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The cemetery is not a place that Stiles goes to often. He used to, for a while. And he also refused to set foot in it for quite some time at first, right after they laid his mom to rest there. At the time, it was easy to not go, since his dad wasn't in any shape to make reasonable decisions, to begin with, and then buried himself in his work for the longest time after. It's still not something that they do together. If there are fresh flowers, it's their way of knowing that the other one was there.
Today, there are no fresh flowers until Stiles gets there and puts down the ones he picked out in the Preserve before the headed back into town. He's on his way home, really, after a day spent on the site of the new house that the pack is helping build, but when he saw the flowers on the edge of the forest, he decided to bring them to her. The plaque marking her grave is covered in leaves from the nearby trees, their colors bright and cheerful, unlike the place that they're in. Stiles takes a deep breath, revels in the smell of autumn for a moment, then he folds his legs as he sits down in front of the slab of dark marble with her name carved into it. He runs his fingers over the letters one by one, brushes off the leaves and the dust that's gathered and his lips twitch with a broken smile as he reads her name. Then the corners of his mouth twist down when his eyes skim over the dates carved below the name, a stark reminder of reality.
"I miss you, still," he says quietly, the words loud in the silence of the cemetery. "Dad misses you too."
He can imagine her answering, telling him she loves him. It's been long enough that he can't quite remember her voice right, it's distant and foggy but not completely gone. He can remember her smile and her touch, even after all these years. The same way he has a clear memory of his dad's hand on his shoulder on the day of her funeral.
"You know, I wonder sometimes if you'd have figured it out," Stiles whispers to the plate. "If you'd have believed me from the start. Maybe I wouldn't have had to lie so much."
He doesn't have to work all that hard at remembering her laugh, his memory brings it to the forefront of his mind immediately, along with the comment she'd have had if she were here.
You would have snuck out anyway, she'd say.
He thinks that maybe she would have believed him—after all, that's what he told his dad that one time—that she wouldn't have dismissed him outright. At the very least, had she been alive and healthy, she'd have listened. But then, it doesn't matter because she wasn't and she isn't.
"I really do miss you," he says instead. "I'm sorry I haven't been around much. We've been kind of busy..."
With that, he starts talking, muttering little bits of stuff that's been going on—the new house, Melissa and Chris, how his dad somehow fits in with that, the pack being back together on and off. It's comforting, because able to come here and talk, tell her all the things can't really talk to anyone about. Everyone who would listen is already involved and he can't go telling strangers—his college classmates and colleagues at the FBI are that, though he's known them a while.
When his rambling peters out, he stays there for another while, sitting cross-legged and with his eyes closed, letting the gentle breeze brush over his face. It's warm, not unseasonably but still noticeably so, but he still shivers when a stronger gust hits his skin a while later. Stiles opens his eyes and blinks a few times as he notices how much darker it is than when he got here. Just as he's about to start moving to get home, there's a rustling behind his back, the fallen leaves being disturbed by soft footsteps. They're not human and he knows that the rustling is for his benefit.
"Hey Derek," Stiles says quietly, without turning around.
A moment later he can feel the cool touch of a nose against his hand then a nudge of a furry body against his arm.
"She'd have liked you, you know," he tells Derek who stands there, unmoving, his wolf form bigger than Stiles is like this, sitting on the ground. "She'd have been terrified of you like this for about a minute, then she'd insist that you need to be fed."
Derek huffs with what could be amusement or annoyance, Stiles doesn't know and doesn't care to figure it out. It doesn't matter right now, anyway. Stiles leans into him a little, just enough to feel more of the wolf heat since the chill is starting to seep under his shirt. Derek seems to get it and he lies down on the ground in front of Stiles, huffing again.
"Ugh, fine. One day you're gonna admit that you like snuggling," Stiles mutters as he lies down on top of Derek.
He chuckles when the response is a growl.
"Mom would've made you admit it," Stiles says wistfully. "She always had a way to make me tell her everything."
He lets his mind wander again, lets himself remember and think about her for a while. He only does it here nowadays. Then Derek moves underneath him a little and Stiles is pulled back into reality.
Suddenly he wonders if Derek ever does this. Then he remembers what happened to where Derek buried Laura.
"Oh shit," he blurts out. "You don't have this, do you?"
Derek lifts and turns his head just enough to look at Stiles. There's no question that he's confused by what Stiles said.
"A grave. A place to... I don't know... be with them. Kind of."
Derek puts his head back down on the ground and lets out a breath. Stiles leans back down and lets his own breathing match Derek's. Then he thinks that's what his next project is going to be—a place to remember every last one of the Hales. For Derek.