6 YEARS LATER . . .
Portland, Maine
Christmas Day, 2030
( i miss you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams )
" you said 'forever' and i almost bought it
i miss fightin' in your old apartment
breakin' dishes when you're disappointed
i still love you, i promise
and nothin' happened in the way i wanted
every corner of this house is haunted
and i know you said that we're not talkin'
but i miss you, i'm sorry "
_______________________________
"COME ON, BELLE!" Stiles yelled as he was finishing up packing his daughter's backpack, "Come on we're gonna be late! Uncle Scott's expecting you any minute!"
The six year old appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed in a fluffy pink Christmas sweater and a Santa hat. She stumbled clumsily down the stairs as she was filled with excitement.
Belle Stilinski— Stiles' daughter. She was six years old now, her skin a light tanned shade, her hair was chocolate brown with ringletty curls. Belle was always smiling— even in her sleep, she smiled.
"Daddy!" Belle yelled with a grin as she got to the bottom of the stairs, "Daddy it's Christmas!"
Stiles gave his daughter a smile, picking her up under her arms and spinning her around in the air. "I know, sweetheart, and Uncle Scott and Auntie Jo are expecting you!"
Belle's smile wavered ever so slightly with a confused frown— she was young enough that she didn't remember the routine for every Christmas. How her dad would drop her off at her uncle's house, and then mysteriously disappear for a few hours— then he'd arrive like nothing happened, never talk about where he went.
So, not remembering that this was a usual thing, Belle asked "Where are you going, Daddy?"
Stiles put her back down on the floor, crouching in front of her to her height, playing with the pom-pom on his daughter's Santa hat while giving her a soft smile.
"Daddy just has to make a quick stop somewhere, okay?" he said, "But don't you worry, I'll be at Uncle Scott's before you even open your first present, I promise. There's just— there's something Daddy's gotta do first, okay?"
Belle's innocent smile returned as she nodded her head with a grin, "Okie dokie!"
Stiles smiled at Belle, picked up her backpack and walked his daughter outside to the driveway, making sure her booster seat was in the passenger side of the Jeep. Whilst listening to the radio which was full of festive Christmas songs, Stiles drove over to Scott and Jo's place to drop off his daughter, before making his one stop.
_____________________________
As per her request, Stiles didn't give Aspen a gravestone— instead, as per her request, her name was carved into the very same Aspen tree that had grown at the side of the lake.
Every year, it got taller—what was once a tiny plant was now a tall tree, and every time he looked at it, he was reminded of the moment he was here with Aspen all those years ago.
Aspen also wasn't buried—as per her wish, she was cremated. Months after she died, when Stiles was finally ready to face the grief and the rest of the world—he came out to this very lake, this very tree, and scattered her ashes.
Now, six years later, Stiles got out of the Jeep, closing the car door behind him as he buried his hands in his pockets, walking over to the tree.
He wrote her name in it the first time he came out here—and every year, every Christmas since her death—he visited this place. After everything, once everyone was finally ready to get out of New York and start new lives—Scott and Stiles chose Maine, mostly because that was where this lake was.
Stiles barely even registered the feeling of the bitterly cold December air on his face as he walked through the snow. He didn't register the cold because being here, made him feel warm.
Without there actually being a headstone, this was Aspen's grave.
Stiles smiled softly as he walked up to the tree, reading the carving on it which he had engraved six years ago.
ASPEN BELLATOR
1996 - 2024
FRIEND, SISTER, WIFE, HERO TO ALL
'LOVE CONQUERS ALL'
Stiles always came here alone. The others had been to visit this place throughout other parts of the year—but on Christmas Day, on the anniversary of her death, it was Stiles' day.
He'd never brought Belle here, not yet—he thought she was too young. He had told her stories about the woman who would've been her mother—he told her stories about a girl who was a superhero and a princess, and how she shattered stereotypes by being the one to save Prince Charming, instead of it being the other way around.
Belle loved the stories.
Once she was old enough, Stiles had decided he would tell her that those stories were real. Once Belle was old enough to understand, once she got to the age where she started asking questions about whether or not she had a mother, he would tell her whatever she wanted to know. But as for right now, she was six—she wasn't ready yet.
"Hey, Asp..." Stiles said, smiling weakly at the carved name, "Merry Christmas, huh?"
Stiles chuckled softly to himself as if he was expecting an answer. He placed down the bouquet of blue flowers he'd picked up on the way over, setting them down at the bottom of the tree.
He looked around—turning to see what was once a beautiful cabin that they spent a spring break in over a decade ago, and now was just a plane of land.
Stiles had looked into the property, he wanted to see if he could buy it once he decided he was adopting a daughter and leaving New York. But it turned out the property had been torn down and didn't exist anymore—but much to his relief, they hadn't chopped the tree down.
"I miss you so much, Asp..." Stiles said, feeling a heaviness in his heart as he looked back at the name in the tree, "But I'm— I'm doin' my best, y'know? Doin' my best to be worthy of this new life you gave me..."
Stiles dug his hand into his coat pocket, taking out a polaroid picture of the two of them together from when she was still alive. It made a smile creep onto his lips again. He continued to talk as if she was right in front of him, listening.
"Belle's growin' up real fast, y'know?" he said, "She's uh— she's six now, and I'm starting to wonder when she's gonna... start asking questions. I've told her about you--a I tell her stories about this princess who's also a superhero..."
Stiles put the picture back in his pocket, looking out into the sunrise over the lake, taking in the scene of all the snow on the banks.
"I know it doesn't make much sense, since she was never biologically ours, but..." he said, looking out onto the lake, "Somehow I see more of you in her each day. She walks into a room and she knows how to get everyone smiling. She gives me this warm feeling in my heart that... I didn't think I'd ever feel again after... what happened..."
Stiles felt a tear brewing in his eyes as he looked up, trying to blink it away.
"I know you told me not to feel guilty..." he said lowly, "I've read the words you wrote for me in that letter a thousand times, I know you don't want this guilt for me— but I can't help it. I'm here... and you're not... because you gave your life for mine. Asp, come on— how am I supposed to not feel guilty?"
"Because you weren't the one holding the gun...." A voice piped up from behind him, damn-near giving Stiles a heart attack as he jumped in shock, turning around at someone who had clearly snuck up on him.
Allison Argent— no one had seen or heard from her in six years.
She looked an absolute wreck as Stiles saw her walk over to him, her hands buried in pockets of a long grey cardigan. She was dressed very simply—grey sweats, white shirt, grey cardigan.
That's what the mental institution had her wear.
While Allison never reached out to any of them after the night she pulled the trigger on the bullet that ended Aspen's life— they all know what happened to her.
Allison Argent's guilt was too strong— after it was all over, she couldn't go back to living some normal life pretending she didn't do what she did.
So she plead guilty in court— to all 41 murders.
Somehow they managed to brush off the fact that her file read that she was deceased eleven years prior as a simple medical techincal error. Allison was given a lawyer who tried to advise her of a way around pleading guilty—Allison didn't budge. She confessed--ashe wanted to be punished for what she did.
But due to the true reasons Allison did what she did—and the fact that it was impossible to explain to the normal world and a court of law—her lawyer had her plea guilty by reason of insanity.
So, she'd spent the last six years in a prison for the mentally insane. And in those six years, as far as anyone knew, she'd never left.
Until now—as Stiles met the gaze of the person who put a bullet through his wife's heart.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Stiles said with a defensive tone, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance.
Allison was pale, she didn't look like she'd slept easy the night before at all. She also looked nervous—she wasn't allowed to wear any jewellery, but she was fiddling with her hands as if she was.
"Hi..." Allison said—her voice coming out quiet, and with a tone of shame—"I, um... I'm allowed one supervised visit every Christmas, I've never taken the staff up on it, but..."
"But you did this year..." Stiles finished the sentence for her—not knowing how to act around her.
After Allison fled and no one ever heard from her until her arrest was all over the news—everyone had been shockingly sympathetic. It was mainly because they all knew what Aspen would say if she was here—that they shouldn't blame Allison for what happened.
And even though Aspen wrote it in his letter, Stiles struggled not to be angry.
But at least never coming face to face with her again had helped to keep his anger at bay, he never had his true target to take his hurt out on, so it made it easier for that scar to heal without a constant reminder of what caused it.
So right now, standing in front of Allison, at the grave of the love of his life who died by her hand—Stiles had no idea how to act.
"What are you doing here, Allison?" was all he could say, keeping his distance.
The Argent woman tried to smile— "I'm here to... pay my respects, I guess..."
"To your best friend who you killed?" Stiles replied, his voice harsh and distant.
When Allison didn't reply, Stiles surprisingly did get a pang of guilt for his words. He knew Aspen wouldn't want him blaming Allison—he wouldn't want her adding to Allison's guilt. And he'd spent the last six years trying to make Aspen proud.
"Sorry..." he said, "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." Allison cut him off, smiling softly as if to tell him it was okay that he said that—that he blamed her.
Allison walked up to the tree where Aspen's epitaph was engraved, running her hand over it, trying her best to smile. She then turned to Stiles.
"It's okay that you meant it." she said, "I know that she's gone because of me, I know I'm the one that killed her... I know no one else really blames me for what happened— but weirdly, I'm glad that you do."
Stiles was at a loss for words, his expression slightly confused.
"Why?" he asked shortly, genuinely curious.
"Because..." Allison sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, "I need someone else to blame me— because if no one blames me, then all my guilt is for nothing..."
"Well, you know you're not the only one that feels guilty for what happened, right?" Stiles said, his hands buried deep in his pockets, "I mean—she wouldn't have taken that bullet if it hadn't been for me. We all knew what happened— you couldn't shoot her. You couldn't do it, which is why you aimed it at me instead. If it weren't for me, Aspen wouldn't have died."
"But I'm still the one that pulled the trigger." Allison replied softly, "It's okay, Stiles— you don't have to say these things. I plead guilty in court— I've accepted what I did..."
Stiles nodded, not knowing what to say after that.
"So um..." Allison spoke up again— "Who's Belle?"
Stiles' brows frowned as he looked at her, and then she added—"Sorry, I— uh... I kinda overheard..."
Stiles let out a sigh, knowing that of all places to be angry and place blame on Allison for Aspen's death—Aspen's grave was the worst place to do that, because its not what she'd want.
"Belle's my daughter," Stiles told Allison, "She's uh, she's six years old."
Allison smiled truly—something she hadn't really done in a long long time.
"Belle's a pretty name." she said.
Stiles chuckled, "Yeah... yeah it is. She's named after a princess, after all."
"What, princess Belle?" Allison replied.
Stiles shook his head. "No... no a different princess..."
They then stopped talking—enjoying the peaceful silence that came from being stood here, by this lake, by this tree.
They stood in the silence for a few minutes, until Stiles broke it—a question nagging at his mind.
"What did she write?" Stiles asked, not looking at Allison as he said it, but at the epitaph in the tree instead, "In your letter?"
"She told me to forgive myself." Allison replied, burying her hands in the pockets of her cardigan, shivering slightly from the cold, "Though it's uh— it's been six years and I can't quite manage that yet..."
Stiles then tore his eyes away from the tree to look at Allison who stood a few meters away from him. He took in her appearance—how guilt ridden she seemed even physically, it was written all over her face. She looked unhealthy—like it really was eating away at her.
Stiles then remembered what Aspen had written to him in his own letter—about guilt being a disease. A disease with no cure.
Stiles knew how Aspen didn't blame Allison for her death. It may have taken him six years to finally agree with her—because Stiles had needed someone to be angry at. And since Theo Raeken had been dead, Allison was the best target. He needed someone to hate, someone to blame for the fact Aspen Bellator was gone.
But he saw it now—he saw how much this all really wasn't something Allison wanted, or was in control of. And he started to remember how it felt for him when he was in that position—doing things he didn't want to do, hurting people he didn't want to hurt—all against his will and better judgement.
It may have taken six years, and a face-to-face confrontation to finally see it—but all of a sudden, Stiles couldn't hate her anymore.
"You said that by me blaming you— it makes your guilt mean something..." Stiles said, as Allison turned to look at him as he spoke. "What if I stopped blaming you? If I.... if I forgave you.... would that help you forgive yourself?"
Allison seemed baffled by the question— by the sheer idea of Stiles forgiving her.
"You could never forgive me..." she said, sounding confused, "I took away the person you love most in this world— how could you ever forgive me for that?"
"Cause it..." Stiles shrugged, "it wasn't really you. I didn't see it before, but... I do now. And, well, in my letter— Aspen told me to forgive you too..."
Silence returned as their eyes met, both of their expressions softened as they grieved and remembered the heart of Aspen Bellator. Even when she wasn't here anymore, she brought people back together and healed old wounds.
Stiles then glanced at Aspen's name carved into the tree, feeling as though she was standing right there, smiling at him, proud of him for this.
And then he took in a deep breath, let out a shaky one, and said to Allison—
"I do— I... I forgive you, Allison."
Allison's eyebrows furrowed as her irises widened. She hadn't come here expecting that at all, she didn't even know what to do with that forgiveness.
She never asked for it— she never asked for forgiveness from anyone.
But the person whose forgiveness always meant the most— was his.
And now she had it.
"You do?" she seemed shocked beyond words, "Why?"
Stiles shrugged softly, staring at Aspen's name, "Because she wants me to..."
A few minutes later, Allison gave him a smile for goodbye and walked away from the grave site and over to the car where the orderly from the institution was waiting for her.
Allison Argent was given a life sentence when she confessed to all the murders— she was never getting out and living a normal life.
But she didn't need to, she didn't particularly want to.
And even though a few words from a former friend couldn't remove all of the sickening guilt in her stomach— Stiles' forgiveness did seem to do something for that weight on her shoulders.
"Hey, Allison?" Stiles called out, making her stop and turn around as she was walking away.
Stiles' lips formed a genuine smile— it was weak, but it was there.
"You know, this was just as much the story of you and her— as it was the story of her and me." said Stiles.
Allison returned the smile, but it was solemn and weak just like his.
"Neither of them got happy endings though, huh?"
Stiles shrugged— "I prefer the term bitter-sweet. Heavy on the bitter, light on the sweet— but still."
Allison let out a soft laugh, "Bittersweet endings... sounds like the title of a book."
And with that, Allison walked away back to the car, and Stiles watched as it drove off into the distance.
Stiles was once again alone at Aspen's 'grave' and he spent the next hour sat by the tree, talking to her as if she was there, filling her in about Belle's life and how he'd been doing without her this past year— since the last time he visited was last Christmas.
Until eventually Stiles said goodbye, got in his Jeep— and drove himself over to Scott and Jo's house, to celebrate Christmas with his family.
Scott and Josephine had gotten married a few years back, and had two kids now: one boy, one girl.
Derek Hale had managed to climb himself out of hell and embraced something light in his life— his son: Carter Hale.
Lydia and Alex had gotten married about a year after Aspen's death— they had one daughter, and Lydia was now a few months pregnant again. They had remained living in Brooklyn as Lydia went back to her job at the hospital— but Alex quit his job as a criminal prosecutor, and became a stay at home dad.
Alex and Stiles had also managed to patch up their friendship, putting the past in the past given the fact that both of them had just been worried about the women they loved.
Isaac and Malia didn't have kids— they spent their days travelling the world, just the two of them. They'd been all over the majority of Europe, South America— and now they were cutting their trip in Italy short to come home for the holidays.
Kira stayed in New York, enjoying her job as a lawyer, as much as it was solemning to step into the same office Aspen worked at for years every day.
Jordan Hayes never asked Scott to take his memory of Aspen away. Scott sat him down and told him everything, and it was hard to hear. Knowing he spent four years with a person it turned out he never really knew. But he still loved her— he went to her funeral, and spent a long time grieving. But he had moved on now, he permanently lived in Philadelphia now after quitting his job in New York.
Stiles— he was happy as a single father. He knew he had Aspen's blessing to move on if the opportunity came up, but it never did— and he didn't go looking. He felt fulfilled living his life raising his daughter, surrounded by his family and friends. His dad had retired from sheriff in Beacon Hills and moved out to Maine with Melissa, Scott and Stiles saw them all the time, and they loved being close to their grandchildren too.
And as for the ones that were no longer with them? Aspen and Ace?
They'd found peace with each other.
Aspen and Ace had been cursed from the moment they were born— happy endings weren't in the cards for people like them. But those they left behind— those they loved— those they watched over— they all lived happily ever after, in their own ways.