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                    THE STILINSKI RESIDENCE was bathed in darkness when Stiles pulled into the driveway, humming a song I'd never heard under his breath. He'd asked if I'd wanted to be dropped off at a hotel, but Beacon Hills wasn't full of anything but rundown motels. I'd wrinkled my nose at his suggestion and he'd said that the only place he could take me was back to his house.

"Won't your dad be angry?" I'd asked. Not going home without telling my mother was one thing, but holing up at the Sheriff's house was another. I didn't want to be a burden, and I didn't want to get into any legal trouble for hiding from my family.

Stiles shrugged before turning the Jeep off and jumping to the ground below. "He shouldn't be. Scott stays over all the time."

"Uh-huh," I said, following him closely to the front door. My eyes scanned the bushes surrounding the outer panelling of the small home, searching for any sign of the kanima. I shivered just thinking about it stalking me. Somehow giving it a name made the whole situation more terrifying. "But you and Scott are like best friends. I'm just some random girl hiding from her family at the Sheriff's house."

We stopped in the foyer of the home, and Stiles locked the door behind us while my eyes scanned the walls of the house, focusing on pictures of Stiles and the Sheriff at various events throughout his childhood. A woman with long brown hair made an appearance in many of them, but she seemingly disappeared once Stiles reached middle school. I rested my eyes on her face, catching the similarities between her nose and Stiles's.

"Divorce?" I asked aloud, turning back to the door where Stiles was watching me investigate his house.

His nose twitched. "Huh?"

I walked up to a picture hanging on the wall, of Stiles at an elementary school soccer game. He looked the exact same in the face, but he was swimming in his uniform. That same woman was crouched down next to him, smiling serenely. I assumed the Sheriff was the one taking the picture. Side by side, I could pick out more similarities between the woman and Stiles. I pointed at her then looked back at Stiles.

"Your mom," I said it so confidently because there was no way she wasn't his mother. They had the same soft features and mischievous eyes. "Did she and your dad divorce?"

"Oh," Stiles shook his head and looked anywhere except my eyes. "No. She, uh, she died."

My chest suddenly felt tight. "I'm sorry," I said guiltily, turning away from the wall of pictures. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine," Stiles said, walking past me and into the nearby kitchen. "Happens."

He pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and set it on the counter before turning on the oven. I shuffled behind him and stood uncomfortably next to the fridge, still shivering in my wet clothes. I internally cringed. I hadn't even thought about school in the morning, or what I would be wearing. That on top of my blatant questions about Stiles's mother was enough to make me shiver harder.

Stiles glanced over at me and noticed my shaking. "Oh. You should probably take a shower."

"Yeah," I said back, holding my hands in front of me.

He stood by the oven quietly, then blinked back into reality when it beeped, signaling that it was preheated. "Uh," He pat his pockets for something, then changed his mind and unwrapped the pizza before popping it in the hot oven. He turned then, scratching at his buzzcut. "Follow me." I couldn't tell if he was jittery because he was nervous or because of me bringing up his mother.

We made our way up the staircase and into a room I immediately knew was Stiles's. The walls were covered in old posters - some of popular video games and some of obscure movies. I scanned my surroundings and I tried to ignore the giggle rising in my throat as Stiles ran around, quickly straightening up the room. It wasn't dirty, but the floor was scattered with stray clothing and school supplies. Messily, Stiles made up his bed, throwing the scrunched duvet over the wrinkled sheets. I watched amusedly as he scrambled to seem presentable. I wanted to tell him that he was ten times cleaner than Presley, but I was enjoying myself too much, so I stayed quiet.

When he was pleased with himself, Stiles turned on his heel. "Alright." He was out of breath from running around. "You can take a shower if you want." Blindly, he reached behind him into his closet, green towel gripped in his hand when it emerged. He handed it over then pointed at the dresser I was leaning against. "Shirts are in the second drawer, shorts and sweatpants in the third - do not look in the fourth drawer."

Throughout the stress of the evening, I was surprised to hear myself chuckle. I think Stiles was too, because he was reluctant to smile back.

"Thanks," I said. Downstairs, the oven beeped, letting us know the pizza was ready. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

His shaved head bobbed in a messy nod. "Yeah," he said, making his way to the door. "Yeah, sounds good. Have, uh, fun?"

I closed the bedroom door as a response.

The water that hit my shoulders in the shower was scorching, and when I glanced down at my hands, I saw that they were red from the heat. I couldn't feel it. I let the water sear my skin as I washed, scrubbing away the chlorine from the pool. Stiles's shower had three items on the shelf: a bottle of men's shampoo, a bar of soap, and a moldy loofah that hadn't been used in ages. I was forced to roll my eyes at that - boys were gross.

When I stepped out onto the bathmat to dry off, I noticed bruises on my wrist from where Derek had grabbed me earlier that night. My fingers flitted to my throat, where I felt nothing out of the ordinary. Still, I knew there would be injuries there too from the hotheaded wolf.

I didn't spend too much time digging through Stiles's drawers before finding a black tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. My own clothes were a wet pile on the floor, so I scooped them up and found the laundry room down the hallway. It was small and there was barely any detergent left, but I started a cycle and closed the door on my way to the kitchen.

Stiles was wearing new clothes, but he still smelled like the pool. I padded across the wooden floor and took the piece of pizza Stiles offered me. I was starving, finishing my piece in seconds before grabbing another and settling myself on the edge of the kitchen counter. I regarded Stiles as he dropped his phone and what looked like my phone into a bag of uncooked rice. I hadn't noticed him grab my cell from me, but I was glad he was taking care of it.

With the phones fully submerged, he looked up at me. I saw his eyes scan my face before landing on my neck, where I knew bright purple bruises sat. "Don't worry," I said nonchalantly, even though both my throat and wrist were beginning to throb, "It's nothing."

"When did that happen?" He asked anyway.

"Before we fell into the pool. Derek grabbed me."

Stiles's eyes bulged. "By the throat?"

I didn't want to talk about it. "Let's change the subject," I said. "How about we discuss our new best friend the kanima?" It wasn't a sly conversation starter, but it was serious and required some attention.

"How about we don't," Stiles said, wrinkling his nose. "Too much to think about on a school night."

Remembering all of the times we'd spent in his car while he silently mulled over something flashed through my head. "But you love thinking!" I exclaimed. He didn't answer me, but I complied, letting my shoulders drop. "Fine," I said, "How about the chemistry homework? Do you understand it?"

"No, but it's all in the textbook. Answers and everything." He grabbed another piece of pizza and made his way to the living room. I followed, sitting down on the couch with him before turning my attention to the television.

A small smile grew on my face. "You like Star Wars?" I asked, recognizing the face of Han Solo as it flashed across the screen.

"Yeah."

"My brother does too," I said quickly.

"He does?" Stiles didn't seem like he believed me. I raised an eyebrow in question and he stumbled for words. "It's just - I mean he's more of a jock type, right? Like, sports and beer and stuff, you know? Just wasn't expecting that."

I smiled. "So what wouldn't you believe about me?"

"Wow, uh," Stiles stumbled again. It was funny making him squirm, and even though we were talking about my family again, I found myself relaxing. I hadn't had the chance to be a normal teenager in what felt like a very long time. "I guess that you're a regular kid?"

"Huh?"

He threw his hands up like he didn't know what he meant. "You know! You seem ... like the popular type. Like you and Presley rule every school you go to, and you spend your time like ... like Lydia!"

"Like Lydia Martin?" I asked. "I seem like Lydia Martin?"

"Not exactly," he said, "It's just your type."

"Alright," I ventured. "So is it like running through the forest for days on end? Or fluffy hair and manicured nails? Which Lydia am I most like?"

Stiles chewed thoughtfully on his pizza. "This doesn't seem like a good conversation, now that I'm thinking about it."

"It's not?" I asked, feigning innocence. In reality, I was glad to get off the topic of Lydia Martin. Although I knew she was connected to the big picture in some way, I still didn't understand her as a person. Every time we'd interacted in the past, I was left with a weird feeling in my stomach - almost as if I were on edge. Part of me hoped Stiles didn't mean that I gave him the same feeling.

While we settled into the couch to finish the movie, my eyes strayed to the window in the room. Outside, the sun was set and the sky was dark with night time. It was peaceful, and usually the moths swarming the street lights would lull me into a calm state of mind, but as I focused my attention on the bugs, all I could think about was the impending doom building in my chest. I was nervous for what was coming next, and the throbbing in my neck wasn't helping with the panic in my system. If Derek could do something so cruel to me just to accompany him to an impromptu meeting, what could the kanima do in its blind rage?

"You okay?" Stiles asked suddenly, startling me back to the living room.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding in. "Yeah," I breathed, "Just thinking."