"I'll be here when you get home." His father handed him an envelope. Stiles looked confused, and glanced down at the envelope before audibly gasping in shock and looking back up. "I mean to give it to you when you turned eighteen." His father admitted. "But with everything that was happening, I just wanted you to be in a good place before I handed it to you." He watched as his dad shifted from one foot to another. "I don't know what's in it. She wouldn't let me look, and I have one too that I haven't opened yet. But she wrote one for all the major points in your life. But I'm not to give them to you until then. Now get kid. Go read." Stiles nodded and walked out the door without saying anything.

Starting up his jeep, he placed the letter on the passenger seat and pulled out of the driveway. He drove for a couple of minutes before he crossed the town line, then took a left and did somewhat of a U-turn and headed up the mountain. In all technicality, the mountain was town property, but to get up to the top, one would have to go over the town line. It was quite confusing the first few times he went to the top, the first being with his mom.

Pulling onto the gravel road that led to a campsite, Stiles was pleased at the lack of cars. He parked in a spot crooked, and got out, grabbing the letter of the seat beside him. The chilly breeze hit him in the face, causing Stiles to wrap himself in his thin jacket further. In front of him, the cliff overlooking Beacon Hills, was a huge boulder and smaller rocks surrounding it. Similar to when he was a child, he climbed up the rocks and sat on top of the boulder and just like when he was a child, the boulder was almost completely flat on top.

Taking the envelope and holding it up to the light, Stiles stared at his mother's cursive "On His 18th Birthday" writing. With shaky hands and with care, he opened the envelope and pulled out the folded up paper inside.

Unfolding the letter, a few tears escaped and cascaded down his face when he saw his mother's handwriting. But he brushed them away, clearing up his vision, and began to read.

My Dear, Dear Genim,

I had hoped it wouldn't have come down to this, but it must be true. Otherwise, I'd be able to say all this to you in person. I'm sorry, Genim. I really am. No one should have to grow up without a parent.

The diagnosis was given to me yesterday, and the doc's say I only have a few years left. At the very least, ten months. But I swear I'll hold on as long as I can… I'll prove them wrong, I swear. I won't give up Genim. Promise. I haven't even told your father yet.

Stiles bit back a noise in the back of his throat. He remembered fragments of that day. His father had sent him out to the yard to play as soon as he had gotten home from school and his mother had gone into her private writing room, something she only did when she was upset or was working on something extremely serious. And when she had come back out, she held envelopes in her hand and had given them to her father at the kitchen window. He was so curious about what the letters were, and why her eyes were red, but she just kept telling him that he'd find out another day.

Yet, like I said before, if you're reading this, I'm not there to take you to school anymore, to tease you about your future boyfriends or girlfriends. To straighten out your tie for prom or watch you marry the love of your life. But I know whoever you choose, I love you. I love you so much that it pains me twice as much to write this. I just hope you're happy. Be happy, my Genim.

You're five years old right now. So young, and so innocent. You laugh at anything that moves and you're just so full of joy and love. Even old crotchety Mrs. Betty smiles when she sees you. But that may just be because you gave her a white daisy that one time. I hope that never goes away. In fact, I hope it stays with you all your life and you remember being that carefree.

A rush of guiltiness punctured through his ribs, making it hard for him to breathe. He's no longer innocent and carefree, not really. He maybe got close to being carefree in Hawaii but the innocence he had, had been lost a long time ago.

I'm trying to picture you at eighteen. Will your hair become curly like mine? Or be on the straight side like your fathers? You already have my eyes, but I imagine them to have more gold in them when you're older, and reflect the sunlight and peace in the world. I hope you're taller than your dad, or equally as tall. That'll teach him to tease me about my height.

Stiles couldn't believe he had forgotten about his father teasing her. He recalled one day waking up and walking into the kitchen to see his mom on her tip-toes reaching for the Nesquik that his father had put on the top shelf, all the meanwhile his father was laughing in his seat.

Now onto favourite memories of you….

Do you remember jumping off the bed yelling out that you were Batman? I laughed for hours on that and all the time, your father was telling me to stop.. You cried for a few minutes but joined in with my laughter. I don't think I've ever seen your father so frustrated.

Do you remember getting into your dad's handcuffs? He had left them out on the counter after pulling a third shift, and you had managed to climb on top of a chair and then the counter. You had one of the cuffs on your neck and the other just dangling when I caught you. You had proudly exclaimed that you had found your new favourite necklace, despite it being uncomfortable.

Do you remember making those midnight runs to the comic book store?

Do you remember making breakfast with me for your dad on Sunday's? Or being so concentrated on making his sandwich for his lunch at work?

Do you remember coming into work with me one day at the music store? You knocked over three guitars when you found out they made sounds. I thought for sure Mr. Stevens was going to yell at you and your eyes were as wide as a dinner plate when he said your name. But instead, he just sat you down on a nearby bench and gave you a ukelele. Every guitar was way too big for you. And he sat there with you for an hour or two, teaching you. You prefered just strumming all the strings like you were a rock star. But you were very attentive and were able to play 'Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star' at the end of my shift.

Do you remember in the car, whenever Bohemian Rhapsody came on the radio, that we would sing it at the top of our lungs? Sometimes with the window down. I don't think your father has ever laughed so hard when he realized that it was us that passed him on the street.

Do you remember building pillow forts with your dad? I'd come home from work and I'd find you both snuggled up underneath this massive fort that took up most of the living room. I'm sure if you look, there's a photo album full of pictures I took of you two.. You also insisted on all your stuffed animals, including that wolf I had given you, be present in the fort. I remember whenever your dad had woken up, he'd shake his head and say that you had too many animals to carry.. But there'd be that smile on his face that told me he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat..

Do you remember (last one, I promise) pretending to be Godzilla and running into my garden when I was planting some flowers, and you stomped all over my daffodils? I got so angry at your father for him letting you watch that movie. And then I heard the both of you giggling.. I got the hose and sprayed you both down with water, and made you go out to buy new flowers. Though, in the end, I found it more amusing than anything else. Besides, flowers can grow back.

Now, you're probably still wondering why I said 'boyfriends or girlfriends' at the top. Honey, it's not that hard to tell that you see no distinct difference between loving one gender or another and that, to me, is wonderful. You're always going on about the 'hot boy' down the road, on Elmsford Street. I can't recall his name right now though. And that girl in your class, with the strawberry-blonde hair. Lydia, right? I bet she's going to look killer when she's older. She's equally as smart and motivated as you are.

Stiles tried really hard to remember Elmsford Street and the boy that lived on it, but to no avail. And while, originally, he was shocked that his mother somehow knew when he was five years old that he was bisexual, it didn't fully surprise him.

I'm sorry if I've ruined the surprise. Though, I truly hope you've realised it by now. I'm trying to picture the look on your face when you're reading this.

I hope you're still friends with Scott. Mrs. McCall is a dear friend of mine, and after what her husband did, I feel terrible for getting sick. It's funny because we had met before I had married your father and before she had met Rafael. We went to the same concert in Melbourne, Australia in college. (Yes, I've been to Australia.) We were the only two there from California, surprisingly, so we spent the entire night hanging out and keeping each other safe. So you can imagine my surprise when we met seven years after the fact.

Also, bad things happen Genim. Whether it's as simple as a failed test, or something catastrophic like a friend dying. Bad things happen, but they don't define us unless we let them. So don't let it define you. Let it make you stronger, and it's okay to break down at times, but don't let it break you in. You can do this. I believe in you.

Another thing, Genim, take care of your father. He's a strong man, there's no question in that. But sometimes he lets his emotions consume him rather than letting them out and expressing them. I fear what hole of darkness may eat him up when I pass away. I fear for both of you. I need for you to take care of him. Make sure he rests. Make sure he doesn't eat too much of the fatty crap. Thank God you've inherited my love for healthy food, even though I know you'd sneak some super-high-in-sugar candy or mountain dew behind my back. Or those curly fries.

One last thing. Life is hard. Love is tough. Be resilient. If you love someone, tell them. Don't wait for weeks or months, or maybe even years, to pass. Let them know. Take that chance. Life is way too short to regret things. I probably sound so cliche right now, but it's so true. If your father had waited another month, I probably would've forced myself to move on.

Genim, I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Most ardently,

Mama Bear Stilinski

Mama Bear Stilinski

Stiles stared at the letter, his hands shaking. His eyes skimmed over the paper again, taking in all the creases where it was folded over, the tear stains whenever there was a mention of her no longer being there. Or the little ink dots when too much ink gathered in one area for too long a time. It felt surreal. As carefully as he could, he folded the letter back up and tucked it back into the envelope, before letting the tears roll down his cheeks. She had known for two years that she was going to die, and she must've been in so much pain, but she held on for him. And she knew he wouldn't fully be aware of it until he was eighteen. She had so much faith in him and love for him, and that erased all the bad days she had with the dementia.

Bringing his legs to his chest, Stiles put his face against his knees and started sobbing. All the memories of her towards the end, of her screaming that he was after her, that he was going to kill her and he needed to be taken away, washed away, and he started remembering who she was beforehand. She was still forgetful about where she left her car keys but he remembered all the things she told him.

He remembered learning the ukulele, while she worked and helped someone out with a clarinet issue. He remembered pretending he was Batman, but he was almost positive he had done it more than once. In fact he was sure, as one time ended with him getting stitches in his chin from hitting a toy on the ground. He remembered making the forts with his dad. It would take them hours to get the sheets perfect, and then they would get out the christmas lights and surround the outside of the blankets with them. The floor would be covered in cushions and pillows, and even more blankets. Looking back, Stiles was surprised they had so many.

Stiles didn't know how long he sat there on the rock, crying. His mother, even from her grave, was lending him help and advice and telling him to be good.

"Ma…" Stiles cried out, knowing no one would hear him. "Why'd you have to go?" He asked, and then he asked again, before lifting his head up and screaming out the words. No one would hear them besides him, but it felt good to get off his chest. It hurt. The dull pain of thinking of her had flowered and he couldn't ignore it right now. Before there was always that ache in his chest that he knew would always be there whenever something reminded him of her or whenever she was mentioned.

And he's still learning things about her. Stiles let out a cough, a headache was starting to form. As soon as he gets home, he's going to search for those photo albums that had been tucked away shortly after her death. Maybe he'll find photos of Australia, or any other place she's been to. Stiles wondered out loud if she ever hugged a koala bear.

"I'll start a garden with daffodils Ma…" Stiles mumbled. "To make up for the ones I crushed." It sounded stupid to him, but at the same time, it made sense to start a garden. "I'll add some of those while lilies your mom bought you all the time, and lavender. It'll be fun and you'll probably laugh at my failed attempts whilst working on it."

After talking, he fell silent, listening to the breeze and quiet buzz of the town below him. He watched as the sun fell below the horizon and then watched as lights in house's were beginning to turn off. Stiles didn't care how long he had been out there, only that he felt closer to his mother than he had felt in years. A piece of the pain of losing her had disappeared with the letter.

He heard the crunch of gravel behind him, but he didn't turn around. Whoever it was could leave and didn't need to bother him. By now, the tears had dried on Stiles's face, making his cheeks slightly itchy and his eyes felt sore. And then a hand fell on his left shoulder. Still, Stiles made no move to glance at who it was, because at this point he had a feeling that he knew exactly was beside of him. The hand tightened in a manner to be reassuring, and didn't leave.

"Whenever you're ready." The gruff voice spoke out, and Stiles nodded, still not speaking. Taking one last look at the view, Stiles finally pulled away from the memories he'd been captured by. He turned and stared at Derek. There was a look of shared sorrow and understanding, and a mix of worry and concern. Stiles almost laughed at the fact he could tell all that just from Derek's eyebrows. Yet, Derek looked more open tonight for some reason, and Stiles refrained. Instead, he let himself be taken off the rock and walked to the Camaro. "We'll come back for your jeep later."

Stiles said nothing and sat in the passenger seat, putting on his seatbelt before leaning against the now-closed door. After a few moments of silence, Derek hopped into his car and the engine purred to life.

"Do you want my jacket? It's probably more comfortable than the plastic." Derek asked, and Stiles once again, nodded. For a second, there was a rustling noise and then Derek held out the classic leather jacket. "If you turn it inside out, it's softer." Stiles took it, and folded it into a makeshift pillow, before placing it between his head and the window.

"Thank you." Stiles's voice was hoarse, but he managed to say the words as he closed his eyes.

"It's no problem." Derek softly said, and Stiles felt the car begin to reverse, only to pause, and then proceed to pull forward.

"I love you." Stiles couldn't stop himself from saying it. "My ma told me…wrote me…that if I love someone, I should tell them. I love you, Derek." He didn't hear Derek's reply, as he let the exhaustion his body was aching of let him drift to sleep.