The next morning when I woke Erica was lying on the couch watching SpongeBob. I heard a shower running above us.

"Ah, good, you're awake. Allison is getting ready and Lydia left already. I don't have anything to do today so Allison and I are hanging out. You're welcome to join us."

I shook my head, "I can't; I promised Stiles I'd teach him how to fight."

"Shouldn't Allison teach him that? I mean, I'm sure you can fight, but Allison beats all of us as far as pure skill goes."

"That's true," I nodded as I got up from the couch and collected my things, "But he has my knife and if he ruins it I will personally cut his penis off with a butter knife. Also, I'm going to make him do suicides."

"Suicides?"

Apparently, Erica had no idea of the pain that suicides were. "Suicides are a drill where you sprint ten yards, come back, twenty yards, then come back, thirty yards, then come back, and so on and so forth. Stiles probably had to do them in lacrosse, but the way I do them he will be running in the Preserve."

"Around trees and over rocks and stuff," Erica asked, getting a very evil look on her face.

I nodded, smiling.

"Well aren't you the little sadist!"

I laughed and threw my backpack over my shoulder. I gave her a wave goodbye and she reciprocated it. I closed the door as quietly behind her. As the door shut behind me I realized that I didn't have a ride back to my house. Screw it, I can run, I thought and started running. I was thankful I was wearing shoes I could run in. Now I just had to find where Stiles lived. I recalled Lydia saying that he lived conveniently close to the police station. Once I had oriented myself the right way I started running in that direction. Within ten minutes of running I knew that I was approaching the general area that Stiles lived.

Almost as soon as I entered the neighborhood I ran by a house with a police cruiser in front of it. Someone had mentioned that his dad was Sheriff, and that was definitely a sheriff's car. I ran up to the house, wiping off the bit of sweat that had been forming on the bridge of my nose. I rang the doorbell and folded my arms across my chest. A tall man bearing a slight resemblance to Stiles opened the door, his face was stern but his eyes betrayed his tiredness. Despite his very small resemblance to Stiles, I knew that he was his father. His jacket had his last name on it, and I heard Stiles in the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs to some song, it sounded like Macklemore, but I wasn't sure.

"Can I help you, uh?," he asked. He waited for me to finish his sentence, clearly not knowing my name.

"Maria, and yes, actually. I told Stiles that I would help him with some, um, homework today." I didn't know what I was supposed to tell his dad. I didn't even know if he knew about werewolves.

"Did you just move here?"

"Yes, sir! I got here a few weeks ago."

"Well, you make friends fast," He said, still eyeing me skeptically.

I laughed nervously, "Well they actually kind of just forced me to be their friend. Especially Stiles… definitely Stiles."

He finally smiled at me, "That sounds like my son. Come in." He gestured me into Stile's house. It wasn't big, and it definitely seemed as if it had two men living in it, with shoes by the door when I first entered the house, and hoodies lying over the unused dining room table chairs. The walls were all a dark green colour. The only feminine touch I could see was a small flower painted above the mirror on the wall.

"Stiles!," Mr. Stilinski called out to his son, who had changed the song to Eminem.

"Yeah!"

"Your friend is here to see you!," he yelled back, a little bit exasperated with Stiles, who had taken to shouting very loudly to the song between answering his father.

Mr. Stilinski went upstairs when Stiles turned the music off, taking the stairs three at a time, clearly wishing to get back to his work. I walked out of the foyer and into Stiles' kitchen. He was cooking what looked to be French toast. Stiles turned around when he heard my quiet footsteps. "Hey, Maria. How come you're here?"

I pulled myself up and onto a barstool across from him. He was still in his pajamas, with plaid sweatpants loose around his hips and a grey V-neck. "You said yesterday that you had no idea how to protect yourself, and after what happened to Jackson, well, you definitely need to learn how to protect yourself."

"Shouldn't Allison be teaching me this? She is our resident weapons expert."

"She would, but that's my knife you're using, so I'm teaching you. Anyway, you're also going to do some conditioning."

Stiles gagged dramatically on his toast, "Conditioning? Maria, I'm on an offseason. I refuse to run! In fact, I refuse to think about running!"

"The Alpha will rip out your intestines and make you wear them as a necklace if you can't take care of yourself."

"Wow, that's a lot detail."

I ignored his sarcastic comment, I needed to make a point to him. "If our Alpha can't even hold off a regular human, imagine what that says about us as a whole!"

Stiles stared at me with blank eyes, munching on his toast. I stared him down as he chewed. He was looking at me with an intense look, trying to make me look away.

I didn't.

"Fine, fine. Let me change and then I'll train with you."

He left to go upstairs and tried to pick up his plate. I snatched it out of his hand, trying to stifle a smile after he gave me an incredibly dirty look.

"It's bad for you," I explained, "Try this." I threw him an apple and this time did laugh because his look had gotten even nastier. As he ran up his steps I slowly took a bite out of his French toast, smiling to myself.


Stiles took labored breaths as we ran, his stride elongating to try to spare his lungs. Sweat dripped down his brow, and onto his shirt, which was already soaked. We'd been running for thirty minutes now, and with each step he seemed to grow more fatigued. I however, felt wonderful. It seemed as if with each step I took I could breathe a little better and see clearer.

He tried to sputter out a question, "How much…longer…of this?"

I hadn't even thought of finishing the run yet, but I realized if we went much longer he wouldn't have any energy to do more training.

"Okay listen. You see that stop sign a hundred yards from here?," I saw him nod faintly, "If you sprint as hard as you possibly can there, I we'll be done. You won't even have to do suicides."

After I said suicides his speed improved vastly. Suddenly he was flying. Not as fast as me, but still flying.

When we reached the stop sign in what felt like seconds and Stiles collapsed on the ground next to me I laughed at his theatricality.

"Let's… never… do that… again," he groaned covering his eyes with his arm.

I smiled as I leaned up against the sign's pole, "Until tomorrow, and the next day, and the next."

Stiles groaned and I laughed. The air had gotten warmer as it approached mid-afternoon and the first fallen leaves were blowing around my feet. "You know you're still going to have to train."

"What if I start crying?"

"Then you will train through your tears."

I offered him my hand to help him get up, and he took it gratefully. We walked off and down the street, Stiles limping slightly and me not stifling a laugh.