How Stiles ended up living in a town even smaller than Beacon Hills could be anyone's guess.

He found himself pondering that very mystery for the umpteenth time as he took his usual route to work that afternoon. The distance between his apartment and the mini mart he worked at was maybe a five minute walk. It definitely was not worth driving, especially when his shift always started during the busiest time of day and parking in the area was atrocious. Stiles' shift never changed; it always started at 4:30 pm and ended at 1:30 am with an hour's break at 8.

Stiles pulled his knapsack further up his shoulder and marched down the decrepit alley. Three school-aged kids stepped out from between two houses to his right, walking in a tight group whispering among themselves as they went. Stiles smiled thoughtfully in their direction as he continued on. His whole childhood, adults had always told him to enjoy being a kid because adulthood wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He never believed them, but now… well, he definitely knew what nostalgic melancholy felt like.

"My kingdom for a careless afternoon," he mumbled to himself as he instantly thought of days back home spent running around the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve with his childhood best friend, Scott.

That wasn't to say that Stiles' life as an adult was stressful by any means. He lived fairly simply on the fourth floor of an old but clean apartmentplex. The fourth floor was also the top floor -the building didn't even have an elevator! It was actually the largest apartment in town -there were only three. Yeah, it really was a small town; just big enough to come across a handful of faces each week that he didn't recognize, but small enough that the majority of them... well, he did.

Small as the apartment and town was, though, Stiles didn't really know many people. Recognize, yes; know personally.. uh, no, not at all.

There was Mrs. Higgins who lived directly across the hall and stood as a living warning to any girl who prefers the company of cats over people. She was in her sixties or seventies, vastly overweight, had an oxygen tank she had to wheel around with her at all times, and at least four more cats in her apartment than the allowed two. She was nice, though, and quiet -both things pretty much everyone looks for in an apartment neighbour. Stiles could have liked her well enough, but he mostly just worried he'd one day be the one to discover her body; four days dead, stinking, and partially eaten by her beloved cats.

Emily and Don lived in the apartment to his left. They were a young couple who had been together since their late teens. They invited him over for wine-tasting parties sometimes when he first moved in, but Stiles always politely declined. Mostly, he genuinely couldn't make it because of his evening shift, but there was one or two times when he just didn't want to go. Some people might have called Stiles antisocial, some might have even called him a Shut-In. There's no 'but' to that sentence; they'd be right.

Stiles smirked to himself at that thought, imagining the looks of disbelief the majority of his teachers and fellow students would have exhibited had anyone told them such a thing. Yeah, Stiles may have pulled a rather impressive 180 since highschool, but life changes the man.

On the topic of "Shut-In"s, living in the apartment to his right was a man Stiles only saw on the rarest of occasions. Stiles wasn't sure if the man was actually super-humanly attractive or if the mystery of him had upped his attractiveness, but, either way, he was a rather beautiful specimen. Stiles had never actually spoken to him directly beyond a quick "good morning" or "hey" in the hall that would never get a response beyond a hum. He could probably count on his fingers the amount of times he had even seen the man. Still, for whatever reason, the man left a strong impression and Stiles might have fallen a little bit in love with him ever since first catching sight of him in the hall about three months ago.

Stiles groaned to himself at his ridiculousness. Okay, so maybe "love" was a bit dramatic, but he always did have a flair for such. Definitely some sort of infatuation, then -that wasn't off the table. He had maybe spent that very walk to and from work making up the guy's backstory over and over with different scenarios, or adding detail to old ones. It wasn't his fault! The guy was the worst kind of enigma… a handsome one.

That thought still at the forefront of his mind, Stiles rounded the bend in the alley before turning off to slide between the two old buildings standing so close together that they definitely wouldn't have been up to code in any recent years.

"Thank the permit gods for grandfather clauses," muttered Stiles to himself as he gave the narrow alley a glower.

He jumped up the two rickety, wooden steps to the side door and pulled it open. Abby was rifling through her bag where she was sitting in the creaky old chair next to the store's safe. She looked up when Stiles walked in and gave him a quick smile before turning her attention back to her bag. She always worked the shift before him.

"Big plans for the weekend?" asked Stiles as he set his bag down on the dusty floor next to her.

Abby made a face and shook her head, "nope, I work tomorrow and Sunday."

"Sucks," said Stiles, glancing at the schedule pinned to the wall while he put on his red apron with 'Jon's Mini Mart' written across it in a peeling white.

"Yep," she said before standing up and pulling her bag over her shoulder. "See you later."

"Bye," responded Stiles as he watched her leave out the door he had just come through.

He took a deep breath and blew it out his mouth, rolled his shoulders and neck a few times, and then stepped through the swinging door between the back of the store and the front. He'd have Dawn for company until 9 when she got off and then it would be just him and the old convenience store (plus the odd customer), until he closed up at 1 AM. He'd have half an hour after that to cash out, clean up, take out the trash, and lock up. It was always the same.

Stiles let the heavy door fall shut behind him as he left work that night. After every shift, he'd tell himself the same thing; 'I've really gotta find a new job'. And yet, he'd go back in the very next day, never once giving notice. What he needed was one of his friends nearby to kick his ass. Scott would give him that weird, crooked sympathy-grimace and say 'as long as you're happy, dude'. Allison would ask him some random, flippant question about his life or goals that'd end up resonating with him and suddenly have him questioning everything. And then there was Lydia; beautiful, fiery Lydia. She would kick his ass, call him all sorts of names, and then give him a fond smile and tell him she'd help him figure something out.

Stiles scrubbed a hand across his face and up into his long, shaggy hair that was far past needing a cut. He let out a second sigh, pulled his bag further up his shoulder, and then started his walk home. It was his fault he no longer had any friends, so there was no point in feeling sorry for himself.

He started on his quick trek home in the dark, dodging the worst of the potholes by memory instead of sight.

He was not far from his apartment and looking forward to dropping down on his bed without so much as undressing or brushing his teeth when he heard a rustling to his left. Stiles faltered in his stride, glancing into the deep shadows on the edge of the alley. There were no streetlights in the dark alley and the sky was overcast blocking out even the stars and moon. The lights from the houses were warm and bright, but they only served to make it more difficult for Stiles' eyes to adjust.

More rustling.

Stiles paused altogether. Goosebumps rose on his skin and his heart-rate ratcheted up in his chest; adrenal gland at the ready. He couldn't see anything as he squinted in the direction of the sound. Finally, he pushed himself to continue on. He was trying to convince himself it was just someone's cat, but he felt watched and vulnerable.

He told himself over and over in his head that mass murders don't hang out in small towns. Even if statistics would say otherwise, he tried his darndest to console his fraying nerves with the thought. It took a lot of self control to keep his pace to a walk instead of breaking into a run. He wasn't far from home, he could just sprint there and be done with it. Pride and the niggling fear that if he ran he'd be chased both kept him from running.

Of course, that's when a low growl, heavy and malicious, sounded from behind him.

Stiles had only a millisecond to think "ah shit" before he was knocked onto his knees by some animal. He was so caught off guard, that he didn't even try to get up at first. Then, it crashed down on him with the full force of its weight and Stiles went face-first into the gravel. He gasped for air as claws from the creature pressed sharp pinpricks into his back. Someone was so getting sued for letting their damned Cujo run at large. Fucking Dogs.

Stiles tried to squirm out from under the dog. It was growling down at him, it's heavy front paws on his shoulder blades. It went still for a moment, bending down to breathe hotly against the back of his neck and fill Stiles with dread. His movements seemed to set it back into action, though. And, as he tried to push it away, things took a turn for the worse. Sharp teeth were suddenly clamping down on his side, puncturing skin and pushing a completely humiliating, horribly shrill, strangled cry from Stiles' throat. He really couldn't be bothered to worry about how he sounded though, not with freshly-sharpened butcher knives slicing through skin and flesh. The pain was both ice and searing and the shock of it was absolutely immobilizing (even moreso than the 200+ pound dog on his back).

Stiles wanted to call out for help, but he couldn't seem to control any of the sounds that were actually leaving his mouth. Finally, he drew in a breath. It felt like forever, but it was probably only seconds (if that). He rolled to his side, kicking out as hard as he could in an attempt to free himself from the dog. It growled again; wet, sticky saliva falling on the back of Stiles' neck making him instantly think of rabies.

Stiles rolled over and squirmed on his back away from the dog, kicking out at it repeatedly. He still hadn't gotten a good look at the thing, all he knew was that it was freakishly large and scary as hell. A gigantic paw landed heavily on his chest before Stiles could get up. The claws were a sharp threat, pricking at his chest through his layers of clothing.

Stiles kicked again, his breath coming to him in tight pants. The gigantuan dog seethed, it's eyes suddenly glowing strangely in the dim light, before sinking its teeth into Stiles' bruised flesh yet again. It twisted and tore at Stiles, mutilating the left side of his chest and bringing tears to Stiles' eyes. Stiles let out a pained cry, his head thunking back against the packed gravel and his breath leaving him. He began to think of his life's regrets (like losing contact with his dad and leaving Scott behind), figuring he was right on the cusp of death, when suddenly the dog released his mutilated flesh from its grinding teeth and vanished back into the night.

Stiles laid there for a long time trying to catch his breath. The pain throbbed all over his body, his clothes were torn and were beginning to saturate with warm liquid. Blood. He might not have died under the dog, but it seemed he could very much die before getting home.

He had no idea why the dog just randomly left or whether it might return. He knew he needed to get up and go home to check his wounds. It was very likely that he needed to get to the ER for a rabies shot and some serious stitches. He told himself he would get up after a few more minutes. When the minutes passed, he told himself the same thing, again. Then again. And again. He was so tired and his head was throbbing and spinning. His body hurt all over and even just breathing made the wounds in his chest and side sting and burn.

He was nearly asleep when a strange, throaty howl echoed through the air. It startled him back into full awareness, despite his cloudy mind. Had the dog actually been a wolf? No, there were no wolves in California, and even if there were, they wouldn't hang out in a back alley in the middle of a town. Besides, the howl didn't sound shrill or long like a wolf's; it sounded… wrong.

Finally, Stiles forced himself to get up. He decided the spinning in his head was only going to get worse and he needed to get off the road. He would be better off if he could just push himself to get home. So, slowly, achingly, he got to his feet and began to limp home. His ribs felt bruised, the cartilage between them quite possibly torn. All his joints hurt, his knees felt raw from the gravel and, worst of all, were the bites where the monster-dog had torn into him.

It was 2:42 am when he finally arrived at the front door of his apartment building. Stiles had checked the time on his phone while stiffly digging through his bag for his keys. He felt increasingly weaker and his breathing more and more laboured. Once he was in the building, he had to take another moment to just breathe before even considering the stairs looming ahead of him.

If Stiles had the energy to spare, he'd probably be hating on his apartment for not hating an elevator more than ever. The time it took him to drag himself up the stairs was enough to give him the chance to again consider the many mistakes he had made in his life. He doubted he was being very quiet as he wheezed and groaned his way up those stairs. He couldn't care, though, not when he felt like he could very well be dying. It was a terrible feeling.

Finally, he made it to the top floor. He pressed his shoulder against the wall when he reached the beginning of the hall and stared forlornly down it. He was panting, his head was spinning, his eyes couldn't seem to stay focused, and his apartment door looked much further away than the some forty feet it was. He couldn't seem to make himself strike out, again, on his long-winded journey. Those last few feet were just too many. He slid down the wall into a pile of limbs and tattered clothes, instead. His head drooped to the side like a wilted plant and he closed his eyes.

Sleeping.

Yeah, sleeping seemed like a good idea. He could sleep right where he was. The stinky, old carpet seemed soft enough right then. He would rest for a bit and continue his trip at a later date.

The world was growing dark when, suddenly, the door right next to him opened. Stiles struggled to focus his eyes, struggled to make his mind work. He was next to the handsome serial killer's apartment, so that attractive man who was suddenly crouched down in front of him and looking worried was probably the handsome serial killer.

"Murderers don't wor… you… preddeh eyes… mmmrph… v-necks," Stiles managed to say.

The man's brow furrowed in confusion as if he didn't realize he had pretty eyes and a body so great that he could get away with those ridiculously deep v-necks Stiles had seen him wear a few times in the past. Such a silly, handsome serial killer.

Stiles fell over, then. The world went completely black.