Promises To Keep (Miles To Go Before I Sleep)

Goodbye, I Guess....

They eat cookies and talk about weekend plans, Claudia wanted to take Stiles to the zoo, therefor, Derek would be going.

Suddenly the door opens and shuts, Stiles' father walks into the kitchen, looking distressed.

"John?" Claudia inquires, seeming nervous. She gets up and walks over to him, they have a quiet conversation to themselves as Stiles and Derek look on curiously. Both of them feeling a little nervous themselves when Claudia gasps softly and glances towards them.

"Derek, son." John walks over and sits across from him, Derek frowns.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks quietly, the man shakes his head with a sigh.

"No.. There was a fire at your house." He explains quietly, Derek blinks at him in confusion.

"Did Papa burn something again?" He asks with a small giggle, Stiles smiling as well, but John doesn't smile.

"Your house caught fire, it was really bad, Derek." He tries to say, biting his lip.

"The house burned down?!" He asks with wide eyes, John wipes a hand over his face as Claudia comes to kneel in front of Derek.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. But a lot of people got stuck inside, and they didn't make it out..." She tells him softly.

"W-What?" He looks back and forth between the adults.

"Laura and your Uncle Peter are at the hospital, but everyone else...." John's voice trails off.

"They got hurt?" Derek asks, fidgeting in his seat.

"They're in Heaven, darling." Claudia says finally after a bout of silence.

Derek shakes his head slowly, then more insistently.

"You're lying." He snaps, jumping off his chair. Claudia grabs his arm gently, but he yanks away.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." She murmurs, and he shakes his head.

"I hate you. I hate you, I want to go home!" He shouts, tears welling in his eyes.

Stiles slides from his seat and walks up to him, attempting to give him a hug. Derek pushes him away, hands balled into fists.

"No, I hate you, I want to see my mom!" He snarls, tears dripping down his face. Then he drops to the floor on his bottom, sobbing for the parents he'd never see again.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Derek had spent the next two days at their house, hiding in the guest room. Sometimes he'd let Stiles come in and lay under the covers with him, just letting him be with him. Nothing he could say could make it better, so he just held Derek's hand and let him cry.

His Uncle Peter was released with a few burns, but his sister had jumped out a window to escape the flames. The impact damaged her spine, she'd never walk again. Stiles and his parents accompanied Derek to the hospital to visit Laura. She was one of Derek's older sisters, or really, the only one he had now. She was fourteen, she'd lost her family, and her ability to walk.

Stiles' world had been tossed upside down, but then again, so did everyone else's involved.

Derek and Laura were taken to Peter's house, one he used to share with his wife and daughter, who perished in the fire as well. They were supposed to meet at the funeral, but the three never showed up. When they visited Peter's house, they found it was completely empty. Peter had left, and taken Derek and Laura with him.

It was Stiles' turn to cry, he had lost his best friend. No consoling could fix that.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

That summer, Stiles' mom changed. She was moody, tired, forgetful. His father was at work so much, Stiles wasn't sure if things were going the same way for him. Stiles' life fell apart before him, as he was faced with an entirely new environment. An absent father, an ill mother, and a flame in his stomach that grew with every problem that arose.

Stiles hated his life, he hated everything about it suddenly.

His mother's hands shook, she could barely write, and then she was taken to the doctor. Things were worse, how things could get any worse, well now he knew. His mother was diagnosed with Frontotemporal Dementia, he knew it was bad.

Bad when his mother stopped saying goodnight, or calling him sweet nicknames. His mom didn't really acknowledge him too much anymore, he learned to take care of himself. His mother was too sick, his father was too busy.

At age ten, Stiles came home to find the house quiet. He let himself in, ate a snack and then headed upstairs. He opens the door to his parents' room, sees his mother on the floor with an empty pill bottle next to her. Stiles screams so loud the neighbors called the police. And that's where they found him, holding his mother close and sobbing for her to come back.

Things were different, something died in Stiles that day. A piece of him he'd never get back, a darkness in his heart.

He doesn't cry at the funeral, or at seeing his mother's lifeless body in the casket. He just leans over, presses a kiss to her cold cheek, and whispers softly to her.

"I'll miss you."

He wasn't sure what died that night, his innocence probably. To know that a mother would commit suicide and know that her son would most likely find the body, that's not something you can unlearn.

Then again, he didn't quite blame her. Not at all. He wasn't too fond of living at the moment either.