A/N: A huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of the Blessed Unknown - you guys are fantastic! Thank-you also to everyone who has favourited and followed this series - your support is so very much appreciated! I really hope you guys like this next installment of the series. And buckle-up! This is going to be a bit of a long one :)

They were making their way through the trees on the south side of Beacon Hills, searching for the source of a disturbance that had been frightening people for nearly three weeks now. The Sheriff's office had received numerous calls pertaining to the unidentified creature, which seemed only to come out at night and had a tendency to hide beneath people's windows or underneath their cars, leaving behind deep claw marks and torn lawn in its wake. It was believed to be some sort of animal, as it could often be heard growling and snarling outside the person's house, leaving them scared and on edge. So the Sheriff had sent patrols to drive along the streets after dark, keeping their lights low and their eyes open, looking for any stray animal that could be the culprit.

That had been a week ago. Since then, many reports continued to stream in regarding the frightful creature, but not one person in the Sheriff's department could figure out what it was, leaving the Sheriff in a state of both worry and confusion.

Now Stiles had never been one to keep his nose out of his father's business, never giving his father a moment's peace since almost the moment he'd been born. John had long since come to accept that, no matter how much he talked to Stiles, no matter how much he got angry or threatened to lock him up for the rest of his life – his son would always be sticking his nose where it didn't belong, would always be listening to conversations he wasn't supposed to hear, and he would always – always – be one step away from trouble. Which was why they – Stiles, Scott, and the pack – were where they were now: crouched low, walking through the trees, keeping their eyes, ears, and noses open for any sign of animal or creature that was not supposed to be there.

Life had been relatively quiet since Alicia Givens – their substitute-teacher-turned-psycho-witch – had been killed six months ago, her body burned to ensure that she would never return again (again). Lydia and Kira had been hurt the most in that fight, their necks left bruised and sore from where they had been hung by ropes, and their heads both receiving painful injuries from hitting the forest floor. They ended up sharing a hospital room and were both discharged at nearly the same time, receiving clean bills of health with the instructions to not go falling off of cliffs anymore.

Malia and Liam had both broken bones, but aside from being stuck in annoying, itchy casts, both of them were released the same day they arrived. Scott and Stiles had never even been admitted to the hospital, receiving whatever care they need from Scott's mom.

In almost everyone's eyes, the fight had been a dangerous – but ultimately great – success. They'd fought the witch who had been trying to kill them, having never fought a witch before, and they'd won. Scott had killed her – shoving his hand through her body once more before quickly setting her alight, giving her no time to recover or run away. It had been a triumphant victory.

At least, that's what everyone believed.

Or rather, that's what everyone had been told.

Only three people knew the truth about what happened that day; only three people knew how the witch really died and who it was that had really killed her. And if it were up to Stiles, he would have it remain three people for as long as he could.

Stiles had left that fight completely drained and exhausted; it had taken him over a week before he had the strength to even walk across the house. His dad had questioned him, had interrogated him with all the techniques that a Sheriff had, but Stiles never let slip anything more than what he and Scott had already told Melissa and the Pack. Stiles insisted that his injuries and exhaustion came from getting caught in the crossfire with the witch and Scott, and that he'd never actually been in any real danger. It was a lie – a big lie – but Stiles simply could not bring himself to tell his father the truth; no matter how much he hated having another secret to once again keep.

Stiles could tell his father was suspicious, that he wondered if there was more to the story than what he'd been told, but in the end his dad had no reason to suspect what actually happened; he had no reason to suspect the truth.

So Stiles got better – they all got better, and most everything went back to normal.

Except, of course, that Stiles now had other things to do after school than get into trouble with Scott and the pack.

Stiles tapped his fingers restlessly against his leg as he and the pack walked through the woods just outside the town, trying to scan the dark forest as best as he could, looking for any movement that he could find. Lydia and Malia led the Pack at the front, Lydia waving her flashlight around as Malia kept her nose to the air, searching for any wayward scent in the wind. Liam walked behind them, his body tensed and his senses on high alert. He'd been jumpy all afternoon and into the evening, the reports of the animal putting him on edge. Scott had tried to tell him that the animal was just an animal and Liam was a werewolf, and while Liam did seem to accept that argument, he was still looking ready to attack anything at a moment's notice – even if it was just a leaf blowing in the wind.

As they walked, Stiles felt a pull deep within his sternum, a gentle brush against the back of his mind. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath of air that suddenly felt more rich and pure than it had moments before. When he opened his eyes he could see the edges of the trees starting to lean towards him and he quickly willed them back, glancing around to make sure no one had seen. Seeing that no one was looking at him, Stiles sighed with quiet relief and continued to walk, though this time his senses reached far beyond just his eyes and his ears.

As he had practiced more and more with the element of the Earth, the more and more it had begun to respond to him, had begun to grow in him; almost as if it were a living thing itself – sensing and reacting to him whenever he was near. It rejuvenated and refreshed him, and – as Stiles had discovered in recent months – it even enabled him to feel everything around him; every tree, every leaf, every branch. It was like having a sixth sense – one that allowed you to feel all the earth that was around you and everything that moved on or within it in-between.

He'd told Scott of this new talent but it had yet to come into any real use, so neither of them knew just how far it could be pushed. Stiles had tried to determine its limits before – Scott had fallen asleep once at the clearing with the pond while Stiles did some sort of yoga pose and concentrated; when he woke, Stiles was still in the exact same position Scott had left him in. Only – Scott quickly realised – Stiles hadn't exactly managed to remain concentrating, so much as he had been able to master the art of falling asleep while sitting up. Needless to say, Stiles hadn't tried to test his new power too often after that.

Along with the Earth, Stiles had also been able to gain further control over the element of Air. Whereas it had once been difficult to even knock over or move a jar, he could now levitate almost anything with relative ease. He'd even managed to lift his own jeep into the air (though that had been a bit more difficult), but after his control had slipped and the jeep fell to the ground, knocking out its suspension, Stiles had been a bit more careful about lifting heavy – or precious – objects.

It was only in the past month that he had tried his hand at controlling the weather, the incident at the school back when Givens had been alive having frightened him more than he liked to admit. He'd been able to strengthen the wind and move the clouds in any direction he wanted – that had been a fun discovery – and he'd even been able to make it rain once by changing the air pressure in the clouds, but he had to admit – control of the weather was not on the top of his "to-do" list.

But, Stiles thought as they came to a stop amongst the trees, there were always plenty of other things to learn.

Coming to a halt, Lydia shone her flashlight around, her eyes narrowing. "I thought I saw something," she said, pointing the light a the base of a nearby tree.

Malia stepped forward, sniffing loudly. After a moment she shook her head. "I don't smell anything but us and the trees. Why did we come out here at night, again?"

"Because the Sheriff needs help finding this creature," Lydia replied. She gave Malia a pointed look. "And it only comes out at night, so what better time to try and find it than… at night?"

Malia rolled her eyes and huffed, stepping forward and taking the lead. "Well it's not here, so let's just keep going."

"Why don't we split up?" Scott asked, piping up for the first time that night. Ever since Kira had moved away to study her lineage as a kitsune, Scott had been in a depressed slump, always having to drag himself out of bed and only managing to do only the bare essentials – sometimes not even that, much to Stiles' chagrin – before making his way to school, just going through the motions before returning home and going straight back to bed. Stiles had done his best to carry out the Best-Friend-Duties that were required of him in a time like this – going over to Scott's house every day, making sure he was fed and watered, trying to make him at least look and smell somewhat presentable – but more than anything, Scott's recovery had simply taken time. It had been a month and a half now since Kira had left and this – Stiles was happy to report – was now the fifth time Scott had been out with the group all at the same time. It was a happy and positive step in the right direction – for Stiles, anyway.

Stiles' powers had actually come in pretty handy during the first month of what he now called Despair and Misery; he had been able to use the air to push Scott around nearly everywhere he wanted him to go, and Stiles didn't even have to get up from his seat. When Melissa wasn't around he would levitate food and water towards the couch (and use it to bring him the remote, which was just about the best thing ever) and if Scott wasn't paying enough attention, he'd create a small bubble of pressure and poke Scott in the head. Scott would reprimand Stiles, telling him that using his powers like this was only helping to make him more lazy and, if Scott could be so blunt, a pain in the ass. Stiles replied that he was simply being resourceful.

So now to hear Scott actually speak up of his own accord and offer his own suggestions was a major step forward, and Stiles hoped that maybe – just maybe – life could go back to normal again.

"What?!" Liam said loudly, ignoring Lydia and Scott's glares at the noise and startling Stiles out of his thoughts. "You want us to split up? Why do you want us to split up?!"

"In order to find the animal, you idiot," Malia replied. "Otherwise we're being just one, big, massive disturbance and if the animal is here somewhere, it'll run away long before we even get near it. It'll be fine – I'll even go with you, you big scaredy-cat."

Liam narrowed his eyes. "I'm not a scaredy-cat, Malia, I –."

"Shh!" Lydia suddenly said, motioning for everyone to be quiet. The group went silent as everyone's senses went on high alert, listening for any sign of movement nearby.

Stiles cast his senses out into the clearing and the trees, feeling for any movement in the grass or any breaking of leaves or twigs. After a few moments it became clear that there was nothing nearby out of the ordinary and Stiles let out a sigh, waiting for the others to finish their own search.

The minutes ticked by and Stiles began to grow bored. His gaze landed on Liam, who, though putting on a brilliant face of courage and resilience, was clearly on edge. Stiles stared at him for a moment, before a small smile began tugging at his lips and he looked up to the tree that stood over above them. Focusing on the closest branch, Stiles brought the branch lower, moving it ever-so-slightly, inching it closer and closer towards Liam, until –

"AAHH!"

Everyone jumped at the sudden noise, some cursing from being startled and others quickly spinning around, their faces set in surprise, which quickly turned into angry glares. Liam jumped the highest of all, spinning around in circles, reaching around and slapping his back as he searched frantically for whatever it was that had touched him. Scott huffed in annoyance while Stiles desperately fought back his laughter.

"Liam!" Scott reprimanded, frowning at the younger wolf. "What the heck are you doing? You can't get scared at the smallest thing that touches you. For goodness' sake, you're a werewolf, remember? Start acting like one!"

"I know, I know – but Scott, something touched my back, it was –."

"Liam, look around you! There are branches everywhere! You probably just ran into one; don't freak out about it."

The girls gave Liam looks of annoyance before finally turning back around and once more began leading the group through the trees.

Stiles watched Liam as they walked, biting back the grin that was trying to break across his face. Liam's head snapped back and forth, looking around numerous times before he finally settled down enough to keep walking through the trees. His calm composure from before was now clearly compromised, however, and it was obvious that he couldn't wait for the excursion to end.

A few minutes passed before Lydia brought them to a halt once more, raising her hand and motioning for them to stop. Stiles had to admit – she'd probably make a pretty bad-ass soldier. Or rather, commander – because, as everyone knew (and as Stiles had learned himself, on more than one occasion), no one told Lydia Martin what to do.

Stiles latched onto the earth and searched for any movement once more, but once again found nothing nearby. While he waited for everyone to come to the same conclusion, his eyes once more fell to Liam. He took hold of another branch, this one with more leaves on it, and slowly brought it down, hovering just above the nape of Liam's neck before brushing against his skin and snaking its way down the back of his shirt.

Once again Liam jumped, shouting a high-pitched scream that they couldn't believe belonged to a werewolf, turning around in circles as he grabbed at his back, searching for a branch that was now sitting innocently high above him. Lydia growled and Malia swore, but neither said a word, waiting for Liam to be quiet so they could keep looking through the trees. Just as Liam had started to calm down, Stiles brought the branch down once more. He was just about to brush it against Liam's hair when he suddenly felt an elbow jam into his side. The branch snapped back up into place and Stiles turned to see Scott giving him a very annoyed look, one that said both really? and, I am not amused. Stiles just gave him an unabashed smile in return.

"Stiles," Scott whispered, "seriously – cut it out."

"What?" Stiles whispered back. "I'm not doing anything –."

"Boys!" Lydia reprimanded, turning back and shooting them a glare. "Shush!"

"Hey now, Lydia," Stiles said. "We've been out here for a while now and there's no sign of the animal. Why don't we just –." Stiles broke off, suddenly going completely still. Lydia had already turned around, but Scott saw the sudden change in Stiles' demeanor and he immediately tensed, raising his senses as his eyes began scanning the trees.

Stiles stared through the darkness, searching for the sensation that had just touched the back of his mind. It didn't feel like something he'd ever sensed before; it felt different, somehow. It's feet touched the earth with barely a mark, pressing against the soil and brush but somehow not breaking it. It moved slowly and quietly, but with every passing second it drew nearer, coming closer and closer towards them.

Stiles shot Scott a glance, before discreetly motioning towards the trees. Scott nodded once before turning to the group. "Let's split up," he said. "Stiles and I will go to the left, you guys go to the right. Okay?" He gave them no time to respond before turning and disappearing into the trees, following closely after Stiles. He could hear Lydia and Malia's angry whispers at the sudden change in plans with no consultation, but Scott ignored them and placed his attention entirely on what was going on in front of him.

"Stiles," he said, trying to follow after his friend as quickly as he could. The trees moved their branches and roots out of the way as Stiles walked, something Scott had been noticing they did whenever Stiles was focused or not paying attention. When Stiles didn't answer, Scott tried again: "Stiles! Stiles, what –."

Stiles suddenly halted and Scott, too busy watching his feet, bumped into him from behind. He was about to ask again what was going on, when suddenly a foreign scent drifted past his nose and something rustled in the bush a few feet away. Before Scott could say a word, Stiles was gone, taking off towards what – Scott could only assume – was the animal.

Stiles ran forward through the trees, following the presence of the animal until it was almost right in front of him. Before he could raise his hand and capture it with the air, the creature suddenly sprung forward and crashed into Stiles' chest. Stiles shouted in surprise, stumbling back as he fought off the unexpected attack of a face full of fur.

The creature pawed and scratched at him, squealing and screeching and making terrible noises as it did. Stiles quickly regathered his wits and tried pushing the small creature off of him, but it stubbornly hung on tight, its long claws tearing into Stiles' shirt and refusing to let go. Stiles didn't have to endure the attack for long, however, as a second later Scott was beside him and grabbing the thing in his claws, throwing it off to the side.

Moments later the rest of the pack arrived, their flashlights shining through the darkness and dousing the clearing in light. Malia's flashlight landed on a small bundle of fur on the ground nearby and Liam shot past her, pouncing on the animal and holding it tightly in his hands.

"Stiles!" Lydia shouted, running towards him and Scott. "Stiles, are you okay?"

Stiles groaned as he got back to his feet, patting at his chest and torn shirt. Determining that there was no irreparable damage, he nodded. "I'm fine," he said, giving Lydia a smile before looking towards Liam, who was growling as he fought to subdue the creature, which, upon closer inspection, could now be seen as….

"A racoon," Malia deadpanned, staring at the small black and white rodent. Her eyes slowly narrowed as her brows furrowed together in a dark frown. "It's a racoon," she said again, her voice slightly lower than before. She looked up at the rest of the pack. "The thing that was terrifying the people in town, the creature that was scratching and growling at people's windows and cars, the creature we've spent the last two hours looking for… was a racoon."

"It would seem so," Scott replied.

"I'd say that it's cute," Lydia said, shining her light directly on the animal as it squirmed in Liam's hold, "but this thing just led us around the forest for the past two hours and made me get my favourite shoes covered in mud. Plus, it's been terrorizing the town for the past three weeks, so whether it's cute or not, it has to go."

"Hey wait," Malia interjected. "How do we know this is even the same animal? It might be just a regular racoon for all we kno –."

The racoon suddenly let out a high-pitched screech that quickly turned into a mixture of growls and snarls, angrily twisting every-which-way as it struggled to get itself free. Its claws were about three-times the size of a normal racoon's, as evidenced by Stiles' scratched up arms and torn shirt.

"I think this is it," Scott said firmly.

"What should we do with it?" Malia asked.

"We'll tell the Sheriff, then take it to Deaton. He'll be able to look at it, see if anything about it is off –."

"Um, hey guys?"

Everyone looked down at Liam, who was trying to keep the struggling animal's claws away from his face. He looked up at them expectantly. "A little help here?"

Scott quickly took off his jacket and crouched down beside Liam, gently covering the small creature and wrapping it in a bundle before taking it into his arms. "Okay then," he said, standing back up. "Let's get out of here."

They left the animal in a cage in Deaton's clinic for him to take care of the next morning and Stiles called his dad to let him know that – what they believed to be the perpetrator of the town's nightly terrors – had been caught. The girls and Liam said their goodnights, each getting into their own vehicles to leave. Scott and Stiles waved goodbye as they all disappeared down the road until they were the only ones left in the parking lot, standing beneath the glow of the bright street lights.

They made their way to Stiles' jeep and climbed into the vehicle, shutting the doors behind them. Stiles started the engine and soon they were on their way to Scott's house. Ten minutes later they were in his driveway and Scott bid Stiles goodnight, telling him he'd be over in the morning.

When Stiles finally pulled up into his own driveway beside his father's cruiser it was well-past midnight, and he was more than ready to get to sleep. He made his way into the house and walked up the steps to his room, flicking on the light and closing the door behind him. He sighed, his shoulders dropping as he ran his hands through his hair, fighting the urge to just fall asleep where he stood; after a moment he began to undress and get ready for bed. He took off his shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it into the corner. He threw on a pair of pajama bottoms and an old cotton top before finally crawling into bed. It took him a moment to get comfortable – futon beds did have their downsides – but soon he was pulling up the covers and turning on his side with a quiet sigh.

It had been a week and a half after the final fight with Givens when his father had said he'd had enough, and told Stiles that he refused to let his son keep sleeping on the floor any longer. Stiles tried to protest, tried to tell him that it was okay, but his dad wouldn't listen. It wasn't long before he managed to get the truth out of Stiles to reveal exactly why it was that he could no longer sleep on a mattress.

His dad hadn't said a thing throughout the whole time he spoke, but if his expression was anything to go by, he was barely holding in the fury at hearing what it was the witch had done to his son. When he finished, Stiles tried to slough it off, saying that it was over now, that it was no big deal; except, maybe, for the fact that he could barely sit on a bed, much less lie on one, without feeling the beginnings of a panic attack rise in his throat. John had given him a big hug after that and without any further discussion, told Stiles that they'd figure something out.

The next day, after Stiles arrived home from school, he found his old mattress and box spring in the dumpster, and when he got to his room he saw that a brand new futon bed was sitting in its stead. He couldn't stop the smile that had touched his face at that point, though it was tinged with both guilt and embarrassment. His dad told him later that evening that he was in no way to feel guilty about this and that if getting a new mattress would help his son in even the smallest way with all that had happened to him, then he would gladly do it a thousand times over. He'd added that the bed would be his and he would be free to take it with him when he went to university. Stiles tried to object, citing that money was tight and John couldn't just spend and throw it away like that. His dad replied by saying that, whatever money he spent on his son, would never be thrown away.

That statement was followed by a blush from Stiles and a gooey father-son hug, but when it was all said and done, Stiles had to admit – it was sure going to be nice not to have to sleep on the floor anymore.

With another sigh, Stiles turned back around on the bed, before looking up at the light and realising that it was still on. He started to get up, but then paused. After a few moments he lifted his hand, pointed his finger towards the wall, and flicked it down. The light-switch by the door clicked off and the lights above him went dark. Stiles fought back a smile as he leaned back down into his pillows.

He had to admit – these powers sure did have their uses.

Bzzz.

…

…

…

Bzzz.

…

…

…

Bz –

Stiles shot his hand out of the blankets and grabbed his phone, fumbling at it with his fingers before finally managing to hit the button. He groaned again at the light that stabbed into his eyes and it was another few moments before he was able to squint and properly see who it was that was trying to contact him.

A picture of Scott's smiling face peered up at him, a number of messages displayed underneath. The most recent one was sent three minutes ago, with the simple words of: 'dude – wake up!' followed by a smiley face.

Stiles looked to the top of the screen and read the time: 7:25am. His squint immediately turned into a glare and he tossed the phone to the side with a growl, grabbing the covers and pulling them over his head, as he turned and buried himself beneath them once more.

Only a few minutes of silence passed before the phone started to vibrate again, only this time it didn't stop, which meant that someone – Scott, that early-morning bastard – was calling him.

Stiles finally resurfaced from the blanket-cocoon and grabbed the phone, swiping it open and pressing it to his ear. "Scott, so help me, I am going to ki –."

"Stiles!" Scott's happy voice greeted him with a shout.

Stiles flinched and turned the phone slightly away. "Scott, I swear on all that is holy, if you say anything else with even a remote sense of happiness, I'm going punch you in the face."

"Aw, come on Stiles – it's not that bad."

"Dude, it's seven-thirty in the morning!"

"And?"

Stiles growled, shifting until his back was leaning against the pillows. "What do you mean, 'and'?! What the hell are you doing up so early? It's Saturday, Scott… it's Saturday."

"You can't sleep your day away Stiles," Scott replied evenly, ignoring the anger in Stiles' voice. "Besides, you said you wanted to go out to the clearing today, remember?"

Stiles groaned and pressed his palm against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to stave off the quickly-building headache. "Yes, Scott – I wanted to go today, but today doesn't mean before sunrise. Are you asking for me to hurt you?"

"The sun is already up, man," Scott stated happily, undeterred by Stiles' threats. "Besides, we haven't gone to the woods all week. Don't you want time to… y'know, practice?"

Stiles inwardly sighed before reaching over and turning on his lamp, accepting the fact that he was now officially up. He pushed the soft, warm, wonderful covers away from him – oh why was he letting Scott do this to him – and begrudgingly swung his legs over to the hard, cold floor. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. "When the hell did you become such an early-morning riser?" he asked as he made his way to his feet and walked over to the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor the night before.

"I don't know," Scott replied, as though seriously contemplating the slightly-rhetorical question. "I think it might have something to do with being a werewolf. Ever since I got the bite, I've never just needed that much sleep anymore, you know?"

"You're like a dog," Stiles stated, picking up his jeans and giving them a sniff, trying to determine if it was still wearable or not. Finding them satisfactory, he tossed them to the floor behind him. "You're like a dog that wakes up at five in the morning and then jumps on the bed, barking and jumping and waking everyone up with him." He picked up a shirt next, one he hadn't seen in a while, and put it to his nose. He scrunched his face in distaste and quickly threw it off towards the – admittedly seldom used – laundry basket in the corner. "They lock up dogs like you," he continued, grabbing another shirt. "They put them in their own room and don't let them back out until it's a normal time in the morning and everyone else is already awake; and if that doesn't work, they throw them outside and make them sleep in the cold."

Scott chuckled as Stiles continued to search for a less-than-terrible-smelling shirt. "Are you saying you're going to throw me and out and force me to sleep outside?" he asked.

"If you ever do this again, you're damn right I will."

"Aw, you're just grumpy in the morning. You always have been."

"You're damn right I'm grumpy!" Stiles said, throwing another shirt into the laundry basket. "Because someone decided that they were going to wake me up at seven-thirty on a SATURDAY. A Saturday, Scott! I wake up early every other day of the week, so why – why on this one day of freedom, would you take away my sleep? Huh? I swear, if you don't at least have coffee waiting for me when I get down, I'm going to –."

A sudden rapping noise startled Stiles out of his speech and he jumped, spinning around to the window, where a grinning Scott McCall hung from the other side, a large cup of coffee held up in his hand. Stiles narrowed his eyes darkly at his friend, but was unable to resist the fact that the drink sure looked very inviting. He made his way over to the window and, with a final glare at Scott, opened it up.

Scott crawled inside, quickly handing Stiles the coffee before saying a single word. Stiles took the cup, glared at Scott once more, before the smell wafting from the lid quickly filled the room and he closed his eyes with a sigh. He paused for only a moment, enjoying the smell of coffee first thing in the morning, before bringing it to his lips and taking a drink, swallowing with sigh. Scott had woken him up at this ungodly hour, yes – but damn, he sure knew how to make peace.

Bringing the cup back down, Stiles eyed Scott silently for a moment before setting the coffee on the dresser and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Okay," he said. "You've redeemed yourself. Now help me find a shirt that's at least somewhat clean."

Scott rolled his eyes and watched as Stiles proceeded to sift through a bunch of shirts on the floor, shaking his head as Stiles sniffed and quickly threw one away. "You know, finding a clean shirt might actually be easier if, you know – you actually cleaned them."

"Ah, you see – that's where you're mistaken. You see Scott, you live with your mom. And as a mom, a female, do you know what she's taught you?"

Scott frowned, raising an eyebrow. "To know when to take a shower?"

Stiles stood up and gave him a look. "Ha ha, very funny. No, Scott. What you're mother taught you was to know when pick up after yourself and how to do your own load of laundry. I, having lived with my dad, have learned how to avoid doing laundry for as long as possible. I have become an expert at the Smell Test."

Scott rolled his eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Oh come on, Stiles – that's a lie and you know it."

And it was a lie, for after his mom had died, Stiles had become the caretaker of the house – cleaning the dishes, making the food, sweeping the floor; he'd done his best to always help his dad in any way that he could – and that included doing the laundry.

"Yeah, well," Stiles replied, "it makes a good excuse."

"Or maybe you're just lazy.

"That too." He threw another shirt down and growled in frustration. "Okay, that's it." Stiles took another drink of his coffee and flicked his finger in the air, turning on the lights. He set the coffee down and raised both of his hands in front of him. Immediately, all of the shirts and stray pieces of clothing that had been laying on the floor shot into the air, and began spinning in a circle around them.

Scott watched in mild disbelief as Stiles tried to grab at a shirt that spun in front of him, grasping the fabric in his fingers and pulling it out of the makeshift-vortex and gave it a sniff. He subsequently frowned and tossed the shirt back in the air. Scott just shook his head. "Stiles, what are you –." Scott was cut off as a shirt suddenly smacked against his head, covering his entire face. He pawed at the shirt until he managed to pull it off, letting it fall back into vortex behind him. A growl of annoyance rumbled in his throat as another shirt smacked his neck, then his arms and his legs. He pulled them off one by one before finally turning his glare to Stiles. "Stiles!" he said loudly, trying to get his friend's attention. "Stiles, you're eighteen – what the heck are you doing –."

The clothes began to circle faster, the wind picking up and pushing Scott further into the circle and closer to Stiles. He watched as Stiles aimed to grab another shirt, but just as he managed to grasp the hem, it tore away and continued spinning round behind them. If possible, the wind grew even stronger, and the posters on Stiles' wall and the detective-board he kept by his dresser began to shake. Just as Scott was about to tell Stiles to stop, the coffee on the dresser began to rock, until the wind finally pushed it off and sent it tumbling towards the floor.

If Scott had thought Stiles wasn't paying any attention, he was wrong. Stiles' eye quickly caught the disaster about to happen and he quickly reached out his hand, stopping the coffee-cup in midair. The vortex of wind that had been growing ever greater around them abruptly died, any clothes that had still been in the air falling to the floor in a heap.

Stiles sighed in relief as he quickly walked over and grabbed the cup, gripping it tightly in his hands and closing his eyes as he brought it to his mouth. "Oh thank goodness," he said, taking a quick sip and bringing it back down. "That would have been a tragedy."

Scott shot Stiles a look of incredulity, before finally giving up and grabbing a shirt that had landed on the back of a chair. He shoved it towards Stiles. "You see," he said motioning to the clothes around them. "This is why you need to practice! This is why you need to get up at seven-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, because it's the only day when you can at least try to learn how not to tear your room apart with a friggin' cyclone!"

Stiles finished off his coffee before shooting Scott a glare. "I know why I need to practice, Scott," he said, taking the shirt from the other man, a sharp edge of annoyance seeping into an otherwise nonchalant tone. "You don't have to tell me that."

Stiles took a few steps away and gripped the bottom of his night-shirt, lifting it up and over his head. The morning light shone through the window, beating back the darkness and chasing away any remaining shadows in the room. As Scott waited for Stiles to finish dressing, his eyes drifted over Stiles' back, lingering over the numerous scars that littered his skin before landing on the large, now-healed gash that he'd received from his fight with Givens all those months ago. It wrapped around his side, touching his back and running down around his abs and towards the middle of his stomach. It was an ugly wound, the white flesh twisted and raised above his skin; it had already elicited more questions than Scott knew Stiles wanted to have when changing in the locker room at school, but Stiles had simply kept to the story of having got it when falling down the cliff, and after a while people no longer took any notice.

The scar disappeared as Stiles pulled on a shirt and Scott blinked. He turned his thoughts away from the past and watched as Stiles proceeded to finish buttoning up his shirt before turning back around to face Scott.

"You ready?" Stiles asked.

Scott nodded and the two of them made their way out of the room and down the stairs, grabbing a few snack-bars before making their way out of the house and into the jeep.