The forest remained unnaturally still, as if holding its breath. Stiles stared at Paul, his mind racing to comprehend what he was seeing. He looked older, leaner, more intense than Stiles remembered. And alive.
"Paul?" Stiles repeated, his voice cracking slightly.
Paul smirked faintly and adjusted his hat, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise cold expression. "Yeah, I think we've established that part."
Scott, standing cautiously behind Stiles, squinted at Paul. His senses were still on high alert, but there was something off about the man—not a threat exactly, but... unsettling.
"What are you doing here?" Stiles blurted, taking an involuntary step forward. His arms twitched like he wanted to grab Paul but couldn't decide if he was allowed.
Paul raised an eyebrow. "What, no 'Where the hell have you been?' No 'You're supposed to be dead?'" His voice was dry, edged with sarcasm.
Stiles swallowed hard. "No, seriously, where the hell have you been? You just vanished. We thought—"
Paul's hand came up, cutting him off. "Save the reunion speech for later. You want to explain why you're wandering around the woods in the middle of the night?"
Stiles hesitated, his mouth working uselessly for a moment. "We, uh... we were... doing stuff. Regular stuff. Hiking. Maybe camping. Very normal teenage things. Right, Scott?"
Scott gave Stiles an incredulous look. "Hiking? At night?"
Stiles shot him a glare. "Yes, hiking. Shut up, Scott."
Paul's sharp eyes flicked between the two of them. "You're a terrible liar, Stiles. That hasn't changed."
"Well, sorry, I didn't prepare a monologue for the long-lost brother who just showed up out of nowhere!" Stiles snapped, his voice pitching higher than he intended.
Paul exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You're deflecting. That's new." His gaze landed on Scott, narrowing slightly. "What about you? Are you going to give me a straight answer?"
Scott hesitated, glancing at Stiles. He didn't know how much to say. Stiles gave him a frantic look that clearly screamed, Don't you dare.
Paul crossed his arms, his patience thinning. "Okay, I'll bite. If you two geniuses weren't hiking, then why did I just find you getting tossed around by..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly. "What the hell was that thing, anyway? Some kind of mountain lion?"
Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shot another look at Scott, who shrugged helplessly.
"Uh, yeah," Stiles said finally. "Mountain lion. Big one. Definitely a lion. Probably rabid. Lots of rabies. Very bitey."
Paul stared at him, unblinking. "You seriously expect me to believe that?"
"Well, what do you think it was?" Stiles shot back defensively.
Paul didn't answer immediately. His expression darkened, his mind replaying the scene in his head—the creature, the way it moved, the sheer wrongness of it.
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But it wasn't normal." He stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Stiles. "You know what it was, don't you?"
Stiles froze, his breath hitching. He tried to think of a way to spin it, but Paul's intense stare pinned him in place.
"I... uh..."
"Stiles," Paul said, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Okay, look," Stiles blurted, throwing his hands up. "It's complicated, all right? And it's kind of a long story, and I don't even know how much of it I should—"
"Stiles," Paul interrupted, his voice sharper now. "Talk."
"Fine!" Stiles snapped. He gestured wildly at Scott. "Scott's a werewolf, okay? There, I said it. Werewolf. Fangs, claws, the whole hairy deal. That thing back there? Definitely not a mountain lion. Probably some kind of supernatural nightmare creature. Welcome back to Beacon Hills, Paul!"
Scott groaned, running a hand over his face. "Really, Stiles? That's how you explain it?"
Paul blinked, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Then he barked a short, humorless laugh.
"Werewolves," he said flatly. "Right. Sure. And what, you've got vampires running around, too? Maybe some witches? Should I be worried about a zombie apocalypse?"
Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but Scott cut in. "Look, it sounds crazy, I know. But it's real. I swear."
Paul's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a wary seriousness. He looked between them, searching their faces for any sign of deceit.
"You're not joking," he said finally.
"Nope," Stiles said, popping the 'p.'
Paul exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Goddamn it, Stiles."
Stiles bristled. "Hey, don't blame me! I didn't ask for any of this! And why are you acting like this is my fault? You're the one who disappeared without a word for, like, years!"
Paul shot him a sharp look. "That's different."
"Is it?" Stiles snapped. "Because, newsflash, Paul, while you were off doing whatever it is you were doing, some of us were here, dealing with... with werewolves and hunters and whatever else this stupid town throws at us!"
Paul's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of the wind through the trees.
Finally, Scott broke the silence. "We should go. It's not safe out here."
Paul glanced at him, then back at Stiles. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just sighed.
"Fine," he said. "But we're not done talking about this."
"Yeah, well, join the club," Stiles muttered under his breath as he started walking.
Paul followed a step behind, his sharp eyes scanning the trees. His mind churned with questions, but he pushed them aside for now. He needed to focus on getting them out of the forest.
Whatever was going on in Beacon Hills, he was determined to figure it out. But first, he needed a drink.
And maybe some aspirin.