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I let out an exaggerated groan as I spun around in the seat, attempting to shield myself from the relentless sun rays with my fingers. Clearly, my fingers weren't the superhero in this situation, as they miserably failed against the blinding solar assault.
My legs were practically begging for mercy, having endured the discomfort of poor blood circulation due to my awkward position.
With a symphony of grunts and groans, I finally managed to pry myself out of the seat, stumbling towards the door and stumbling more than I'd like to admit.
Once outside, I made a beeline for the water bottle stashed on the side, nearly diving into it to splash my groggy face and will myself awake.
After a round of beers last night, I dutifully played chauffeur for Allison and Tara, ensuring they got home safely. Then, I embarked on a futile city-wide search for Scott, hoping to stumble upon him in the dark, supernatural labyrinth of Beacon Hills. Spoiler alert: I didn't.
My phone had a handful of messages from Allison, which I'd have to address later, but there was zilch from Scott or his mom, Melissa.
"Fantastic." I muttered to myself, my sarcasm practically dripping off the word. I slipped back into the driver's seat of the jeep, tossing the bottle carelessly in the back.
Here's to hoping Scott hadn't decided to test his werewolf endurance by winding up unconscious near some picturesque riverbank. Because, really, who needs another cliché werewolf trope in their life?
I revved up the engine, the jeep responding with its characteristic roar. As I sped away, my brain was running its own mental race, plotting out potential places to scour. Right at the top of that list: the Hale family house.
Cruising through the pine forest and maneuvering around the twists and turns of the roads, after a 10 minute drive I couldn't help but spot someone walking shirtless on the sidewalk.
I screeched the jeep to a halt right next to him, confirming that the exhausted figure was indeed my buddy, Scott. He glanced up with a weariness that only seeing my face could bring about – poor guy.
Scott hoisted himself onto the vehicle as I swiftly shed my jacket, handing it over to him for cover. He wasted no time wrapping it around himself and settling in, clearly drained.
I eased us out of the forest area, feeling the oppressive weight of the awkward silence in the car. Seriously, it was like a third, very uncomfortable wheel.
"You ok Scotty?" I finally broke the silence, my voice dripping with faux innocence.
He grumbled a noncommittal response. "Yeah."
I checked him out, partially relieved that he was in one piece. Then, my gaze zeroed in on something alarming.
"Hold up! Is that blood?" I exclaimed, pointing like a madman at the red blotches on his pants.
Scott cast a tired glance downwards, his eyes rolling in exasperation before he gave a half-hearted nod
"Blood, right. And I point it out, but no big deal!" I scoffed. "Did Derek do it?"
"No." Scott muttered, shaking his head and further deepening my confusion. "It was these... uh, people. Derek said they're hunters."
I slammed the brakes, causing the jeep to lurch to an abrupt stop, sending Scott's body rudely against the seat before he sprang back.
"Stiles! What the heck?!" He yelled, pain evident in the pinched expression he wore.
"Oops, my bad, seat belts, yeah, those might be helpful." I muttered, though my mind was busy elsewhere. "But Scott, focus! Hunters? Like, real-deal werewolf hunters?"
Scott's answer was a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah."
"Did they see you?"
"Yeah." Scott nodded.
"Do they know who you are under the hairy fur or beard or whatever that was?"
He sighed, giving his head a reluctant shake. "No, it was dark, so probably not."
I tapped the steering wheel restlessly, my anxiety brewing. Werewolf hunters? Terrific. It's like facing the school bully and your math final exam all at once. Real fun.
Restarting the jeep, I shot Scott a glance. As much as I wanted to dive into a hunter-hunting discussion, we were about to be late for school.
"You know what's seriously bothering me right now?" Scott suddenly piped up.
My curiosity piqued, but I had a sneaking suspicion where this was headed. "You say Allison, I'm gonna punch you in the face."
Rolling his eyes, I knew I had correctly predicted his train of thought. Seriously, we've got a real-life werewolf chase going on, a fresh batch of hunters out for our hides, and all he could worry about was a date, which was in fact not even a date.
"She probably hates me now."
"Ugh." I groaned, shaking my head. Scott was a hopeless case when it came to girls. "You left her hanging at a party, no text or anything for the entire night, Solid move, buddy."
"But you know why I had to." He muttered defensively.
I shot him a 'seriously?' look, channeling my inner exasperation. "Guess what? Honesty is a thing. Just tell her the truth and embrace the marvel that we are actual, bona fide werewolves."
I waggled my eyebrows in a flourish of grandeur, but he shot me a glare, unimpressed.
"Yeah, didn't think so." I retorted with a triumphant grin.
"So, speaking of werewolves." Scott began, changing the subject. "Why didn't you change?"
Oh boy, the million-dollar question. If only I had a million-dollar answer. The reality was I didn't have a clue. Yet. But we were definitely not in the clear. And if there's one thing I've learned about supernatural lore, it's that it tends to bite you in the backside at the most inconvenient times
"Beats me." I responded with a shrug. "But never fear, Scott. We'll get through this. Worst-case scenario, I'll rig up my basement for full-moon lockdowns and sustain us on a diet of rabbits."
Scott gave me a look that basically said I was nuttier than a fruitcake.
"What? I had a pet boa once. I've got this covered."
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A/N: For the readers in the dark, I have switched up some of the character images from their actual series counter-parts; like Allison Argent is not Crystal Reed but instead Hailee Steinfeld.
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