Stiles brush with death at the hands of the malevolent Darach, Jennifer, leaves him teetering on the edge of the supernatural abyss. Salvation comes with a price: the bite. Now, thrust into the tumultuous life of a werewolf, Stiles must come to grip...
I attempted to straighten my slightly wrinkled button-up, sighing at the futility. Sniffing, I tried to remain composed while staring back at my reflection in the mirror, the edges of a memory creeping in.
"Dad?" I hollered from my room as I tugged and twisted the confusing accessory that every grown man sports. At eight years old, I wanted to feel grown-up.
Or maybe that was just a young Stiles Stilinski's wish...
"Dad!" A final call accompanied by a defeated huff.
The staircase echoed with heavy footsteps, heralding the arrival of my dad, who entered wearing a suit that matched mine.
"What's the matter?" He cast a teasing grin as he approached, my 'end-of-the-world' problem amusing him.
"Dad," I drawled, frustration lining my voice. "This isn't funny! The tie tutorials are not as straightforward as they seem."
"Come here, son..." His chuckle warmed the room as he deftly tied my tie.
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I couldn't help but frown at the whiskey scent on his breath.
He folded my collar down and stepped back to appraise his work.
"Looking sharp, kiddo," he said, his smile genuine and warm.
That smile prompted a question I'd been holding onto. "Dad? Why did Mom have to go?"
The light in his eyes dimmed, and his soft chuckles ceased.
Kneeling to meet my gaze, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder, exhaling slowly. "She had to, son. But remember, she's with you, right here." He gently tapped my chest, over my heart. "She'll always be a part of you."
"Stiles?"
Pulled back to a less comforting reality, I looked away from the mirror, my hand trembling as it left my chest.
"You ready?" Scott's voice was laced with tempered concern.
I nodded and moved past him, every ounce of my being aching. "Let's do this."
Descending the staircase, each creak was a ghostly echo of my dad's homecoming footsteps.
His scent seemed to envelop me, transporting me to every shared moment in our old house. His coat still draped over the couch as if he might pick it up any moment. Memories of us watching the Mets replayed in my mind like an old film.
Despite my resistance, my gaze flickered to the last places we'd shared words, touches, and looks.
The finality of those 'lasts' loomed larger than I had ever expected.
Frozen in the living room, Scott's voice jolted me. "You alright?"
My response was motion, blindly stepping out into the world and sinking into the driver's seat of my Jeep, the silence during the drive a solemn companion.
