PSA: Get ready for some Stessa drama hellz yeah. Also the Broncos freaking suck like what even. And I don’t even like football.
I do not own Teen Wolf and all that jazz. As of yesterday I own a bucket of my tears b/c the Seahawks suck.
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“Please shut up.” I laughed, chucking a curly fry at Stiles. It landed perfectly on the end of his upturned nose, which he scrunched up cutely before grabbing the fry and eating it. Ohhh Stiles.
It was nice being able to sit and laugh at all of the stupid and meaningful things Stiles had to say, especially after the events of the other night. I mean, we’d been running from an alpha wolf who wasn’t trying to kill us, but was trying to make my brother do it. My own brother said that he wanted to kill me.
“Hey Stiles?” I asked after a long sip of my strawberry milkshake, which was like a mouth orgasm. Stiles slowed his chewing and looked up at me, gulping before he nodded at me animatedly to continue. “I know that the alpha wants Scott to lose his old pack before he joins him.” I began, lowering my voice even though we were the only ones in the restaurant besides some guy in a black coat and this young woman with red hair wearing scrubs, who were sitting together quietly and drinking coffee.
“Yeah…” Stiles nodded, his face contorting into a sort of frown type thing that made my stomach twist.
“Why do you think he wanted Scott to… get rid of us?” I asked, pulling my hands into the sleeves of my sweater. Stiles watched my hands and a small smile twisted onto his lips before he looked up again and it was gone. “We’re not like him, we’re just people. Why do we have to die?” My voice cracked slightly, and Stiles sighed, moving around spastically like he does and then reaching towards my hand before jerking back and shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
“Maybe it’s like a pack thing, he has to get rid of his old pack to join a new one. But he never had a pack before, instead it was just us. We’re Scott’s anchors.” Stiles explained.
“Allison is Scott’s anchor.” I corrected with a bit of a bitter edge to my voice. I loved her, I did, and she was my friend, but Scott had picked his girlfriend over his sister, and that hurt. Badly.
“You are too, Jessa.” Stiles assured me, giving me a softer look. “Who do you think Scott was thinking about when he first wolfed out? It wasn’t Allison. He barely knew her. You were his anchor, Jessa.” Stiles repeated, resting his hands on the table on either side of our plate with a few lone curly fries in it.
“So why does that mean he has to kill us?” I asked, crossing one arm on the table and resting my head in the palm of my other hand. I willed Stiles to hold my hand. Hold my hand, damnit.
“We’re his friends and his family, his anchors. We’re the reason he hasn’t joined the alpha, and I think that’s why he wants Scott to kill us off. We’re the only thing between them.” Stiles explained. It sort of made sense in a sick way. He could control Scott though, he made him want to kill us. So why couldn’t he make Scott hate us? Make him leave us behind and join him? Why did I have to die?
“So either Scott kills us or the alpha will do it himself?” I asked after a minute of thinking. Stiles stared blankly at the wall behind my head and then nodded, gulping.
“Yeah, probably.” Stiles answered finally, looking at me. “But I won’t let that happen, okay? Nobody’s going to die.” Stiles told me, staring straight into my eyes and using his authoritative voice. “I mean, it’s inevitable that a couple more people are going to die, I mean there’s a freaking crazy alpha wolf and sour-puss Derek Hale out on the prowl, but you know what I mean.” He rambled, nodding his head from side to side.
“Thanks for that, Stiles.” I replied, letting out a giggle. Instantly the mood had changed and we were no longer talking about getting murdered by my brother or the psycho alpha wolf, instead we were fighting over who got the last curly fry and whether or not Stiles had been taking sips out of my strawberry milkshake, which resulted in us ordering more fries and two more milkshakes.
I was rolling my eyes at Stiles’ anecdote about whether or not Strawberry ice cream really had more nutritional value than chocolate or vanilla, when something- or rather, someone- caught my eye out the window.
“Shit, Stiles, hide me.” I gasped urgently, ducking down under the table.
“Wha- Jessa, what are you- oh, God.” Stiles rambled, kicking his legs around nervously while I climbed under the table. After a few blows to the head and torso, I grabbed Stiles’ knees and held them in place, shushing him harshly as the front door bell chimed. My eyes followed his shoes across the linoleum floors to the counter, where he ordered quietly.
“Jess, not that I don’t like this position and all,” Stiles began speaking in a hushed voice, and I held back a snort as my face heated up. “But why are you hiding under the table?” Stiles asked like it was a reasonable question. Of course he knew that Isaac and I had like a mutual liking type thing going on earlier, why would he ask that? I recalled the many times where Stiles had labeled himself as intuitive and snorted very attractively.
“Long story short I told Isaac that I’d be at home with Scott all day.” I admitted, punching Stiles in the stomach when he tried to talk again. That shut him up after a I heard a muffled groan in pain. God, if anyone knew I was under this table then that would have seemed alarmingly more inappropriate than it was. How do I always get myself into these situations?
After a solid five minutes of sitting under a dirty table and holding onto Stiles’ knees so he wouldn’t kick me again, Isaac left the restaurant and I breathed out a sigh of relief, climbing back into the booth, only this time next to Stiles.
“What do you say we get this to go? I’ve lived with enough daring in the past few days for the rest of my life.” I sighed, grabbing his chocolate milkshake and taking a sip. Surprisingly Stiles let me, and didn’t say anything in return. I set the cup down hesitantly and looked over at him, seeing his eyes slightly wide and his lips pursed.
“Stiles?” I asked after a second, waving a hand in front of his face.
“What? YES.” Stiles answered quickly, and I rolled my eyes before letting out a small laugh.
“I’m going to the counter to get these to go.” I replied, shaking my head and carrying the fries and milkshakes to the counter. After they’d been poured into cups and placed in boxes, I thanked the woman and passed by the table with the man and his nurse or whatever, who was still sipping coffee and flipping through a newspaper.
Feeling my gaze, the man looked up at me. I held in a gasp when he smiled, pulling half of his burned an disfigured face up into a creepy sneer. I quickened my pace. Considerably. In record time my bag was over my shoulder and Stiles was stumbling behind me out the door, tripping over the stoop before I let his hand go. He straightened up and yanked down his shirt, recovering and walking coolly next to me as we approached his jeep.
“What was that?” Stiles asked, climbing into the driver’s side while I hiked myself up into the passenger side and buckled up.
“The man in there with his nurse? He had a weird face.” I answered, twisting the keys for Stiles since he was taking for-freaking-ever.
“So you felt it was necessary to pull me aggressively out of the restaurant and make us leave?” Stiles asked, nodding sarcastically like I was totally being reasonable.
“No, Stiles.” I sighed as we backed out of the lot and headed down the same winding and tree-lined road we always took to my house. “His face… It was like he’d been burned or attacked with acid or something.” I explained, crossing my arms over my chest and shivering at the thought. “And he smiled at me. It was weird.”
“Maybe he was just trying to be a friendly burn victim, huh? I mean most people with burns all over their faces probably have trouble making friends.” Stiles reasoned, and I reached over to hit his arm gently. Swerving into oncoming traffic- not that there was any- was not exactly on my to-do list.
“Whatever.” I frowned. Stiles was probably right, but I still had a bad feeling about that guy. For all I know he could be a rapist. Or a murderer. Or a freaking alpha wolf, for all I know. He could be a creature of the night and we may never know.
We were listening to All Time Low and driving down the road- we’d mostly been driving around aimlessly since Scott told me he was out and I didn’t really want to be anywhere alone, even my own house. I grabbed Stiles’ milkshake from his hand and was about to take a sip when Stiles dramatically yelled at me.
“Wait, Jessa-“ The lid came off and frozen chocolate ice cream poured all over the front of my grey sweater.
“What the hell?” I screeched, making Stiles look over and snort, trying not to laugh.
“I couldn’t get anything through the straw.” Stiles defended, shrinking away at the look I gave him. I groaned, setting the now empty cup in the cupholder and pulling my jacket off so I wouldn’t get anything on it. There weren’t any napkins or anything- thanks, Obama- so I rolled my shirt up to keep as much of the ice cream from touching my skin as possible. Unfortunately that meant half of my stomach was sticking out.
“Stiles, is your lacrosse stuff in here?” I asked, and Stiles nodded.
“Should be in the backseat.” He instructed, and I noticed how much he was trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead of him and not on the half-naked girl in the passenger seat.
I twisted around and began riffling through Stiles’ lacrosse bag, sniffing everything before I found a hoodie that did smell like Stiles but did not smell like sweat. I set it in my lap and faced forward again, pulling the seatbelt over my head so I had free access to take my shirt off.
“Stiles, don’t look.” I warned, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t watching before pulling my sweater off and flipping the hoodie around so I could put it on. I looked up before pulling the hoodie on over my head and saw that we were drifting into the other lane.
“Stiles! I said don’t look!” I blushed bright red, pulling the hoodie over my head.
“I’m not looking!” Stiles responded insistently.
“Then why are we driving in the wrong lane?” I asked, yanking it down over my head and flipping my hair out of the hood. Stiles jerked the steering wheel and we swerved back into the correct lane. My face was probably a colour somewhere similar to that of a tomato or a red pepper. Maybe something a little more fluorescent, like sweet and sour sauce. Dang, now I wanted Chinese food.
“Maybe I glanced over.” Stiles said after a small pause. My lips curled up into a smile and a laugh escaped my lips. It was pretty funny, I mean we didn’t get into a car accident. If we had I don’t think I’d be laughing. But we didn’t, so it was kinda really freaking hilarious.
“Yeah, sure Stiles.” I replied knowingly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Wanna go back to my house and hang out until Scott gets home?” I asked, and Stiles nodded spastically before turning right and driving a few blocks into our neighbourhood. We pulled up to the streetlight outside of my house and Stiles shut off the car, pausing for a minute before getting out. I rolled my head to the side and looked at him in the shadows cast by the tall trees and my looming house.
“Jessa, there’s something I have to tell you."
DUN DUN DUN. What do you think Stiles is going to tell herrrrrr? Sorry it's been so long since I updated, but I promise I will get on that and it will be worth it. Long wait = long update.