XV. | panic

                   THAT NIGHT, I slept fitfully on the couch in the living room. More than once I woke up panting loudly, pulled out of my sleep by nightmares. This happened nearly every hour, and by five in the morning, I was too exhausted to try sleeping again. In the nearly silent room, I stood, wincing when the floor creaked under my foot. I padded into the kitchen and found the bag of rice that Stiles put our phones in when we first got to his house, and dug around in it until I felt my cell.

My heart beat loudly in my ears as I fumbled for the power button. I held my breath as I waited for the phone to power on, and sighed in relief when the screen lit up. Just as I was about to head back to the couch to sit down, I heard a loud thud upstairs. Following the sound was a quiet exclamation of, "Shit!"

I shuffled to the edge of the staircase and peeked my head up to the top, where I faintly saw the Sheriff shuffling to put on his jacket. He was getting ready for work, I realized quickly enough. When he'd come home from work earlier in the night, Stiles and I had been watching a late night comedy show. He'd taken a glance at me, slightly raised an arm as greeting, then disappeared up the stairs. I'd wondered if he was tired. Looking at him now, it was easy to see that early mornings weren't in his normal agenda. Faintly, I wondered if he was still working on the Lahey case. There wasn't much he could do except search for a murderer that was impossible to find.

I didn't expect it, but a surge of guilt suddenly ripped through my chest. Even though I was terrified knowing exactly what was hunting the citizens of Beacon Hills, at least I was informed. The Sheriff was forced into solving unsolvable murders, with no extra help or guidance. Quickly, I shuffled back to the couch, making sure I didn't make a sound. I curled up and closed my eyes as the Sheriff made his way downstairs. He banged his boot into a piece of furniture as he passed, but the profanity in his throat died and he paused walking. I couldn't be sure with my eyes closed, but I was pretty sure he was looking down at me. Under his breath, he muttered "Booker." Then he continued on his way. I heard his keys jingle as he shuffled into the kitchen, then sighed when I smelled the unmistakeable stench of coffee brewing. Oh, what I would do for a cup of coffee.

Silently, I listened as the Sheriff readied for his day. He moved quickly around the downstairs, griping user his breath when he couldn't locate something he needed. He was headed to the front door when I heard his phone chirp. After the short notification, it rang.

"Stilinski." He said, probably holding the cell to his ear. I could faintly hear chatter on the other end of the line, but I couldn't pick out the words entirely. I tuned into what the Sheriff replied with. "He wants to what? Why did he call so early?" The room was quiet save for the tiny voice on the other end of the call, then Stilinski sighed. "Fine. Tell him to come in whenever he wants. I'll be there in fifteen."

When the front door slammed shut, I scrambled out of my position on the couch and over to a window facing the driveway. From there, I watched as the Sheriff's cruiser sped away. The sky was still dark with early morning, but I could hear the beginnings of the world waking up. Birds hummed in the trees and the neighbor across the street stretched in her front yard for a morning run.

When the cruiser was fully out of sight, I relaxed for a moment. In my hand, my phone consistently lit up as missed calls and messages dropped into my inbox. I didn't have the heart to answer any of them, but a quick glance down was all I needed to see that Presley, Mom, and Sarah had been searching for me all night. Faintly, I wondered if Sarah had called the Sheriff to see if he'd found me. Then I wondered if Mom had the Sheriff's address. Then I imagined what she would do if she drove over here to find me, wrapped in the Sheriff's son's clothes, lounging on a couch that was way more comfortable than ours.

The thought made me shiver, but they didn't stop. I could hear her voice as she slammed me for being an insubordinate child. I could see Presley's eyes, alight with a fire I only ever saw when he was furious with me. Then I could see Sarah, frantically trying to put our broken family back together. I closed my eyes.

Similarly to last night, my heart shuddered as these thoughts came to my head. My chest clenched and my breathing became labored. Was I really that worried about what my mother would do, or was this the knowledge of the kanima playing with my mind?

No matter what it was, it made me fold in on myself, hunched under the window; out of sight. I'd never felt something like this before. To calm myself down, I reached under my pant leg and pinched the skin hard. Hard enough that tears came to my eyes. I was pulled from my episode quickly, then I sat on the ground and heaved for air that I hadn't realized I'd been missing.

To keep my mind occupied, I pushed the thoughts of my family away and welcomed the ones I'd been trying to beat down since last night: What was a kanima? Who was the kanima? What could we do to stop it?

Without thinking, I stood from my stoop on the floor and made my way upstairs, down the hallway, and into a room I'd only visited once. The lump on the bed was peacefully sleeping, mouth agape and arms sprawled across the mattress. I wasted no time, and walked over to poke Stiles on the arm closest to me.

"Hey," I said. When the poking didn't work, I latched on and shook him. "Stiles. Wake up."

He breathed heavily and opened his eyes. "Huh?" He asked. "Wait, where am I?"

"Your room." I tugged on his arm. "Now, wake up!"

He moved with the jerkiness of a sleep deprived teenager, but I didn't care. When he sat up fully, he rubbed his eyes. "What happened to you?" He asked when he finally got a good look at me. I cocked my head to the side, but he was already shaking his own. "Oh, right. Derek."

Forgetting what I was here for, I made my way to the bathroom and flipped on the light to get a look at myself in the mirror. What had been just a small bruise last night had blossomed into a large purple mess. That mixed with the still-healing gash on my forehead made me gasp. I was bruised and beaten, while the boy on the bed behind me seemed right as rain.

I spun on my heel, telling myself to worry about one thing at a time. "What is a kanima exactly?"

Stiles struggled to his feet, thankfully dropping any talk of my injuries, then stumbled over to his desk where his laptop was propped open. He brought it to life, and I walked closer to see that he already had multiple tabs opened, every single one a different mythical legend. I looked closer at the screen.

"You've been doing research?" I asked.

"As much as you can research an evil lizard, yeah."

I flipped through the tabs, eye not catching anything of use. "So nothing helpful?"

He walked back to his bed and slouched down. "You can look for yourself. It's already difficult to find something serious on werewolves, but the minute you type in evil lizard, all you get is leopard geckos and iguanas eating things they're not supposed to."

A laugh bubbled in my throat as I settled myself in his desk chair. "Here's something. 'The Kanima is known to take the form of a jaguar.'" I looked back at Stiles, who stared at the ceiling with his eyebrows furrowed. "Apparently it's in South America. Goes after murderers."

He rolled his eyes. "It went after me."

"Up to no good, Stilinski?" I teased. Nothing else came up in my searches. "What about the bestiary?"

Stiles sighed, "In a foreign language. Nothing we can translate."

"So we're at square one?"

He rolled over so he could look at me. "We know one thing: it doesn't know who it is."

I clicked my tongue in my mouth. "Great." I stood up from my seat and wandered to the bedroom door. "I'm gonna go make coffee."