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Stiles was pacing his room. Damn his broken arm, damn his dad being at work all day, damn Scott for being - well, Scott - and not answering his phone and forgetting Stiles needed him today.
It had to be today, there was no other option!
With a huff, Stiles grabbed the black case out from under the counter in the bathroom. He headed down the stairs and locked the front door behind him before jumping in the Jeep and driving one-handed down the road. He was in a foul mood, not really down to deal with what he was about to deal with, and wishing his arm hadn’t been broken so he could just do this himself. He drove off the beaten path on a familiar road to the Hale house. Once he parked, Stiles got out of the Jeep and slammed the car door shut, walking up and knocking on the door.
“Stiles?” Derek asked, standing in his usual uniform of a wife beater and jeans. He looked confused and…concerned? “Why are you slamming doors?”
“I need your help with something,” Stiles said. “And I wouldn’t come and ask because usually I do it myself or Scott or my Dad does it but they’re busy and it’s your fault I have a broken arm so…” He held the black case up to Derek, who gave the boy a weird look as he took the case. He looked inside and rose an eyebrow at Stiles.
“Right now?” Derek asked. Stiles didn’t really care if Derek was busy.
“It just has to be today,” Stiles said with a sigh, like he was too tired to explain. Derek nodded and turned back into his house, and Stiles assumed he could follow. He walked behind Derek into the house, following him down the hall to the kitchen and sat on the stool Derek pulled out for him.
“I don’t have a mirror,” Derek said as he opened the case on the wooden table he had built.
“It’s fine, I trust you not to carve my name into the back of his head or anything,” Stiles chuckled a little. “Just get as close as you can, okay?” He asked. His hair had grown really fast since the last time he did this, and it stuck out in strange places. He looked stranger than normal.
Derek nodded and pulled the electric razor out of the box and set it up, plugging it into an electrical outlet he had installed. It buzzed to life in Derek’s hand and Stiles tilted his head down. “I’ve never done this..”
“Don’t cut off my ear.”
“That’s it?”
“Only advice my dad gave me when I started doing this…” Derek shrugged and then pressed the razor to Stiles’ head. The first chunk of hair fell to the floor with ease and Stiles didn’t even flinch.
“How long have you been doing this?” Derek asked curiously.
“Every year, twice a year, since I was eight,” Stiles said quietly. “Be careful at my neck?”
“Will do,” Derek said. “Why since you were eight?” Derek asked as another chunk of hair fell to the ground. There was an awkward pause and Derek could feel a slight anxiety rise off of Stiles.
“You don’t know me at all, do you?” Stiles asked quietly. Derek stopped the razor and looked down at him. “I mean, you haven’t really had the opportunity to sit and chat, exchange life stories and all, but…I’m just used to everyone knowing my life…” With half his head shaved, Stiles reached into the black case and handed Derek a small envelope.
Derek pulled out the photo inside. Stiles, his father, and presumably his mother, all three curled up on a hospital bed, asleep, beanie-caps covering obviously bald heads. “She had stage three lung cancer…” Stiles said. “And for a while, it was looking up. And then one day, I came home from school, and she was in the living room crying…” Stiles’ good hand shook and he shifted so he was sitting on it. “And she had a tuff of hair in her hand…And that dad she had to check back into the hospital and my dad and I shaved our heads so she wouldn’t be alone…” Derek listened to Stiles and turned the razor back on. “Eight months later she died in her sleep. She wasn’t in pain anymore, so that was good.” Derek could smell salt, Stiles was crying.
“So,” Derek said slowly. “Is today the first time you shaved your head with her? Or is it…”
“Today’s the day she died,” Stiles deadpanned. Derek placed his free hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He knew what it was like to miss his mother.
They sat in a comfortable silence after that, shaving the tuffs of hair until Stiles was back to his normally buzzed-hair self. “All done.” Stiles took his good hand and rubbed at his head, checking for anything wrong, but Derek had done a good job.
“Thanks Derek,” he smiled sadly. “This means a lot.”
“Take it as an apology for accidentally breaking your arm the other day,” Derek said, handing the closed case to Stiles. Stiles nodded and went to go out the door. “Are you going to visit her?” Derek asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Your mom?”
“Not today,” Stiles said. “I think my dad does, but I usually go on her birthday. I like to see her when I’m happy. Something stupid about not wanting her to worry about me and seeing me sad or something…” He shrugged.
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Derek said honestly. Stiles smiled.
“Thanks Derek,” Stiles said, turning again and leaving the house.
When he got home, the cruiser was in the driveway, and Stiles mentally kicked himself when he realized that his dad WOULD com home early today of all days.
“Dad!” Stiles called out, coming in the door and heading to the dining room where his dad was digging through drawers. “I’m hom…what are you doing?”
“Stiles have you seen the..?” He looked up at Stiles who was holding out the case. “Yes, thank you.” His dad smiles and took the case, rubbing his buzzed head. “Nice job, Scott help you?”
“Yeah…” Stiles said, brushing off the lie. “Pizza good?”
“Pizza’s perfect,” his dad said. “Be back in a minute.”
An hour later, watching a football game on TV, with two slices left of the pizza they ordered, Stiles’ had nodded off, his head resting on his dad’s shoulder, the newly shortened hair scratching his cheek. The Sheriff sighed heavily as he wrapped an arm around the boy. Neither of them ever said out loud what today was, but they both knew it took a toll on each other. He held the photo, the last one of his late wife, of the three of them together, in his hand and ran his thumb across the picture. Nine years ago, it felt like the world had gone to hell. Almost a decade later, things were both easier, and more difficult, but the Sheriff was glad that he hadn’t screwed up completely in raising Stiles on his own.
He turned off the TV, but didn’t bother waking Stiles, deciding that they could sleep on the sofa tonight.
Across town at Beacon Hills Cemetery, Derek shoved his hands in his leather jacket. He walked between headstones, ignoring the names, he was looking for one in particular and he knew where he was going. He finally came upon a small plot, where eight tomb stones circled a small statue. Derek circled the Hale memorial and remembered he should probably place a stone for his sister here, when he finds the one he was looking for.
“Hey Mom,” Derek said quietly. “I know I haven’t been here in a while…” Derek bit his lip. “Okay I haven’t been here since the funeral, I’m sorry.” He sighed, sitting on the grass over his mother’s grave. “I just…I know you hated seeing me upset, and I haven’t been in a good mood…” for seven years…
“I just…I want to know if you could do something for me…” He tugged at the grass beneath him. “There’s someone..up there…” He wasn’t sure where there was exactly.. “Her name is Jillian Stilinski…” Stiles sighed. “Can you just…Can you tell her I’m watching out for her son?”