I talk to stars like some people talk to God, compulsively, obsessively, religiously. One flickered erratically at me in a way that I knew it was dying, or, given the intensity of its epileptic pulses, already dead. Most stars we see are only the leftovers of light still traveling to earth even though it's already gone. Most people don't realize this. I do.

"You know I… uh... I don't know. Everyone's off doing their own things am here I am. As usual. Left out. Alone. Fuck. I bet you know what it feels like, to be alone. Your closet neighbor is light years away, probably already dead. Man, that must suck. Maybe I don't have clause to complain. It's not everyone else's' fault they have better things to do than to hang out with me."

I looked up at the full moon and sighed. They'd probably need me tonight at least. They always need me when there's a problem, the only time when I'm useful. Even then… Not useful enough for Scott to return my calls. The dial tone, harsh and empty, rang loudly in my ears and, before I knew what I was doing, a million shards of glass and plastic were skittering across the slanted roof, falling down to the ground like reflective rain; and I was screaming, knees pushed up against my forehead, hands clutching the sides of my skull.

"You see?!"

My screams traveled as far as they could, towards that dying – definitely already dead – star, because it was comfort to think that anything cared. I glanced down to brush stray shards of phone away from my body, and when I glanced back up the star was gone.

"I'm honored to have spent your last moments with you. God knows you're the only one who probably wanted me here. It was nice to talk."

I hope they needed me, for whatever reason, I hope they were begging for odd-ball Stiles Stilinski to show up on scene. I hope they needed my knowledge on everything supernatural, I hope they needed me to lay down traps, or make connections. I hope they were begging. The brush beside my house rustled, it only rustled on full moons, and I wiped at my face quickly, erasing any signs of emotion.

"Let me guess," I called out, my voice laced with harsh humor, "you need me to go find Lydia, o-or even better, go help Scott and Allison, the people who don't even look at each other anymore, let alone me. Or even better you need me to risk my life saving somebody I don't even like! Is it Jackson again?" I laughed. "Is the lizard boy back? Something went wrong with him? Gone crazy? Again?"

Derek stepped out of the brush, eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back.

"Stiles."

"Leave me alone, Derek. I'm sure that whatever it is you big bad wolves can deal with it yourself. Some of us humans have school tomorrow."

"Stiles-"

"Where's your pack? Somewhere chained up? What, do you need me to feed them my arm to keep them in place for a while because your little kids are out of control?! Or maybe a leg? Do you even have a pack anymore…"

"Stiles!"

I stopped then, not because I didn't have more to say – ask anyone, I always have more to say – but because Derek's eyes went red and, despite how much I say I'm not scared of him anymore, the red eyes get me every time. I backpedaled as he was suddenly on my roof, right in front of me, claws out.

"Put those away," I sighed. "Just go away… please. Just please leave me alone."

"Will you listen, Stiles?"

"What? What do you want? I can't do anything for you! I can't do anything."

"It's your father."