet. Seeing his normally cheery, sarcastic friend like this was deeply painful and was really irritating him. He wanted to wake him up, like the puppy-character that he knew Stiles's enjoyed, and offer to watch the movies and look at the pictures with him. He wanted to let him know that he would watch any movie with him, and that he was up for a good cry or a laugh or a memory, anything. But he also knew, more than anything, that Stiles needed the sleep he was harboring. He ran his hand through Stiles's hair gently before slipping from this room and safely landing on the ground. He got home, took a troubled shower and got ready. He reached Jackson's around four, only half an hour later than he had planned. But every minute was worth it. Seeing that Stiles was physically okay, helped at least settle some of his worry.

"Hey," Jackson had asked quietly, "What's up with Stilinski? His house smells like death."

"How-How did you-"

Jackson went red, "I-I," he grounded his teeth, "check up."

Scott sighed despite the warming feeling that he and Stiles being in a pack brought him, "It's the anniversary of his mother's death."

"Oh." That was the only thing that he could think of to say, it was the only thing that had seemed appropriate at the time.

"Yeah..."

Jeez, my chapters are really short, sorry! I'll work on that. Thank you for reading!
R&R x