Yours (Stiles Stilinski)

Chapter Twenty Eight

I stood in front of Stiles who sat at the back of an ambulance with his dad. The Sheriff looked at us, but I was focused on Stiles.

"I told you. We just— We walked in, and we saw the Jeep on top of the guy. That's all," Stiles said, shaking out his hand. It was probably still tingling, like the feeling right after part of your body falls asleep on you. When you touched it, little spikes of pain shot through it.

"What's wrong with your hand?" the Sheriff asked. I watched Stiles, and he was obviously upset. I assumed a neutral face. It was terrifying, what we just saw, but was it worse than other things we'd seen? I didn't think so, and maybe that was worse, that I was acclimating to the horror of everything that's happening.

"Nothing. Can we just get out of here, now?" Stiles asked, bouncing his leg.

"Look, if there's something you guys don't think you can tell me—"

"You think I'm lying?" Stiles snapped. The Sheriff paused, and I put my hand over Stiles'. He looked up at me for a second, and I gave him a sad smile. Take it easy, I thought.

"No, of course not! I'm just worried about you. Now, if you saw someone do this, if you're afraid that maybe they're gonna come back and make sure you don't say anything about it..." The Sheriff looked over at me. I shook my head lightly.

"I don't think we saw anything that could be of use to you, Mr. Stilinski," I said softly. Stiles' gripped my hand tightly, and I looked back at him.

"Can we go now, please?" He asked. Mr. Stilinski sighed, and stood up.

"Sure. But, not in your Jeep. We're going to have to impound it," he said. Stiles groaned, and I pulled him up. "Sorry, kid. Evidence. I'll see you at home. Take care of him, Y/n," Mr. Stilinski said, patting my back. Stiles grumbled something and looked over at his father.

"Alright, well at least make sure they wash it!" He said. I looked at him for a second with concern. We walked over to my car.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly. I still held his hand tightly in my own. He looked down. I put a gentle hand on the side of his face. "Stiles," I whispered. He blinked back the tears that were in his eyes.

"Yea— yea, it's just weird. The way that thing— the way it looked at us, it just seemed familiar," he said. I sighed, handing him my keys.

"Alright, well. Let's go find Scott, and we can go from there," I said. He hesitantly let go of my hand and I got in the car. It had gotten late very fast, but we were here for so long because of the incredibly long police process.

—

The next day, I stood leaning on the wall next to Stiles' and Scott.

'I'm so sorry about the other day. I'm trying. We'll get through this. Uh, I know, because I love you. I love you more than—," Stiles stopped, groaning. I stifled a giggle, and Stiles glared at me. "Oh, my God, I can't. You and Allison just have to find a better way to communicate," Stiles said standing up.

"Come on, you guys are the only ones that we can trust. Is she coming to the game tonight?" Scott asked.

"Yes! Alright, message complete. Next time, Y/n can repeat all of that to you," Stiles said. I made a grossed out face.

"No way. It's bad enough I have to translate to Allison," I said. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked between us.

"More importantly, tell me about your boss?" Stiles said expectantly.

"He thinks that Allison's family keeps some kind of, uh, records of all the things that they've hunted, like a book—"

"A Bestiary," I corrected. Stiles nodded at me, writing something down on a piece of paper.