Stiles turned down the street to his house, the Chinese food in the passenger seat making his mouth water. His father wasn't going to be home for a while so he felt the need to wait until he got home, but boy did it smell amazing. The Jeep shuddered and rattled as old Jeeps do. He turned into the driveway, turned the car off, and gathered the box dinner up in his arms, sneaking an egg roll. He slammed the car door and started up his front pathway when a faint rustling made him stop. Turning cautiously and fighting the urge to sprint, screaming into his home, he tried to find the source of the noise. Rusting, closer this time – he jerked his head towards the disturbance.

"Scott?" he whispered, praying to see his friend morphing out of the darkness.

"Derek?" his voice broke, "Isaac?" he squeaked. Just as he was about to run pell mell up the pathway a large tabby cat stumbled out of the high grass across the street. He let out a sigh, almost falling over from relief. The cat looked as if it was trying to cross the street. It staggered drunkenly, unable to work it's limbs properly. Headlights blared along the pavement. The cat, dazed, continued to stumble and limp diagonally across the road, seeming not to notice the on coming car. Stiles stopped, hypnotized by what was about to happen.

"Woah, hey!" shouted Stiles. "Hey!" But the car wasn't slowing. He dropped the food on the hood of his car and bolted into the street, warding the car around. The car wheels shrieked, jerking to the side just in time.

"Get out of the road!" roared the driver as he passed.

"Yeah, no problem." he shouted. "You almost hit an animal, no big deal." The car disappeared around a corner leaving Stiles and the cat alone in the street. He looked at the cat exasperated. "You could have gotten yourself killed." The cat swayed on the spot, trying to focus on Stiles' face. It looked scared, it's back hunched, it's ears went down, and it's pupils dilated. It was actually a really big cat, it came up to his knee. As it was about to skirt away, it's knees buckled and it fell over. It's breathing hitched and it's eyes closed. Stiles gulped, panicing.

"Hey, hey nonono. I just saved you. You're going to be okay." He heaved it into his arms. "Come on kitty. Okay." It was heavy.He went up his front step and paused at the doorknob. Sheriff Stilinski wasn't a big fan of cats, they gave him allergies. But he couldn't just leave the thing in the street. He took the cat up to his room, grabbing a box and a bed sheet out of the closet on the way up. He placed the sheet in the box, put the box in the corner of his room and then called Scott. Scott spent so much time at a vets office, he could help. It rang twice.

"Whats up?" asked Scott.

"Hey, I need you to come over." Stiles said looking at the cat. It was breathing, but it twitched once or twice.

"Now?" said Scott confused.

"Yes, now."

"...I'm at work Stiles. I can't right now-"

"But thats great, I need some help. I found this cat, I think it's sick or something."

"Hold on." there was a pause on the other line. "Hello?" it was Dr. Deaton.

"Hi, Doc, listen. I found this cat wondering around. It doesn't have a collar, it's acting a little weird, kind of drunk, and I think it just fainted."

"Okay, can you take it's temperature?" he asked calmly.

"Yeah sure, hang on a sec." Stiles went into the bathroom and found a digital thermometer in the medicine cabinet.

"You'll also need some petroleum jelly." added Dr. Deaton. Stiles paused.

"You mean I have to-"

"Yes Stiles, that's how animals have their temperature taken." assured the Doc, amused. Stiles grimaced, grabbed some petroleum jelly and went back to his room. The cat was still unconscious. He shifted the cat to make it more comfortable. But that did not ease his discomfort.

"Do I really have to... you know." he grumbled

"Stiles, depending on its temperature I can probably diagnose her over the phone."

Stiles grabbed a tissue from his desk, dabbed it in the jelly and spread it gently over the creatures backside.

"Well, its a boy." Stiles began. "And his temperature is..." he whistled. "104.1 degrees."

"Alright, a slight fever. Cats normally run about 102.5 degrees. Disorientation could just be from a glucose imbalance combined with fever. If you have some honey in the house, you should put some on a spoon and let him lick it off. No seizures? Feel his stomach, are there any bumps or lumps?"

"No seizures yet and..." Stiles glided his hands cautiously over the animal, checking thoroughly. "No bumps and or lumps."

"Alright Mr. Stilinski, I think he'll be just fine. If anything changes, bring him over. He needs some rest and some food, he's probably a little dehydrated. Do you have any fish, or rabbit meat? I doubt you have cat food on hand."

"Actually I bought some sushi with tuna and salmon in it for dinner."

"Excellent. Take out the fish, mix it with 1 raw egg yolk and a little olive oil. You can even mix in a little of the white rice. Lay out some water for him. Call me tomorrow to check how things are."

"Thanks Doc. I appreciate it." Stiles said relieved. He scratched the cat behind his ears.

"No problem, take care."

"You too." They hung up. He heard a car pull into the drive way. Uh-oh. He ran to the door.

"Stiles?" called the Sheriff.

"Yeah Dad?" he shouted back, coming down the stairs two at a time.

"You okay?" asked Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles rounded the corner to the kitchen and tried to play cool.

"Yeah, fine why?" he leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest. His dad raised his eyebrows, looking suspicious.

"Well … you left $20 worth of takeout … on the hood of your car … and the door was open . . ." his eyes narrowed and he placed his hands on his hips. "There are tire marks on the road..."

Stiles sputtered, trying to buy time to figure out what to say, "Well, I have a um a test tomorrow and I needed to come in and I heard the phone ring and so I ran to answer in case, in case it was you calling-"

"Stiles." said the Sheriff, exhausted from his day at work.

"But hey, thanks . . . for bring it in. You know that test, I'm just going to take my food and eat up stairs, study and stuff." Stiles lunged forward and grabbed the sushi, and twisted himself around the chairs to the fridge where he tried to grab the honey, the oil and an egg. He then grabbed a bowl and turned to face his father. Sheriff Stilinski looked at the food and then at his son.

"Coach wants us to bulk up." Stiles supplied lamely "Honey. Raw eggs. Protein." he backed out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs. His father shook his head as he sifted through the bags of take out.

Stiles closed the door behind him, and walked over to the box. The cat was awake, it blinked weakly up at him.

"Hold on." he whispered. He went to the bathroom, filled the bowl with water. He placed the bowl in the box. He then opened the sushi, unrolled it, set the veggies aside in the cap, poured on some oil, grabbed a pen off his desk and stirred it together. After that he cracked the egg and placed the yolk on top. Not sure what to do with the shell and egg white, he paced the room before throwing it out the window. He mixed it all together with the pen and placed the tin next to the water in the box. The cat tried to focus on the food, his head swaying back and forth. Stiles watched impatiently before remembering the honey.

Unable to find a spoon, he dipped his finger in the honey and held it up to the cats nose. The cat gazed at him cautiously. For a long time neither of them moved, The cat stiffed his finger and then timidly licked it, staring at Stiles. Stiles kept perfectly still, not wanting to spook him. The cat licked all the honey off. Stiles hesitantly withdrew his hand, dipped it back in the honey and carefully offered some more to the creature. The cat ate a bit easier and even started to purr.

"You got a name?" Stiles murmured quietly. The cat purred, Stiles got some more honey. "How about... Martin?" Stiles considered the unhealthy fact that he was now naming pets after Lydia, but disregarded it seeing as how it was only temporary. Martin rubbed his head against Stiles' knuckles, purring incessantly. He was still very weak, his legs shook as he shimmed over to the food in the dish. Still wary, Martin stiffed it and looked at it for a long time before taking a tiny bite. His ears twitched and he debated for a long time before taking another bite. He switched to water and Stiles watched him.

He had a dog when he was really young, she died shortly after his mom. Heartbreak they said. He thought maybe that was the reason they didn't have pets. His need to keep Martin a secret increased 10 fold.

He pet Martin, and the cat leaned sleepily into his hand. After a while of petting and eating the cat seemed to be spent. His legs trembled and he lowered himself onto the sheet and quickly fell asleep.

Stiles stood up slowly so as not to disturb him and went onto his computer. His phone buzzed,

'Scott McCall: hows the cat?' it was a text. Stiles took a picture of Martin and sent it.

'Me: fine. sleeping.'

'Scott McCall: wOAH dUDE iT'S hUGE'

'Me: i know! he weighs lik 35 40 pounds'

'Scott McCall: did u name him?' Stiles paused before typing

'Me: martin. don't laugh'

'Scott McCall: lol no i wont'

'Scott McCall: no tags, no nothing?'

'Me: nope. nothing. he has this blueish lookinh fur I think he might be a hybrid or sumthing'

Stiles was searching the internet. 'blue tabby cats 40 lbs hybrid'. There was a link with a picture that looked a lot like Martin.

"The F2 Blue Savannah Cat: Savannah Cats are a domesticated breed of cat with some degree of the the African Serval heritage. F2 Savannah kittens range in price form $4,000 to $6,000, sometimes more depending on the breeder. They range in size from 10 lbs – 25lbs. The Blue (sometimes referred to as 'silver' or 'smoke') can have spots, stripes, or a marble pattern on their coat. The body is long and lean with back legs slightly longer the their front legs and a head that is small in proportion compared to regular house cats. They love to play in water as are more prone to a mixed diet with an equal amount of greens, grains and meats. They can be trained to use the toilet and act a lot like dogs with a large amount of energy and companionship."

'Me: have you ever heard of a savannah cat?'

'Scott McCall: i've never seen one but i know that their pretty expensive and like a substitute for people who want tigers and stuff.'

'Scott McCall: ...'

'Scott McCall: is martin a savannah cat?'

'Me: hes way outside the weight range but yea i think so.'

'Scott McCall: who ever lost him probably wants him back bad . . .'

'Me: yeah'

'Scott McCall: maybe he has one of this chip things for missing animals'

'Me: yea'

'Scott McCall: you want to keep him dont you? :)'

Stiles sat back in his chair. In that short time he had grown attached to him. Martins faint content breathing, stronger then before, crooned in the otherwise quiet room.

'Me: im going to do some homework. are you taking the bike or do you want me to drive you tomorrow?'

'Scott McCall: bike. talk to you soon?'

'Me: yeah good night man'

'Scott McCall: goodnight'

Stiles put down the phone, scratched his head, and stretched in the chair. A loud grumble came from his stomach. He glanced at the clock. 10:30. His dad was in his office by now, mulling over work. If he was really quiet he could probably sneak downstairs and microwave some of yesterday's pizza. Stiles eased himself out of the chair and crept downstairs, his socks proving to be excellent spy gear.

The end timer buzzed, Stiles turned around with the pizza and jumped. His father standing in the hall, looking at him with dubious skepticism. Stiles looked at his plate as if something he could say would be written in the cheese.

"Hungry?" asked the sheriff.

"Coach. Carbs." he answered. He nodded gawkily with an unconvincing smile before hedging past his father and up the stairs. He got his backpack from the corner of his room, took out a chemistry book and opened it to the chapter they were studying in class. He munched on the pizza absently. Half an hour later he had no idea what he had read and decided to go to bed. He went back downstairs, and took a cup of coffee into his father.

"'Night, Dad." he said.

"'Night, Stiles." said the Sheriff, lost in his paperwork. "Hey Stiles..." he yawed, Stiles turned around, almost out the door.

"Yeah Dad?" he asked, nervously.

"You don't have a girl up in your room do you?" asked the Sheriff, eyeing his son beadily. Stiles guffawed,

"What? Pssht, no Dad. Come on."

"Because I am the Sheriff, and I will find out if you were hiding someone up there" he tested, examining Stiles bad poker face.

"No Dad, I can safely say . . . there is not a girl in my room." he grinned toothily at his dad. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Son." sighed the Sheriff, picking the coffee off the table and taking a grateful swig.

Stiles awoke in the night to see the bathroom light on from under the cracked door in the hallway. A few moments later he heard a flush and the door creaked open. Martin slinked through the opening, looking up and down the hall before crossing into Stiles room. He froze when he saw Stiles looking at him. Stiles blinked confusedly, the cat tilted his head gazing at him. Stiles remembered reading that Savannah cats could be trained to use the toilet, and he was to tired to be fascinated. He flopped back into his sheets and watched as Martin walked painfully to the box, and hopped in. He watched the box and made clicking sounds with his tongue. Martins head peaked over the lip. Stiles continued his clicking and draped his arm lazily over the edge of his bed. Martin looked at him, his big eyes reflecting the moonlight. He stepped out of the box gingerly and slowly made his way over to Stiles' hand. He sniffed it, rubbed his face on it a few times and purred. Stiles patted the bed next to him. The cat twitched his ears and mewed pathetically, still to weak to get up by himself. The young man leaned over and picked Martin up. The cat lied down against Stiles' side and Stiles felt him purr, warm and content. They both were asleep within minutes.

The next morning stiles awoke to a knock on his bedroom door. Stiles sat bolt up, disturbing the cat who looked at him bewildered. Before he could even think, his dad opened the door. Stiles froze, waiting for his dad to get angry or go the dark place he went to when ever anything reminded him of his wife or both. But the cat had already leapt off the bed and hid in the box. The box and the cat were obscured from view by his desk.

"Stiles, I'm off to work, I'll see you tonight." said the Sheriff, oblivious to Stiles' inner turmoil. He seemed to be checking something on his phone.

"Yeah. Okay. See you. Later." he choked out. His dad nodded, closed the door and his footsteps echoed down the stairs.

"Have a great day at school, love you." he shouted

"Thanks! Love you too!" Stiles shouted back. The front door slammed and Stiles heard the car outside start up and exit the driveway. He looked at Martin.

"That was close." he breathed. Martin looked at him over the edge of the box. Stiles held up a finger. "Stay here, I'll bring you some food." Downstairs he grabbed a granola bar for himself and drank some milk from the carton and then got a bowl to make something for the cat. He found a can of tuna, an egg, and then a plastic bag of premixed salad. Remembering what the website said, he added some with the olive oil and mashed it all together with some leftover white rice from a takeout box.

He presented it happily to his house guest, who mewed appreciatively before eating the whole thing. Stiles showered, got dressed, and brushed his teeth, checking on the cat obsessively.

"I'm going to school, I'll be back in a couple hours. My dad wont be home until late." he told Martin, who did a convincing job of listening "I'm putting on some music so you have some company, sort of, I guess." He looked at the creature, a small tug in his heart. He named it. He was attached to the cat. He wanted to keep him. Suddenly the whole world sucked. "When I get back, I'm going to take you to the vet so we can find out who you belong to." Martin bowed his head and rested it on his paws, looking sadly at Stiles. He kneeled down next to the box and stroked the cat's head. He purred. "Sorry, buddy. I'm locking the doors behind me. See you when I get back." He stood up and swung his backpack over his shoulders. Martin flexed his paws and closed his eyes, getting ready for a long nap.

Stiles locked the door behind him got into his jeep and drove off. In his rearview mirror he saw Martin looking out the window, watching him leave. He felt really sad, he didn't want to give up Martin to some fussy fat pink-boa-wearing cat breeder (the person Stiles had concocted at Martin's owner). In class he was distracted, worried that Martin was having a seizure, or choking on his food or something.

"Hey Stiles." asked Scott. Stiles had been getting books out of locker when Scott came up to his left smiling.

"What if I don't want to give him away, Scott?" he demanded, frustrated, shoving books he didn't need into his backpack.

"Okay, um . . ." said his friend, confused.

"What if – he's happier with me, you know? What if, he ran away from home because his owners were mean to him? Okay how can I just turn him in?" he threw his bag over his shoulder dropping papers on the floor. Scott bent down to help him pick them up. He noticed Stiles' hands trembling.

"What if he's really sick? Or he's scared? He trusts me, you know, and I can't just hand him over to god knows who because-" his voice cracked and he sniffed.

"Stiles. Dr. Deaton just wants to make sure he's okay. Then we'll decide what to do." Scott reasoned. He handed Stiles his notes, and pretended not to notice Stiles wipe his eyes.

"Okay. Okay. You know I just want to know he's okay." Stiles stammered

"Okay, I'm sure he's fine. I'll meet you at the animal clinic after school okay?"

"Yeah, see you there."

The rest of the day passed quickly, but each minute droned on like any other high school. When the bell rang and Stiles almost sprinted to his car. He waved at Scott on his bike, who gave him the thumbs up.

Stiles started his car and started the familiar drive home. He was almost to his street when he thought he saw strange shadows out of the corner of his eyes. He slowed down, peering into the trees. When he saw nothing else he continue all the way home, pulled into his driveway and went to unlock the door. He went to put is key in the lock but found it open slightly already.

He pushed on the door, creeping into the house. His senses were alive, taking in everything. Nothing was out of place. He gabbed the lacrosse stick that was leaning against the wall buy the coats. He went up the stairs on his tiptoes, pushed his door open and gasped.

The sheets were torn off his bed, his closet doors were hanging by their hinges, books and papers were flung across the floor, drops of blood spattered on the walls and his window was open with the screen missing. Martins box was over turned, the water seeping across the floor, the sheets had smears of blood on them. He spun wildly around.

"Martin?!" he got down on his stomach and checked under the bed. "Martin?!" he ran to the window. "Martin!?" a faint pitiful meow drawled through the silence. Stiles sprinted down the stairs, and bolted out the door. "Martin!" he made clicking noised with his tongue, following Martin's feeble mewls. He dashed across the street shifting carefully through the tall grass until he found him.

All color left Stiles' face, he almost threw up. Martin was looking bad. Ghastly shreds raked across his belly, threatening to spill his intestines into the dirt. Patches of fur were missing and several scratches oozed blood into his thick fur. He whimpered.

Stiles took off his sweatshirt and gently lifted the cat into his arms. He rushed back to the car, settling Martin in the passenger's side and then peeled out of the driveway.

"Hang on buddy, it's going to be alright." he murmured, "Just sit tight, I'm going to take care of you." He ran two stop signs and scared at least three pedestrians in his flight to the clinic. He skidded into a parking space, dashed out of the car and sprinted through the front doors, clutching Martin for dear life.

"Stiles," began Dr. Deaton happily, "Scott isn't here yet, but . . . Stiles what's wrong?" he trailed off, taking in the full picture. Stiles was sweating, his hair plastered to his face, his eyes red, and he seemed unable to speak. It was then that the doctor noticed the blood dripping to the floor.

"Come to the back." he said sternly, switching to business mode. Stiles followed him quickly. "Set him down." Stiles placed him on the cold table as softly as possible. The doctor unwrapped the cat, who was wheezing in pain. He paused, stunned before snapping into action. He began opening drawers, and jars, gathering supplies. "Stiles, I need you to tell me what happened."

"I-I-I don't know. I-I just c-came home. My door w-was open. A-a-and there was blood. H-he was in the g-grass like that. T-thats how I f-found him." Stiles crossed his arms across his chest, his shirt soaked in blood, trembling from head to foot. "You g-gotta help him, Doc." he sniffed.

"Well, I'll do what I can." Dr. Deaton tactfully arranged Martin in a position so as better to treat him. He took out a needle. "This is just a local anesthetic." he deftly injected the cat with the painkillers. Martin's posture became less rigid and he stopped shaking. Scott walked in, and stopped in his tracks.

"Scott I need you to hold the cats head for me, please." demanded Dr. Deaton. Scott nodded, dropping his bag on the floor and whisked behind the table.

The second Scott touched him, Martins eyes flew open. He thrashed wildly, squeaking and wheezing. Scott backed away quickly, but something was already happening. The cats limbs were lengthening, the fur disappeared into porcelain skin and quite suddenly a voluptuous naked girl was on the table cloaked only by the sweatshirt, gasping and whimpering. She looked around wildly searching for something. Her hand shot out, and wound itself in Scott's shirt. She pulled him down, fixing him with a piercing gaze.

"You. Get. Derek." she rasped. "Please. I need. Derek." Stiles stood straight up, unable to even think at this point. He ran his fingers through his hair, tears falling from down his face. He knocked over several things, glass broke and lights flickered. Scott had already wolfed out but stayed still, waiting for further information from the strange girl.

"You need to lie still." called Dr. Deaton over the commotion. "You've been badly injured." She didn't seem to hear him.

"I have. To tell. He. He has to know." she was panting with the effort of remaining conscious. "You. You have. Have to tell him." her wide eyes pleaded with Scotts, willing him to understand. Scott put his hand on hers, looking intently at her.

"What? What does he have to know?" he whispered. She fought to keep him in focus, tears welling in her eyes. "I'll tell him. I'll go right now. What is it?" he asked earnestly.

"He's coming." her grip slackened and her breath shuddered. She sagged onto the table, unconscious. She was shrinking. Hair bloomed over her flesh, her face elongated and then she was just an ordinary cat.