The day he had been dreading had finally arrived. Suitably dark and overcast, the sky brooded with the promise of an oncoming storm. A strong breeze was whistling through the trees, and causing the older buildings in Beacon Hills to creak and groan. Stiles stood in front of the hall mirror, tying and retying his tie. With each attempt, his frustration grew until he gave an exasperated shout and threw the fabric to the ground. The past few days had been hard enough already. Scott still wouldn't talk to him, which in turn put Kira and Liam in an awkward mid-ground. The end result was that Lydia was the only one left who could actually have a normal conversation with him. She had been with him the entire time, only going home to get a bag full of clothes and toiletries. Sitting at the table sorting out hospital bills from electricity bills, which also had to be kept separate from mortgage payments would have driven him crazy had she not been there with a comforting smile and two mugs of hot chocolate. Visiting the morgue to confirm it was his dad's body had been one of the worst days by far. He remembered the stale, cold air of the room. It had a quality to it that managed to chill him to the bone the moment he crossed the threshold.
Melissa had been with him, holding his hand for comfort. In any other situation it would have been weird, especially considering her son wasn't speaking to him anymore, but in the moment he was highly grateful. The sound of the metal bed sliding out on runners haunted him in the rare moments of sleep he got. It was a slow, harsh, dead sound that dug into his heart and made him want to run out of the room before he saw anything else. But he had forces himself to stay, to look at his father and to make sure that it was him. He hated to admit it, but there had been a childish part of him that hoped that it wouldn't be his dad. That there had been some sort of mix up and that John Stilinski was still alive somewhere out there. That illusion had been shattered the moment Melissa had pulled the sheet covering the body back. It was him. Unmistakeably, irrefutably his father, and yet, Stiles refused to believe it. He had stood, shaking his head, denying the cold hard truth in front of him. Melissa had tried telling him gently that it was John, but Stiles just refused to accept it. He began noticing differences that weren't there. "But Melissa look, his hair's not parted the right way, and- and he has stubble. It can't be him dad was always clean shaven, he had to be for work."
"Stiles-" Melissa had taken a hold of him as he began shaking, backing away from the table, "Stiles I am so sorry. But this is him. You need to accept that and mourn him the way he deserved. Stiles you need to do this for him." Once she had finished speaking, he had torn his gaze from the body to look her in the eyes. He had studied her gaze for a moment, almost pleading with his eyes, begging her to somehow change what had happened. Finally, he had given up, cracking under the weight of tragedy. Totally unashamed, he had broken down crying in front of his best friend's mother. He had thrown himself into her arms, sobbing into her shoulder.
"It's him. Melissa it's him. It's him, it's him, it's him!"
Stiles blinked, dragging himself out of the memory and back to the present. Staring in the mirror he realised that he had been crying, and brushed away the tear tracks angrily. On closer inspection, he realised just how dark the circles under his eyes had become. He really needed a good night's sleep. Sighing, he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. He stood wallowing in the silence for what felt like an eternity, until it was interrupted by a timid voice from behind him. He opened his eyes, staring into the mirror at the reflection of Lydia Martin. She wore a simple black dress, fitted at the top, hanging elegantly from the waist down. She had pinned her hair up in some sort of intricate plait. She was the picture of perfection, as always, which only served to make Stiles feel worse. She looked incredible and he couldn't even do his tie up right. She said his name again, and he turned around slowly, "Yeah?" He did his best to sound normal, but these days it was nearly impossible. His voice was crumbling under the strain of heartbreak, loss, exhaustion, anxiety and a whole miss-match of other emotions.
She walked towards him, black heels clicking slightly on the hall floor. Bending down she picked up his discarded tie, turning to him as she spoke. "Would you like a hand with this?"
Rubbing his nose he nodded. Without another word she began silently sorting his appearance. Watching her work away on his tie, he voiced the thought that had been bothering him all day. "Do you think he'll be there?"
Lydia finished the knot in the tie before looking up at Stiles, "He'll be there. Scott may be in a huff, but he won't leave you alone for this. Not today."
Stiles sighed, "I hope you're right. I don't know if I'm going to be able to do this without him. He was there for when my mom died, helped me get through it you know? And now-"
She cut him off, "And now you have me. And the rest of the pack. You can do this Stiles, we'll get through it together. Now come on, we don't want to be late." With that, she brushed of his suit one last time before taking his hand and leading him out of the door. Her car was parked neatly in the drive, and the pair got in, setting off in silence.
When they pulled up to the church, Stiles was overwhelmed by the huge crowd of people that were there. Surely they weren't all there just for his dad. A warm glow lodged itself in his heart to see that so many people cared. Taking a steadying breath, he climbed out of the car, taking Lydia's hand and walking towards the door. The previously chattering crowd fell silent, clearing a path between him and the entrance to the church. He hated the fact that people were staring. He'd spent years becoming someone else than just 'the poor kid who's mom died', and now, here he was again, 'that poor kid who got orphaned at seventeen'. The thought jolted him. Technically, he was an orphan now, sure there were only a few months till he turned eighteen, but the label still stuck to him. Orphan. In that moment he decided that he hated the word, the very thought of it causing an unpleasant tingle to start under his skin. Shaking it off, he headed to the front of the church, standing at the lectern as he watched everyone filter in. Lydia was sitting in the very front row, next to Melissa and Parrish. Liam and Kira had shown up, sitting a few rows back, giving him weak smiles. More and more people kept arriving, until the church was positively bursting at the seams. When they could no longer fit any more people in, they decided to throw open all of the large oak doors, so that the people stuck standing outside could still observe proceedings.
Stiles was definitely not prepared for this. Saying his speech to his mirror had been difficult enough, so reciting it in front of all these people was going to be a nightmare. The celebrationist called for silence, and suddenly everyone was staring at Stiles. He could feel their gazes like hot pokers on his skin, making him shift uncomfortably where he stood. Shuffling his papers on the lectern, he cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Thank you all for coming today. Looking out and seeing the faces of all the people that my dad had helped, or touched in some way, his friends, his co-workers, even near strangers who felt the need to pay their respects, it gives me this warm feeling in my heart. Of course I knew what an amazing man my dad was, but I just never realised how many other people saw it. John Stilinski was a man who always put the needs of others first. I think that's one of the reasons he was such a good Sherriff. No matter how rough things got for him, he always had to make sure that everyone else was safe and happy before he even thought about giving himself a rest. He also had the patients of a saint. Living with me can't have been easy, I have a bad habit of interfering with everything. But my dad never complained, well, that's not entirely true, but even with all of the stupid, dangerous, idiot things I did, he loved me unconditionally. I only wish that I had thought to tell him what he meant to me more often. When I was younger, he was this superhero who fought off bad guys and always saved the day. Once I grew up a bit, I realised that although he wasn't actually a super hero, he was possibly the closest thing to it that you can get. He saved lives, solved crimes, took down criminals and looked after Beacon Hills, all while being a single father at home. Yeah, he was definitely as close to Batman or Superman as you can get. You know, it's strange. I never really thought about what I would say in this situation, those of you who know me will understand how weird it is for me not to scrutinise every possible circumstance or outcome, but this is just something that I never saw happening. Of course I knew that one day, what I hoped would be years in the future, I'd have to say goodbye, but it never even crossed my mind that it could happen so soon. I only wish that I had taken the time to talk to my dad more, that I had stuck with trying to teach him chess so we could have had even one game. But more than anything else I wish that I had told him how much I love him. How proud I am of him, and how much he means to me. Of course, these things are never going to change, he's always going to be a superhero to me. And somewhere, out in the universe maybe he can hear this and maybe he knows how I feel about him, and that's a comforting thought. I don't know what went through his mind before he died. I don't know where he was or why it happened. But I do know that he wasn't alone, and that means the world to me-" Stiles glanced at Lydia, a small smile on his lips, "-and now, today, seeing everyone here paying their respects to the amazing man who was my father, I realise that he'll never truly be alone again. His spirit lives on in me, lives on in his friends, in anyone who remembers him with a fond smile or a kind word. So for that I thank you all, as long as we keep John Stilinski in our hearts and our thoughts, then he never truly will be alone out there. I think I've probably spoken enough, this day is about celebrating the life of my dad, and the lives of those he protected, so I just want to say one last thank you-" Stiles turned to the coffin beside him, which was close-topped due to his father's injuries, "-to my dad. Thank you for putting up with me, for loving me, for taking care of me, for always being there for me, for believing in me. Thank you for believing." Stiles rested his hand on the pale wood before turning back to the crowd, tears running freely down his cheeks. His voice was wavering and he found it very difficult to make the end of his speech audible. "The world got a little bit darker when John Stilinski left it, so everyone here has to make me a promise, to respect his memory. Every day, at some point, think like John Stilinski. Do something selfless, kind, go out of your way for someone else. The light only has to fade if we let it, so don't. Keep up my dad's work, don't let his light go out. Look after each other, because he isn't here to do it anymore. Thank you."
He stared at the audience as he moved to sit down in between Lydia and Melissa. He was shocked to see that most people were openly crying, smiling at him through tears. Kira was sobbing quietly into her mother's shoulder, and Liam was biting his knuckle, doing his best not to cry. A quick scan of the crowd showed no sign of Scott. Shaking his head sadly, Stiles looked to Lydia, who was openly crying and trying to comfort him and the same time. This resulted in her holding his hand, while resting her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, listening to the rest of proceedings in mournful silence. Once everyone had said their piece, the procession moved outside, to the graveyard. Stiles had picked the spot for his dad, paying extra to make sure that he got it. The headstone reading Sherriff John Stilinski sat side by side with the one reading Claudia Stilinski. It only felt right for them to be laid to rest together. Watching his father's coffin being lowered into the ground, throwing on the first fistful of dirt, was one of the hardest things he had ever done. It felt so final. There was never any going back or turning back time, but once the body was in the ground, it really hit him. He was never going to see his father ever again. That would be the last time he ever saw his father, and it was already gone. With each load of dirt that got dropped on top of the shining wooden surface, he felt a nail being driven harder and harder into his throat.
Thud.
He's gone.
Thud.
I'm never going to see his face again.
THUD.
I'm never going to hug my dad ever again.
THUD.
My dad is dead.
THUD.