The sheriff's car is still warm in the driveway when you see Stiles sitting on the steps. Blood on his ankles, his breathing too fast, his eyes too wide awake.

"Tell me you weren't trying to bargain with a monster again using a baseball bat" you say. He grins crookedly.

"I was talking. It just... wasn't listening."

You sit down next to him. Beacon Hills is quiet, that dangerous kind of quiet.