Scott hadn't seen Stiles in more than two years. After the Nogitsune had left his best friend's body and killed Allison, everyone in the pack had needed some time and space to mourn and process the events.

Apparently, during that time, something had been going on with Stiles. Within a few weeks, he had appeared on his front door explaining to him how he needed to go to Sacramento for a weekend to get answers. When Scott had asked to what questions, a playful smile had appeared on Stiles' face.

"You'll see" he'd said. Without further explanation, he had promised to return with a whole bunch of information, from which the entire pack would profit.

"And a surprise" he'd added before getting on his jeep and driving off.

If Scott had only known. That was the last time he saw his best friend.

But after the weekend had been over and no word of Stiles or his surprise, Scott had called Noah and asked for Stiles' whereabouts. The sheriff had had no idea where his son was.

Two more days gone by, without any news, Noah had reported his son missing at the station and the search had started. The pack had tried their best, travelling to Sacramento, photograph in hand, and asking for days if anyone had seen their friend. Meanwhile, the police had also done their job, stations all around the state seeking Stiles, hanging "missing" posters and calling everyone Stiles had had contact with in the last few months.

However, there were no lingers, no hints, no leads. Neither the police, nor the pack had any idea of where Stiles was.

The only useful thing Noah remembered was Stiles talking about a new friend, someone he had been hanging out with shortly before his vanishing. After an extensive research, they had found said friend, but she was nothing more than a bookshop owner that remembered Stiles as nothing more than a customer. Still no idea.

By the time the third month had gone by, hope of finding him had started to crumble. Noah had reached out for his bottle again, Lydia and Kira's eyes were rarely dry and the entire school fell silent when Stiles was mentioned.

It had been all over Beacon Hills, in everyone's mouth. Sheriff's son missing. But, aside from glares loaded with pity and few consoling words, no one had done anything to help.

After six months, even Derek had started doubting. During the last months, he had been reaching out to old contacts all over the supernatural networks. Packs as well as hunters had been contacted by him. But the search hadn't been fruitful.

Then, if Stiles' disappearance had nothing to do with the pack, nothing to go with hunters, vengeful alphas and rival packs, why the hell would he have disappeared? Who would have taken him? Why?

It just didn't make sense.

Scott had been the last one to stop clinging on to the certanty they would find Stiles. Almost 18 months since that stupid weekend, Scott had found himself in his best friend's room, looking at old photos and, suddenly, he had been confronted with the fact that it had been more than a year since he had heard anything from Stiles.

Then, it had dawned on him. There was a chance he would never see Stiles again.

It had hurt. A lot. The one person that had always stood by his side, always understood him. He was gone. And Scott could do nothing to help him.

He had wished for him to be there. So deeply. He had wished for his friend to help him integrate Malia into the pack, find the Benefactor, beat Kate, kick Peter's butt. But Stiles hadn't been there.

Two more years had passed. Once again, Scott had been confronted with a deadly threat without his best friend. For one moment, he had hoped his long-lost friend, Theo, would be able to dull the sharp sting he felt in his heart every time the thought of the hyperactive boy crossed his mind. But the feeling of thereby betraying Stiles had lingered around him and hindered him to let Theo too deep in.

And only to Scott's benefit because Theo had turned out to be a sociopath. Even being missing, Stiles had still taken care of him, saved him.

Now, two years and four moths had gone by. Twenty-four months since Stiles had disappeared. Time had made nothing more of him than a memory. A warm, comforting memory with a sour after-taste.

Noah had stopped drinking and focused entirely on his job. Lydia had hung a photograph over her desk to commemorate him. Derek had stopped looking.

And Scott…

Scott had finally managed to smile without his friend being there.

That's why, on a particular road trip to San Francisco to the world's most famous circus, Scott's heart stopped beating and all the air was knocked out of his lungs when he spotted a familiar figure entering a blue and white striped tent.

A familiar figure that could only be Stiles.