( CHAPTER ZERO! )
❝ A PROLOGUE OF SORTS ❞

     SAMANTHA'S LEGS KICKED back and forth as she sat in the hospital's waiting room. The eight-year-old girl stared straight ahead of her, watching the paint peel off the wall, slowly cracking until in finally breaks off and falls to the bleach-cleaned floor. She could hear the murmurs of her Aunt Jenna and Dr.Nott behind the waiting room door. Jenna's whispers were rushed, as if trying to find what was wrong with Samantha's father and what could be done to fix it, while the doctor's seemed dejected.

   Samantha was overwhelmed to say the least. Every noise in the room seemed to be turned up to 100. The old man tapping his foot in the corner, the lady behind her clicking her pen at a quick and constant rate, the sound of the boy's Game Boy sitting two seats down from her. It was starting to become too much. It was too loud, too bright. Too much, too much, too much, too much, too—
Samantha squeezed her eyes shut, shielding the fluorescent lights above her from her small mind that felt it might burst at any moment.

   Samantha was brought out of her near panic attack by the sound of the door squeaking open, the loud sound echoing across the small waiting room. Her eyes shot open as she broke her neck to see who it was, hoping to see her Aunt Jenna gently smiling at her. Instead, she saw a little boy (he looked around her age) walk in with a frown on his freckled face. She also noticed the Sheriff himself walk in with him, looking just as upset as his son. The Sheriff sits the boy down in an available seat (which happened to be next to her), got down on one knee and whispered something to his son, presumably reassuring him. Samantha looks over curiously as the boy fidgets with his fingers, his right knee twitching occasionally.

   Sheriff Stilinski gives his son a pat on the shoulder, stands and leaves the room, Samantha's eyes watching him the whole time. It isn't until she hears the door click shut that she looks back at the boy. She looks at him gently, watching as he tries to sit still and, in the end, fail miserably. She'd seen him before, at school. They were in the same class after all. If the eight-year-old remembered correctly, the boy's name is Stiles.

"Are you okay?" She asks softly, not wanting to startle the boy, which ultimately didn't work, he jumped anyway. He whips his head around so fast, Samantha's afraid he'll break it. His eyes are wide and his jaw is practically on the floor. She doesn't say anything for a while and neither does he, they just keep staring at one another until, "Stiles?"

   The sound of his name seems to jolt him out of his trance, his eyes going wider. "Yo-you know my n-name?" The spastic boy stutters. Samantha's eyebrows furrow, eyes blinking spasticity in confusion.

"Uh...yeah? We're in the same class and you let me borrow a colored pencil once. Why wouldn't I know your name?"

They both sit in silence for a few more moments before Stiles clears his throat and answers her question, "I just...didn't think you knew who I was," he looks at the tiled floor once he's finished speaking.

"Oh...well you didn't answer my other question." She smiled slightly, though anyone with eyes could see it was strained no matter how genuine she was being. Stiles looked at her, stared right in her green eyes and murmured a soft, "I'm fine."

Though Samantha didn't necessarily believe him, she didn't push him to tell her. After all, she didn't really know him. She turned back to face the wall while a silence settled between the two children. It was comfortable, each feeling some sense of comfort in the others presence, though Stiles was still reeling on the fact that the girl he had a crush on knew who was. Scott wasn't going to believe it. Unfortunately, that couldn't take the young boy's mind off of why he was actually here.

His mother.

Poor Claudia Stilinski was sick, or so Stiles was told, and she wasn't getting any better. Stiles didn't know what that meant for her, not really. All his father was telling him was that, Mom'll be okay or She'll get through this or Don't worry, she's okay. But Stiles wasn't an idiot. He knew something was happening, something not good, and he was sacred. He was scared for his mom.

"My mommy is sick." Samantha looked up at the break in silence. Stiles had his arms wrapped around himself, tears brimming the corners of his eyes. He was shaking, looking just about ready to breakdown sobbing. Samantha's eyes widen seeing the boy look so distraught. She didn't know what to say so she did the next best thing: she hugged him. She wrapped her tiny little arms around the shaking boy and squeezed. Sure, it was uncomfortable considering she had a slab of wood digging into her ribs but all she wanted to do was comfort him in some way. And she needed this hug as much as he did.

After all, "My dad is sick too." Stiles stopped shaking in that moment because he realized something: they were both scared. They were both scared kids who didn't know what to do because parents weren't supposed to be sick, why were they sick and why aren't they getting better?

The two kids sat there comforting each other until their guardians had to take them home but that wasn't the last they saw of each other. In fact, from this day forward, you wouldn't see one kid without the other.

...

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