I have a son. His name is Michislav Stilinski. But we call him Stiles. I remember. When Stiles was a little kid, he couldn't say his first name. Not sure why. It pretty much rolls off the tongue. But, uh, the closest he could get was "mischief." His mother called him that until... I remember when, uh... When Stiles first got his Jeep. It belonged to his mother. She wanted him to have it. The first time when he took a spin behind the wheel, he went straight into a ditch. I gave him his first roll of duct tape that day. He was always getting into trouble. But he always had a good heart. Always. We're here tonight because my goofball son decided to drag Scott, his greatest friend in the world, into the woods to see a dead body.
Listen, I remember something. At the start of the year, Stiles was trying to find a place for you guys to live after graduation. He said you were getting an apartment together. And I remember saying something to Stiles. Something like it's not always a good idea to live with your friends. Even your best friend. But Stiles said it wouldn't matter because you weren't just friends. You guys were more like brothers.