Stiles had never truly gotten over the death of his mother. Ever. Especially since it had happened so close to his birthday, he felt like it had something to do with him. He had always known that was a ridiculous notion, yet the small nagging voice at the back of his head seemed to think otherwise. It had now been a year and a few days since it had happened, and Stiles' eighteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. Usually, after such a long time, people tend to get some closure about such events.

Stiles, on the other hand, got worse. He had gotten to a point halfway through the past year when he couldn't do anything without noticing that his mother was simply not there, and remembering that she would never be. Without having his guts churn when the echo of her voice sounded in his head, more like a stranger's each time. Without slipping into the occasional panic attack.

Yet another anniversary of her death had gone by, and his birthday was rapidly approaching, in about a month and a half. He always felt like he was going numb on the inside during this period between the two biggest events of his life, like those seven weeks were almost a limbo where nothing mattered and acting was pointless. Simply a struggle to remain alive was exhausting.

"Stiles!" his father was calling out on a Monday morning. "You're gonna be late again!"

Stiles slipped on his sneakers and punched the dangling laces into his shoes using his thumbs, not really bothering to tie them up, or to fully open his eyes for that matter. He dragged his feet to the door after he begrudgingly got up from the bed, and stopped for a second to swoop down and pick up his bag. As he held it in his hand he stared at it and thought it looked pathetically empty. That gave incentive to his subconscious to tell him to maybe skip school today, stay in bed and get depressed. Maybe if he got sad enough, he would just loop back around to being happy. Then again, he couldn't let his dad be the sheriff with the delinquent son. Their relationship was bad enough lately, with Stiles' crappy mood and complete lack of interest in being friendly or having human contact in general. Even through his apathy, Stiles didn't want to risk his father's job another time. So he just forced himself to walk through the bedroom door and face the world yet another time.

"Well, finally," the Sheriff said. Stiles glanced down the stairs and saw his dad speedily move around the living room, locating his keys, wallet, watch and any other little thing that found its way to a separate corner of the room, managing to make getting to the station on time a true challenge.

"Okay, so, I think that's it," he said as he patted himself to make sure he had everything he needed. He looked up at the landing where his son still stood.

"Have a good week," he said, and opened the front door.

"Dad?" Stiles called. His father stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. He saw Stiles holding up his badge with his eyebrows raised, which he had left on the small table underneath the mirror, both of which decorated the landing. He tossed the badge to his father, who caught it and nodded appreciatively, closing the door behind him.

Stiles hovered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he realized he really had no energy in him to actually sit down and make himself some decent breakfast. He had stayed up late the night before. Haunting thoughts of your dead family will do that to you. Tossing a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked for any messages. Surprisingly, there was one. It was from Scott, and he was asking if Stiles had arrived at school. He replied with a quick 'On my way', and sent it as soon as the toast popped up. He grabbed the slices out of the toasted, grabbed his keys off the top of the kitchen counter and went outside. As he held the toast between his teeth, he got in his Jeep and started the engine.

Driving to school, or driving in general, relaxed him. It was like he was in control of the direction his life was taking, for once. Literally. The fact that he could just take a sharp right and find the interstate, and disappear over the horizon was always a wondrous image in his mind; leaving behind all of his demons, start fresh somewhere else. The only reason he didn't do that was his father. And Scott, probably, but mostly his father. He couldn't abandon him, it would kill him. He knew the Sheriff felt as much of a gut-wrenching pain over the loss of Mama Stilinski, but unlike Stiles, he succeeded in hiding it. He was glad that at least one of them was being strong, but he doubted his father could do it for much longer.

Soon enough, he made it to school just before the bell rang, and he walked quickly for the first time in days while making his way to his first class. Throughout the day he stared mindlessly at the teachers and the chalkboards, occasionally taking notes. He was called on at one point to answer a question, but he simply gave a random wrong answer, so the teacher would just move on to someone else who knew the correct one. At some points during the day, he felt like falling asleep with his face flat on his desk, just to get away from people. Maybe sleeping would get him that feeling he wanted to have, the feeling of being alone with your thoughts. When you could just go through three panic attacks in a row and nobody was there to judge you. Nobody was there to look at you like you were a freak. Somehow, being alone with himself was what Stiles longed for and despised at the same time.

Eventually, lunch came around, and he got to see Scott for the first time during the day. It was just his luck that they shared no classes on the first day of the week. He held his tray in front of him and scanned the room quickly until he found him, sitting next to Allison. Stiles had no idea how a guy like Scott had managed to get a girl like Allison, but he usually rationalized it as Scott being at the right place at the right time, the latter being the first few seconds she stepped in the school for the first time, and sticking by her side all day, practically marking her as his territory to all other teenagers who stared at her as she graced the hallways with her presence. For all Stiles cared, she was the one person who found Scott's exceptional goofiness and clumsiness endearing, and if that was enough for her, then so be it.

On the other hand, the other two sitting at the table with the lovebirds were Lydia and Jackson, two individuals that inspired very mixed emotions on Stiles' part. Firstly, Lydia had been the love of his life for years now. She was smart, beautiful, enchanting, quirky, and funny… The list was endless. Up until a few weeks ago, Stiles had wanted to grab her in his arms and take her somewhere far away from Jackson, where they could both live there happily in love. But he knew that was never to happen. Maybe that was why he suddenly felt such little passion when looking at her. Most probably it was due to the period between his mother's death's anniversary and birthday, when he felt numb inside, but he hoped that wasn't it. Because if it were, it would mean that the emotions he felt for her would come crashing back in a few weeks when he was over his birthday high, and for better or for worse, he had decided it was best to begin getting over her.

Jackson, secondly, he cared for minimally. The hot-headed jock didn't bother keeping it a secret that he hated each and every second he spent around Stiles and Scott, and that he did so only because he was practically Lydia's love toy, and she felt like hanging out with Allison, who, in turn, felt like hanging out with "the two losers." Ergo, Jackson spent time around them whether he liked it or not. Stiles doubted if either he or Lydia felt something for one another, or they just were together simply because they were both the most popular people in school, which left them with practically no other choice. That had to be it really, because there wasn't really that much to love in Jackson besides his looks.

"Hey, Stiles," Allison friendlily offered as he took his seat next to Scott, opposite Jackson and Lydia. Stiles wondered which was worse: even when he sat at the popular table, being the outcast, or having to go through lunch while watching Lydia cuddle with Jackson.

"Hi," Stiles simply replied. His downtrodden mood had been obvious to his friends, but nobody really wanted to mention anything, or say that they were worrying about him because they knew where it originated. And for any other person, it might have been an awkward but doable conversation, but for Stiles, it was just beyond unthinkable to bring something like that up.

"You know, it sucks that we don't have any classes together on Mondays this year," Scott remarked, just to fill the silence that had befallen as soon as the personified form of depression that was Stiles had arrived at the table.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

The rest of lunch was spent with the four others making jokes and laughing with each other –although Jackson didn't partake majorly in the laughing and joking- while Stiles nibbled at his food quietly. They weren't exactly ignoring him, they were just running out of ways to try and start up a conversation with him since none of them seemed to be working.

Soon enough, time went by and Stiles finally sighed as he heard the final bell of the day ring. He shoved all of his books inside his back and was one of the last ones to exit the classroom. He had been close to the exit with his hand in his hand in his pocket fishing for his car keys when he saw Allison and Scott standing on the steps and hissing at each other.

"You need to talk to him! Stiles needs you right now!" she was saying.

"I know Stiles, he'll look for me when he's ready to talk," Scott replied with his eyes eternally giving a puppy dog look. Stiles remained there looking at them, but something compelled him to speak up.

"Talk about what?" he yelled over the crowd rushing to get out of the school. It seemed like it was enough to catch the attention of the couple, but Stiles already knew the answer. Unfortunately. Allison shifted nervously and patted Scott on the back.

"See you, guys," she mumbled and walked off, removing herself from the awkward situation. Scott smiled a fake smile at Stiles and sighed.

"So…" he said.

"Yeah?" Stiles replied. He really didn't feel like talking.

"Can I get a ride?" Scott asked.

"Scott, listen, I really don't think I need to talk about this," Stiles reassured his friend as they were driving to town to get some lunch. He realized that avoiding the conversation before it even started was the best option he had. Scott didn't seem too convinced though. Probably because Allison had persuaded him to get some words of emotion out of Stiles: leave it to Scott to be persuaded as easily as a five year old.

"Are you sure?" he asked, worriedly.

"Yes, I am," Stiles said, more firmly this time. He parked at a random place and pulled up the handbrake, just so he could get out of the car. Maybe that would get Scott to change the subject. There wasn't really much to eat around there though, except a McDonalds. Stiles didn't really frequent this place, only the drive-through.

"Why the hell are we here? There's nothing but McDonald's here, why aren't we going further into town?" Scott asked.

"Because I want to get McDonald's," Stiles said sharply. "Is that not okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Scott said, taken aback. "It's just that… Usually…" he trailed off.

Fifteen minutes later, they had both taken their seats at a table outside, ravaging their burgers. It was a good thing Scott was a sloppy eater; it didn't leave much room for talking. Stiles ate in silence too, and he looked around thoughtfully. At a table a little further away he saw a group of kids from his school. They were all big, tall and broad, and not in a good way, but in that way that they tried to impose themselves unto others, where they used their physical advantage as a means to scare others. Practically, they were a bunch of bullies. They looked at the table Scott and Stiles were sitting, and laughed and pointed.

Eventually, all four of them had gotten up and had started walking nearer.

"Crap," Stiles mumbled. "Just what I need."

"Hello, ladies," the one that appeared to be the leading member of the group said. Scott turned up from his food sharply, and tried to intimidate one of them off with a hard stare, something that wouldn't have succeeded even if his mouth weren't comically stuffed.

"So, what are you doing here, fag?" the bully went on, referring to Stiles, in a conversational tone. "Oh, no. Don't tell me we interrupted your date," he said mockingly.

Scott stood up while Stiles was trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Leave us alone," he demanded. The group of four simply laughed in his face.

"I said-" Scott began, furrowing his brow and taking a step further on, shoving his face in that of the leading bully's.

"Scott-" Stiles tried to interrupt, who was looking to get out of this with as little of a beating as possible.

"You sit your asses back down!" the big guy screamed and two of his lackeys pinned Scott and Stiles to their seats by the collars of their shirts. The one holding Stiles swung his fist and caught him on his cheekbone. Stiles' world spun around for a few seconds. Between seeing spots, faintly hearing Scott struggle to help him, and the four bullies laughing, Stiles had a hard time figuring out which was way was up.

The one holding Scott also lifted his fist, but the bigger one stopped him.

"No, don't hit him," he said, and leaned in front of Stiles. His face was dangerously close, and Stiles considered spitting, but the bruise already forming on his face was enough motivation to keep him from going through with that impulse. He could hear his heart pump and the blood pulse in his ears.

"Maybe now you'll know not to show your face around here, you fag," he spat. At that, they were off, and Stiles remained in his seat looking at the ground for a good five minutes. They had been out of sight in the first minute, but Stiles was still recovering emotionally.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott pleaded. He looked at Scott, and he realized he had tears in his eyes. The side of his face burned.

"Yeah," he said over the lump forming in his throat, and walked unsteadily to his car. He got in the driver's seat quietly, and Scott got in next to him. Before he dropped Scott off at his house, he had opened his mouth to say something, but decided against him. Stiles was glad.

He drove himself home, and was glad to see that his father was still not in. He dumped his bag in his room and went in the bathroom to look at his face. The bruise was already bright purple and it hurt to open his jaw all the way. He poked at the point of impact for a few seconds, and that was enough to jerk one of the tears out of his eye and let it trickle down his face. He dragged himself into bed, and passed out. This world was not where he needed to be this instant, even if it meant the one waiting for him in his sleep brought dreams of his mother with it; or rather nightmares.

When Stiles opened his eyes again it was about five o'clock. He checked his phone and saw that he had a text from Scott. It was really concerned, mainly asking him how he was. He was considering answering when somebody called him. He checked the screen, expecting it to be Scott, but it was Allison.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Stiles!" she exclaimed, sounding relieved. "Are you okay? Scott told me what happened."

"Of course…" he said to himself, and sat up rubbing his eyes.

"So?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry," Stiles lied.

"Didn't that guy punch you though? Michael or something?"

Stiles sighed. Allison might be in love with Scott, but she sure know how to manipulate him to get everything she wants out of him.

"He did, but I'm still fine. It's just a bruise," he tried to reassure her.

"Are you sure? You're not just lying so I won't worry, right?" she went on. Stiles had to admit, for what it was worth; it was nice to feel cared for. But he was still looking for a way out of this conversation.

"No, you can stop worrying."

"Okay then… Are you gonna try and get your dad to bust those guys?"

"What? Get the Sheriff to track down a bunch of teenage bullies who beat other teenage kids to feel good about their pathetic selves? You don't think he has bigger fish to fry with the random animal attacks?" he said incredulously.

"Okay, okay, I just suggested something! By the way, get back to Scott, please. Last I heard from him, he was worried than me."

"Shit. Well, okay. See you tomorrow," he said rubbing his eyes again.

"Yeah, see you. Bye."

He hung up and sighed. He was really feeling like being alone, but he had to call Scott and put him at ease. He got up off his bed and walked downstairs to get himself a drink of water from the kitchen. As he did so, he pulled up his contacts and dialed Scott.

"Hello? Stiles?" he answered nervously on the second ring.

"Hey, Scott."

"Stiles, what's up? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Scott, I'm perfectly fine, just like two hours ago when I dropped you off," Stiles whined impatiently.

"Two hours ago you'd gotten the shit punched out of you and you were practically crying during the entire ride home."

Stiles didn't have a response to this. He'd thought Scott hadn't said anything about that. Or would at least recognize that bringing something like that up would be sufficiently awkward to ruin a conversation.

"Yeah, well. You know what they say, it's just the shock…" he mumbled.

"So how are you?" Scott persisted.

"I'm fine, just a bruise is all."

"You know, your dad is gonna see it. What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, I hope he'll buy it if I tell him I just ran into a wall or a door or something. I don't want to worry him," Stiles confessed.

"Or you don't want him to think you're getting into fights with what's happening now…" Scott said. Apparently he was smarter than he looked. Stiles hated how the matter of his mother's death and Stiles' birthday was kind of hanging in the air, but not really talked about. Like the elephant in the room.

"Whatever, I'll just—I'll think of something," Stiles concluded forever trying to get some time alone and took another sip of water.

"Uh, I've got to go," Stiles said.

"Okay, I'll see you," Scott said friendlily. Just as Stiles was pulling the phone away from his ear to hang up, he heard Scott frantically calling his name.

"Yeah?"

"Err, Stiles… You, uh, you know you can call me if you want, right? To talk," Scott said, very, very awkwardly. Stiles took a second from feeling sorry for himself to appreciate what a good friend Scott was being. But only a second.

"I do. Thanks."

"Okay, well, bye again, I guess."

"Yeah, bye."

Stiles hung up the phone, and tossed it on the countertop. He took another sip of water and rubbed his face this time, forgetting that he had a throbbing bruise. He reacted silently by jerking away his hand. He would have put some ice on it but it wouldn't have much of a difference by this point. He turned around and looked at his reflection in the windowpane. This time of year there was nothing anyone could do to cheer him up. He just needed his time to grieve in his own special way, by sulking and keeping the time he spent with others to a minimum.

This time of year was always crap, and he wished there was someone to help him through it.