Chapter 3
Satan can't speak English
Stiles woke up slowly, one sense at a time.
First came his ability to smell, brought to life by the sweet mixture of bacon and eggs, with the perfect amount of grease. He began to sniff, his nose wrinkling at the movement, and oh, it was strong. It was wonderful… He drew short puffs of breath through his blocked nose, sounding like a bulldog. Or kind of like Malia, whenever she was trying to catch a sent. He laughed a weird, suffocated laugh at the fact that he had just compared Malia to a bulldog, which would not have been as funny if she'd been around to mutilate him.
Where is she anyway? he thought.
Then his hearing started coming back.
He was still extremely tired, feeling as paralyzed as he had been a couple of times around the whole Kanima-incident, but he could hear a slow beat of… something, hitting… something else… He couldn't quite think straight yet, but it sounded kind of… like something… woody… like the floor of his house! Not the floor from his room though – which is covered by thick, not that soft (or clean) anymore, carpet – but the floor of, say, their hallway, downstairs.
Wait… Am I not lying safe and sound, in my bed, in my bedroom?
The steady beat got louder and louder and he could hear a humming noise from above reaching his ears. He tried to open his eyes, but the bright light hitting them from every possible direction made it ever so hard. At first it was all just a big, blurry image, but after some time he could see a dark shape, going up, then down… up, and down… up… then down again… He was confused. "…iiiiilllsssssss…" The humming sound got sharper and more audible for every time he heard it. "…tiiiilllesss…"
Am I dead…?
He felt dead, completely unable to move. For a moment he actually believed it, like this was the end, that he'd finally been killed by some supernatural butterfly, and that he was actually hearing the words of God. His right eye made an effort to get a clearer image of the guy – or girl, God could for all he knew be a chic – but all he saw was a dark figure, moving up and down. Was he, like, floating? Was God black? Or maybe it wasn't God, but the Devil! You know Satan, Lucifer, or whatever you want to call him (or her). Stiles didn't want to go to hell! Did he not deserve to go to heaven…?
The noise got louder.
"Humph… No… I don't wanna…!" Stiles said in a thin, sleepy voice to the evil creature, which didn't seem to give a shit. "…iiiles?" It kept talking, but Stiles still didn't understand a word. Maybe it only spoke the language of… whatever language you speak down in hell.
Stiles didn't know the language of hell…
"S'okay… just… "He said, but paused only to let out a loud yawn. "… Five more minutes, Satan…"
Satan sighed, and it was one of those deep, disappointed, God-I-Hate-My-Job kind of sigh. Didn't Satan like to work as Satan? Couldn't he just, I don't know, quit? That didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense in Stiles' head. Like, why was he dead in the first place? I mean, he could be wrong, he'd been before – not in an insanely amount of times though, which he felt quite proud of – but he was pretty sure that Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Killer-Butterflies did NOT exist.
Neither does Bigfoot… Or does he…? That'd be SO cool…
Stiles was drowning in thoughts when he heard the roar. "STILES!"
The sharp noise hit him like a freaking lightning and made him jump, what felt like, at least three feet up the air, out of his dream world and, apparently, his inability to move as well. He slowly opened his eyes, only to see his dad, the sheriff, in his uniform, standing in front of his looking down. He seemed tall. Stiles watched him with sore eyes up and down and then realized that he, Stiles, was in fact sitting down. Not in his bed though, or in his room, but in… He sighed… His hallway, downstairs. He also noticed that his dad was wearing his usual, black shoes. He almost broke into laughter when he realized exactly how wrong he'd been about this whole situation. He was an entirely new level of stupid…
Then came the headache.
"Aaaaaaah…!" Stiles gave away a weak, high pitch noise, putting both of his hands on his head, like if it would actually help. It was horrible, just pounding away in his head, like the worst hangover of all times. It was like some tiny, evil dwarf had somehow crawled into his brain and was currently hitting his cranium with a hammer, making it his lifelong mission to make Stiles' life a living hell, and God, it worked! He was practically begging for mercy.
Right now those freaking butterflies sounded pretty damn good.
"Be honest with me, son" his dad spoke. Stiles' brain was still having a hard time adjusting to the sound of his voice after his insanely loud wakeup call, and the pounding in his head wasn't helping. "Have you been drinking?" Stiles' face was still sore, but he was able to frown at his father's question.
"Wha… What? No" he said, not sounding as confident as he'd hoped.
"Really?" his dad asked, raising an eyebrow. He sounded very suspicious. Why didn't his dad believe him? I mean, he kind of had his reasons, Stiles had lied a whole bunch of times, about a whole bunch of unimportant shit, but he didn't lie this time! Although he didn't quite remember everything that happened last night, but he was a hundred percent sure that he hadn't been drinking. Or had he…? That would explain the awful headache… but NO.
"Noooo… I mean, YES! Or, uh… I mean, NO, I have NOT been drinking…" Stiles said, rubbing his eyes. That didn't sound good at all… he thought.
"Then what were you doing?" Stiles looked up and saw his dad folding his arms.
"I waassss, uh…"
"What DID I do last night!?"
He closed his eyes, tight, trying hard to remember, and the night before started coming back to him. "I WAS WITH SCOTT!" he screamed, way louder that he was expecting, and raised his arms in some kind of success I guess. His dad's eyebrows was shot up in surprise, and from his point of view, it actually looked like they were hitting the roof. "And uh… The others…" He continued. "We were planning our camping trip, remember?" His dad frowned again.
"You were planning your camping trip… In the middle of the night?"
"… Yeah… Why…?" It was obvious that his dad didn't believe a word he said.
"Because there is a whole bottle of whiskey missing from the cabinet. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" the Sheriff said.
"Ah no, I took that one last week" Stiles said, before he could think. Stupid… But his dad would figure it out anyway, if he hadn't already. Which he probably had… Stiles expected his dad to get mad or something, he knew his opinion on teenage drinking far too well, but all he did was sigh.
"I don't have time for this. I've got to get down to the station." he said. "Take an aspirin and go get ready for school." Then he frowned, again, and leaned down towards his son. He drew a breath through his nose and frowned harder. "When was the last time you showered?" Stiles had to take a second and think about it.
"Um… Friday…?"
"Oh God… Then take a shower, for Christ sake." his dad said in disgust and started walking towards the door. Stiles tried to stand up, grabbing the nearest doorframe for support. His legs felt like jelly, but once he was up, still holding onto the doorframe, he turned his aching head and saw their calendar on the opposite wall. It was Tuesday…
"And have some breakfast." his dad said before he shut the front door and left Stiles alone in the empty house.
As soon as he heard the words his nose and mind started to cooperate and he remembered the greasy food just lying in the kitchen. The amazing smell got right to his stomach which started making mad, hungry noises and when the hopefully still warm meal started screaming things like EAT ME, Stiles just couldn't wait any longer. He leaped forward, aiming for the kitchen, but failed completely. He slammed right into a wall and ended up the floor once again.
HEEEEY!
I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I am very, very SORRY for the late update! But since I didn't really make any promises you can't really stay mad at me.
I was going to make this chap a little longer, like closer to 4k words, BUT, since I had, like, ZERO inspiration, I decided to post it in two parts, just to get you something, at least.
I find it hard to write when there are still episodes left of season 4, and I also don't have access to a functional computer at all times so…
But, HOPEFULLY, the next part will be up soon…
(Still can't believe people are actually following my story! I love to write, and it makes me SO incredibly happy you guys!)
MUCH LOVE
Hurricane 3
