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The one thing he never set out to do was make a trophy cabinet. It had never crossed his mind. But that’s what ended up happening.
In the years since graduation, since the Pack scattered to colleges and universities across the world and returned, he’d collected. Not trophies, no. He’d never call them that.
Memories? Reminders? That sounded at least mildly better. Less… macabre, at least.
It was a collection of things enemies left behind, books that had saved them once or many times, weapons retired due to age or wear. His first red hoodie was framed in a shadow box Derek had built, which had ended up starting the collection.
When the entire pack had moved back to Beacon Hills and set up their own little community deep into the woods, they had returned to find houses built for each member of the pack and their families. Some were larger, some not, some close together and a few set back a bit.
He himself had been given a small but well loved home, tucked away into a little clearing a brisk two minute walk from the main Pack house. It served his needs, with a warded workroom down in the basement, a large library dominating the majority of the main floor, and a small bedroom suite in what normally could be considered the attic space.
He, uh, didn’t spend much time up there.
His workspace was considered off limits territory to the Pack unless he invited them in or there was an emergency. (“Scott, you needing a gaming partner is not an emergency, you found the faerie ring im researching in the first place!”) Only Derek had carte blanche to come in, and he (usually) respected Stiles’ boundaries.
The library was somewhat open to everyone, though there were shelves that the Pack avoided. He’d amassed a rather large collection of magical books and references over the ten years of being aware of the supernatural. Some were tiny collections of notes bound together with string, others were times that they had traded for (usually Peter making deals that no one but Derek and Stiles were of the important details). A goodly amount were found or gifted while traveling throughout the world, in languages that they were still working on translating through when there was enough peace in Beacon Hills to warrant an all night study session.
But it was the back cabinet, stained maple wood and locked against any curious wandering eyes, that he went to today. It was in the back of his library, away from all the books that might strike interest or ones that they referenced when there was some sort of supernatural emergency (Beacon Hills being a beacon for supernatural activity was a joke that he was sick of hearing, thanks). Only once a year did he open it with the express purpose of pulling something out.
On the middle shelf was a polished box, designed by Derek with a beautiful silver inlay across the top. The design carved on top was one they’d worked with Chris Argent, combining his family’s crest with the Hale Pack triskelion symbol.
Quietly, Stiles picked up the box and pulled it from the shelf before turning and carefully settling it on one of the research tables set up in the back of the library. He let his fingers trail across the top for a second, taking a private moment to himself. Once he was more centered, he carefully flipped the latches and opened the case.
Inside, laying on a beautiful purple velvet, was Allison Argent’s prized bow.
Every year on her birthday, Stiles brought out her favorite weapon and brought it up to the main Pack House. It was their way to honor one of their lost Packmates. It would be displayed in the main living room for the week before being carefully polished by her father and being packed away for another year.
It was a tradition started the year they had returned to town. Erica’s birthday had come first. Derek still had one of her jackets, framed in a shadowbox very similar to Stiles’ own. For her entire birthday week it sat on the mantel, remaining the Pack that life was short and to honor their Packmates. Boyd’s item was different. Instead of a jacket or a weapon, it was his set of keys into his family’s ice rink. He still held that place close to his heart, even to the end.
A knock on a bookshelf drew Stiles out of his thoughts. He turned to see Derek leaning against one of the cases, silent but respectful while Stiles got his thoughts in order. At his nod, Derek carefully picked latched the case and picked it up, being the journey back to the Pack House without a word.
It was time to honor Allison, one of the bravest in their Pack.