Don't Make it Personal AA/TW

Tutelary

CHAPTER 2 - Tutelary

It's been 10 years since Stiles' death and the pack was barely holding on by a thread.

From the outside everything looked fine. A two way mirror separating a facade of happiness from its evil counterpart.

The Sheriff was getting ready for retirement. Noah had reluctantly sold his home 2 years ago, not wanting to let go of the memories. Scott knew that living there was eating him alive. Every creak of the floorboards giving the widowed father hope that his son may not be dead after all.

The house was a symbol. A unkind reminder of Claudia and Stiles.

It took Noah years to get over Stiles' death. Scott remembers the day the Sheriff got the call. How the usually strong and sturdy man fell to the floor in tears.

.

"What do you mean my son's dead?" The father whispered. His knuckles turning white as he clutched the back of his dining room chair.

Scott and Melissa had been over at the Sheriff's house for dinner. It was a sacred ritual performed every Sunday since Stiles left for college. They knew the man was lonely. Scott wanted to offer him any semblance of family life he could give.

The conversation lingered for a few moments. The exchange of words growing more solemn with each passing second before a sob violently racked Noah's body forcing the older man onto the floor.

Scott froze in his seat. His supernatural senses picking up the mumbled words on the other end of the call. This can't be true. Stiles can't be dead.

"Noah, what's going on?" Melissa asked, rushing over to comfort the crumpled man. Putting her hand on his shoulder.

Noah couldn't deal with this. He couldn't say the words out loud. If he did, it would make his son's death too real. Instead of answering, he shook his head back and forth trying to forget the phone call all-together.

"Stiles... He... There was a terrorist attack in Spain. He didn't make it. Neither did Katrina." Scott murmured.

Melissa whipped her head towards her son. taking in his sullen face. The boy was crying now. Sucking in sharp breaths. All the air had been pulled from the room. Even in his chair, the wolf could feel his balance falter.

None of them spoke after that. Opting to sit in uncomfortable silence. Letting the sun set and the darkness rake into the dimly lit room. There was nothing to say. Stiles was dead. There was no bringing him back.

.

The pack held a funeral for Stiles the following Saturday. A sharp Autumn mist enhancing the somber mood. The whole town had come out in support of the Sheriff's dead son. Saying their condolences and offering forced hugs. They were stuck burying an empty casket. The tomb as hollow as the pack's hearts.

Lydia came back to town for the affair, hopelessly wailing that she had never screamed for Stiles. That he couldn't be gone. The Sheriff shut her down instantly, stating that his death was on video. That he was forced to watch his son be shot multiple times in order to identify him. After that no one dared bring it up again.

As the years went by, the pack moved on. Never forgetting about their fallen friend. Scott made sure Stiles' father didn't drink himself to death. Stopping by to offer him salads. He knew the cop saw him as a son; Or maybe the Sheriff saw his son in Scott, he wasn't so sure.

Scott proposed to Malia, the pair opting for a small ceremony. He made Stiles' his best man. Although Stiles wasn't there to see it, Scott couldn't go through with it without him.