It's pretty brilliant on the demon's part, Stiles has to admit. Everyone knows his stomach's a bottomless pit, so when the thing insists on multiple stops at fast food joints after their visit to the Winchester Mansion no one thinks twice about it. They complain and roll their eyes, and Derek does that thing where he threatens bodily harm (which is more the mandatory reaction these days rather than something he's actually going to do), but they're not suspicious. And as the demon inside Stiles happily munches down close to twenty of those tiny White Castle burgers, his own order of fries, and then half of Scott's the car slowly starts to smell like a burger joint.

No chance for any of those sensitive werewolf noses to pick up the slight sulfuric smell already seeping out of him.

Not that it'd mean anything to any of them anyway. Stiles is the research king. He's the one who started looking into other instances of the supernatural, figuring that if his best friend is a werewolf then there had to be other stuff out there. Hence the side trip to the Winchester Mystery House after their last UC school visit. Stiles is fairly good at getting what he wants, and it's possible that in the past few months, Derek has become slightly more pliable.

Of course now, Stiles is wishing like hell that the Sour-Wolf had reared it's ugly, yet strangely endearing, head and put his foot down in the face of his incessant begging for stops and side trips. Instead Derek had simply looked away from the road for a moment and said –not even growled!-, "Fine. Just stop talking about it." And Stiles had promptly shut up while proceeding to grin like a maniac all the way from Oakland.

The demon, who calls himself Saul, is still grinning though for entirely different reasons now, as he shoves one last burger down Stiles' throat.

Dude, we have lacrosse practice on Monday, he thinks, knowing the thing wrapped around his brain can hear him.

It takes a moment before Saul replies. Really? That's what you're worried about?

I'm trying to stay calm. He's doing a remarkable job of it too, if he does say so himself. But compared to facing down an Alpha, this is nothing. This is something he can fix. Or, rather, it's something his Pack can fix. Stiles can't do so much as wiggle a pinky toe, but it's still not as bad as trying not to wet himself while looking Peter in the eye.

Granted, he can't pee by choice or any other way right now, but still.

Not as terrifying as an Alpha, eh?

Right, no secrets here. No offense, man, but Peter didn't need to keep me alive. You're living inside me and since you obviously chose the smartest, strongest, most devastatingly handsome one in the group, I'm guessing you have a healthy sense of self preservation meaning you're not going to let anything happen to me.

Saul laughs and it sounds weird and echoy with the noise not coming from any particular source. I like you, meatsack.

Hey! I'm not the one who just ate enough White Castle to feed Harold and Kumar.

I like you, Saul repeats. Stiles imagines he's grinning. But I want to make one thing clear...

Stiles can hear Derek sniff the air pointedly in thee driver's seat, and when he turns to look at Stiles his normal glare softens into a scowl. "Your nose is bleeding." On to his favorite BSG tee, no less. Maybe this thing really is evil.

Alison is disentangling herself from Scott in the back seat to search or the pile of napkins came with the meal, and Scott leans forward along with Jackson and Lydia in the far back. "You okay, man?"

Stiles can't answer and he thinks Saul must be grinning again. ...I own you.

And that's when everything goes black.

Yeah, so the theory about needing to keep him alive? That's a bust. Turns out the demon can keep him alive supernaturally even after a fatal blow. And, as he proves one more time during trigonometry, that fatal blow doesn't have to come from someone like Kate Argent. Stiles quickly decides there's nothing more alarming than the feeling of his heart straining to beat, as if a massive hand has clamped down around it.

He's still catching his breath when they leave class. Scott and Jackson flank his sides and Lydia and Alison join them after coming out of whatever ridiculously advanced Math they're taking this semester. (Stiles could have joined them, the school guidance counselor says, if his motivation didn't jump ship everytime something shiny glinted in his direction.)

"You look pale," Lydia says bluntly, bumping shoulders with him as they sit down in the cafeteria.

Stiles wants to tell her that she'd look pale too if she had Casper The Not-So Friendly Ghost hitching a ride in her skull, but he keeps his mouth shut because at the moment he he has control of said mouth and he wants to keep it that way as long as he can. It's a shitty deal, but so long as he doesn't say anything Saul lets him have the school day and a little time after- Probably because AP European History bores demons as much as it does regular humans. There're the little things though, like the pressure on his heart during trig, that remind him to reign in the snarky comments.

Besides, Saul chimes in. I'm not a ghost. One hundred percent demon, kiddo.

I hate you.

We're having fun, Genim. Stiles rolls his eyes at the use of his first name, prompting strange looks from the rest of his pack. Lydia is staring at him expectantly.

"I'm fine," he mutters.

The demon huffs. That sounded convincing.

Stiles is busy cursing the fact that he hadn't shared the details of any of his research with the rest of the pack. Better to look crazy for believing in ghosts –sorry, demons- than to be possessed with no chance of anyone figuring out what was going on with him. The girls are way more observant that Scott or Jackson, but he really doesn't think that either of them are going to immediately jump to a diagnosis of demonic possession.

Probably not, Saul agrees.

Shut up.

Think they're brushing up their Latin?

He's probably the only one who knows any Latin aside from Derek, the closeted mythology buff.

Who we'll just be staying away from.

Good luck with that. They're all supposed to gather at Lydia's house later for a pack meeting and even though he's human, his absence is going to be noticed. In fact, he's probably going to wake up at some point that night to a looming, Derek shaped shadow in his window that night.

Saul smirks. Normally you'd be into that.

His face turns bright red and while Saul laughs hysterically (at least someone finds this situation funny...) Scott and Alison exchange a look. "Uh, Stiles, seriously... how much adderall have you been taking lately?"

Okay, the fact that they've come to the conclusion that it's an adderall issue is kind of funny. Ladies and gentlemen, the werewolf pack of Beacon Hills.

Stiles sighs, pushing away an untouched lunch tray before reaching for his bag. "I'm fine. I'll see you in bio, okay?"

"And at my house at six," Lydia says pointedly. "Be on time. I'm going to Stamford whether Derek wants to hear it or not, but it's going to go over a lot better if he's not pissy because you're consistently distracted and late."

"You haven't even applied yet," Jackson points out.

"It's an inevitability," she answers, looking at him as if he's crazy to think anything else. "He might as well get used to the idea now."

Excited college talk trumps the 'how much aderall are you taking' discussion and Stiles takes the opportunity to slip out of the cafeteria. He has bio and a a study hall period left, but he turns and heads for the doors that lead out into the parking lot where his jeep is parked.

Corrupting influence? Check, Stiles feels Saul begin to wrest back control of his body . He's no longer the one walking back to the truck. Any funny business trying to take back your meatsack and I'm wrapping this car around a pole. That clear?

Crystal. Because despite it all, Stiles likes being alive.

The demon grins as he turns the key in the ignition. Buck up, Genim. I'm a fair demon. It's not all take, take, take on my end. I've got a little something for you too. Saul has a little fun, revving the poor Jeep's engine while Stiles winces mentally . His girl can't handle this kind of stress.

That's maybe the least reassuring thing I've heard all day, and I'm including you telling me I'll 'get over' near cardiac arrest. Where're we going?

Saul looks up, adjusting the rear view mirror. Stiles watches has his eyes blink once, twice, and then open black. No iris, no pupil, just deep pools of black nothingness that make his face and the grin on his lips seem far more sinister than he could have every hoped to achieve himself.

Not that he ever hoped for that kind of thing.

His eyes blink again and suddenly his face is his own again, but Saul keeps his gaze locked on the mirror so that Stiles can see himself. We're going to the cemetery. He says, as if it should have been obvious. I told you. Our partnership, kiddo? It's give and take, and it's time for a little give. You're a lucky one... it's not everyone that gets themselves possessed by a crossroads demon.

Saul relaxes in the seat, one hand on the wheel as they pull out of the school parking lot. His eyes flick back up to the mirror. Now... Tell me about your mother.