AN: Huge thanks to Mitch for being my Beta, as always I like to dedicate my first chapter to those that helped me. And I'm really sorry if I make any of the characters to ooc. I will try my best.
He didn't want to come back, not really. He would have much rather stayed in his nice little apartment back in Chicago. There nothing bad ever happened, at least not very often. Stiles let out a heavy sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a second, before opening them and staring at the road in front of him again. It was early in the morning; too early for Stiles in all honesty. Still he refused to sleep in his car. Instead he had opted for the option of staying awake on various energy drinks and coffee. Reaching a hand out he turned the music up louder not really listening to the words while letting the beat keep him awake. He could just imagine his father's angry voice lecturing him about driving when tired. Stiles was never really good at listening.
By the time Stiles reached the edge of town the sun was finally rising in the sky, and it finally dawned on Stiles just how tired he was. It wasn't just the fact that he had not slept the night before, but the days of worrying and panic were building up. Stiles didn't hate Beacon Hills, the town just brought up a lot of unwanted memories he would rather forget. It didn't take long for Stiles to pull up in front of the small although neat motel. It wasn't a hotel and it certainly didn't try to look like one, but it was the best looking place that Stiles could afford to stay at, for now. Turning the engine off, Stiles sat at the wheel for a minute just staring at the street. Slowly the town was coming alive, and in some way it made Stiles feel a certain longing.
Running a hand over his face, Stiles yawned before grabbing his bags from the passenger seat and getting out. It was significantly colder outside the car, but Stiles thought that might have something to do with the fact that it was mid Fall and soon winter would be upon America. Stiles dragged his heavy feet up the few steps and pushed the door open with another yawn. The place was empty despite the fact that the door had opened with the jingle of a bell. No sooner had he thought those thoughts a middle aged woman came from a back room with a bitter smile that told Stiles that she did not like mornings, but did anyone really? He told her his details and paid for the room for the next week before taking the key and walking back out. For a minute he contemplated moving his car so that it was outside his room, but right then all he wanted was a bed and a pillow and something to keep him warm.
The room was better than Stiles expected, but it was no hotel and that was for certain. The curtains where a tacky shade of yellow and the covers on the bed looked like they were belonged to the 60s, but Stiles said nothing. As tacky as the room was, he was too tired to care. Locking the door he kicked off his shoes and pulled of his jacket, he intended to throw it on a chair but missed completely. Within seconds he was on the bed and under the covers trying to pull as much warmth from the blankets as he could.
Stiles didn't dream a lot, but when he did they where usually forgotten by the time he was awake. As much as he tried to sleep, Stiles just couldn't let go. He was afraid that if he did, some nightmare would come back, and the last thing he needed was someone pounding on his door asking why he was screaming. He hadn't screamed during his sleep in years. As far as Stiles was concerned it would remain that way. Although another part of him was afraid that at any moment the windows and doors would be kicked in and someone would come in demanding what he was doing back. There was that constant fear that his old friends, most of which were werewolves and could easily smell him, would come knocking and then he would be faced with some emotional showdown.
So maybe Stiles was scared of facing his friends after almost 5 years of no contact. At first he had promised to stay in touch, but even Stiles knew that was a lie. What little contact he did have with Scott or Lydia, the latter surprising him since the two were never really close not until the very end of his life in Beacon HIlls, was done through email and even then it was only the simple 'the new house is great' 'school really sucks' 'checked for werewolves, there were none'. Eventually Scott and Lydia stopped replying, and Stiles ran out of interesting things to say. He had so many things to say though, it was just hard. How do you tell your best friend that you've made new friends, or you're old crush that there might be someone new? Stiles could have talked about friends and love and all those things that teenagers have and done, but it just wasn't the same. Stiles suspected that Scott knew that and that was the reason why he stopped asking questions.
When Stiles awoke it was still light out, and it took him a minute, or maybe two, to realize that he had slept through to the next day. Rolling onto his back Stiles stuffed his hand in his jeans pocket and fished out his phone looking at the time with a grimace.
Too bright, too bright. Ugh too early more like it.
Ideally he would have stayed in bed for another day or maybe even a week. Anything really to avoid going outside, but he was hungry and he still had the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. Stiles sat up and ran a hand through his hair before smiling to himself. There was no reason to be sad, after all what was the worst that could happen - besides being eaten by an angry werewolf?