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I'm taking over my body, back in control, no more shotty,

I bet a lot of me was lost, T's uncrossed and I's undotted,

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got,

Not anymore, flesh out the door, swat,

I must've forgot, you can't trust me,

I'm open a moment and closed when you show it,

Before you know it, I'm lost at sea,

And now that I write and think about it,

And the story unfolds,

You should take my life, you should take my soul.

You are surrounding all my surroundings,

Sounding down the mountain range of my left-side brain,

You are surrounding all my surroundings,

Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes.

- Holding Onto You, by Twenty One Pilots

His face flickered through an array of emotions. First confusion, then realization, then hesitation, then exasperation, a brief moment of suspicion, and finally, it settled on… defeat. Bringing his hand up to the doorframe, he leaned against it as he sagged in surrender with a sigh. "Yeah." Stiles pointed at me. "Gimme a minute."

I pressed my lips together and turned to the side, rubbing anxiously at my nose. Stiles disappeared into his house and left me waiting. I listened as he hurriedly stomped through the floors of his home, his keys jangling slightly in his hand. I was overwhelmed with a wave of his home's scent. Coffee and wood, men's shoe polish and gunpowder, a lingering trace of pizza, sweet yet savory… Hawaiian.

I turned to peer curiously into the doorway, struck with the realization that Stiles and his dad enjoyed the same kind of pizza I did. Rare is it that I consider the domestic habits of my peers. It only serves as a painful kind of torture, cruel and unnecessary, as it reminds me of what's lost to me. But I couldn't strike the image of Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski gathering around a Mario's pizza box and serving themselves.

What would that even look like? I'm finding it difficult to imagine an expression of anything but frustration or sympathy on Sheriff's face, and nearly impossible to imagine anything but fear or contempt on Stiles'.

Before I could linger on it anymore, Sheriff appeared in the doorway. Stiles lingered behind him nosily as Sheriff stepped slightly onto the porch. He was dressed casually in a light blue plaid button up that hung over a dark green t-shirt, both of which brought out his eyes, which I noticed were blue for the first time, and jeans. It threw me off to see him in anything but a uniform. It felt like seeing I was waiting in the doctor's office for my test results to come back, when the door finally opens. But instead of a doctor, here comes Bozo the Clown clomping in his comically big red shoes.

"Savannah?" His voice sung with concern and he seemed ready for anything. It was like he anticipated me to be battered and broken, expecting the worst. His hasty paternal concern knocked me off my feet, unsolicited but not unwelcome, and I coughed the shock out of my throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I—" My eyes flickered onto Stiles', who seemed taken aback at just how familiar our interaction is. "You said that if I changed my mind about anything I should come to you. Well…" I put my hands out and let them slap against my thighs, a light breeze from outside tousling the back of my black hair.

"Oh," His face twisted slightly as he tried to conjure up that conversation. "Did something happen?"

"Can I come in?" I shoved my hands into my pockets of my red jacket and Sheriff stepped hastily back.

"Oh, yeah! Of—" He hurriedly insisted, but he ran straight into Stiles, who let out a grunt of pain and hopped back to grip his toe. Sheriff threw him an acidic glare and seemed to just barely keep his exasperation in check. Letting out a short sigh, he watched as Stiles took the hint and retreated farther into the house to give me more room. "Of course, come in." He held his arm out to me and I locked eyes with Stiles for a split second, until it became too uncomfortable for me to maintain. I looked at my boots as I entered the house and the front door shut behind me.

I was overwhelmed with the scent now. Boot polish, wood, Hawaiian pizza, laundry detergent, ivory soap… A slightly awkward silence stretched over us as Sheriff and I stared at Stiles. His light brown eyes flashed between his father and me, waiting for one of us to do something. As more time passed, he realized that he was actually some sort of really fucked up third wheel in this equation, and Sheriff cleared his throat. "I thought you were going on a date?"

Of all the things I expected him to say, you have to believe me when I tell you that that is the very last thing. My breath caught in my throat with the effort it took for me not to react, and I rolled my lips into my mouth to keep my laughs trapped inside. Apparently, my eyes were a tell-all, as Stiles' eyes widened and a cute red blush blanketed over his face.

He stiffened in mortification and stuttered, his hand waving as if he could physically erase what his father had just said. "I-It's not a date, I mean, I wish it was, don't get me wrong, but this is Lydia we're talking about. I know she would never date me right now, but I think that's because we haven't had one-on-one time before really, so that's why I invited Scott and Allison along, because she'll be more comfortable if it doesn't seem like a date." He paused in his rant that took a single breath to get out and gulped in some air before continuing. "I guess maybe it is a date, do you think she thinks it's a date?" He froze and looked down at his clothes and clutched his shirt at his chest, and it registered to me that he dressed like his father in a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt. But Stiles' was more muted, and his t-shirt was coal grey. He looked up at us with bulging eyes. "Is this okay for a date?!"

I let a smile play at my lips, but kept silent as his father's eyes crinkled from his twisted up incredulity displayed on his handsomely aged face. "It's fine," He said, though he seemed like he wanted to say something else. "You look fine."

I wanted to interject so badly, but now was sooo not the time… I used every ounce of self-control in my tiny body to keep my trap shut, and settled for smirking widely at Stiles.

"Let's go to the dining room." Sheriff shook his head and walked toward where the room must've been located, and I watched Stiles watching us for a few more beats, lagging behind him. "Don't forget to call me so I know you get home alright!" He called to his son, who broke eye contact with me to look at his dad's disappearing back. "And relax! She's gonna love you."

Stiles' eyes flickered back to me as he seemed caught between leaving, and staying to monitor me with his father. In his home. I looked down at my boots for a moment, finally unable to keep my silence as I turned to follow his father. "For the record," I let a crooked smile tug at the corner of my lips as I walked backwards and locked gazes with Stiles. "I've always been a fan of the way you dress." His heart rate spiked, blood coloring his cheeks, and his eyes widened in apparent embarrassment. My mouth stretched to a full-blown grin. "And I think it's cute that you dress like your dad!"

His jaw dropped and his head snapped down to look at his clothes, patting his shirt pathetically. He sputtered, grasping for the words, but only managed a high-pitched, strangled whine that contained a lot of conflicted emotions. I snickered and turned my back on him to follow his dad.

The dining room table was wooden and I placed that as part of the source of the house's scent as I finally joined Sheriff. "You can take a seat any where. Did you want something to drink? Or are you hungry, we had pizza earlier. There might be some left if—"

"I'm fine," I waved him off quickly. The idea of eating their pizza seemed entirely too intrusive, and way too soon. "This probably won't take long, so…"

"Okay," He said, but in that tone that adults use when they say okay, but they're actually saying we'll see how it goes. I bit back a sigh and grudgingly placed my hand on the back of the wooden chair, pulling it out from under the table. "How have you been, Savannah?" It was his standard question that Sheriff always asked upon talking to me.

"Oh," I sighed. "You know." My mind flitted over all that's changed, and in a greater sense I suppose I've been doing pretty great, all considered. But my mind flashed to last night, reminding me why I sat as his table. "I'm actually here to talk to you about my therapy."

He raised his eyebrows, partly at the fact that I didn't really answer his question, and partly at me cutting to the chase so abruptly. From his perspective, it's probably a pretty stark contrast to my usual MO. I've got a history of seldom being straightforward with the Sheriff, but this is different… not that he knew that. "You've been going, right?"

"Yeah, I just…" I rubbed at my nose and my ears caught the sound of Stiles' frantic intonation. I stretched my hearing and locked onto him, a few rooms away—presumably still in the living room.

"I know that, Scott! You think I don't know how awful her timing is!? I can't just—leave her here with my dad! She's in my house! My house!" There was a pause, and I licked my teeth. I thought he had left.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. "It's not working out, okay?" An image of Chris Argent smiling calculatingly at Teresa flitted through my mind, and I balled my hand into a fist and let it thud against the table to echo my point. "I think we need to—change something."

"Well, okay… slow down." Sheriff put his hand up in a calming gesture. "Why don't you tell me what happened before we decide anything?"

"Yes!" Stiles voice suddenly wafted in from the living room, and it was loud enough that I almost didn't need supernatural hearing to catch it. But apparently, Sheriff's hearing ain't what it used to be, as he waited expectantly for an answer. "Just stall them, alright! I'm coming. I'll be there! I just need to make sure she doesn't… I know, I know. She's not dangerous… so you say, but this is my dad, and I'm not leaving him. I don't care how different she is. Stall them, Scott! I'll be there."

I ran a hand through my hair and shrugged a shoulder, letting my hand fall flat onto the table. "It's just not working out, okay? I'm not—cut out for…" As much as I had hoped to keep the fact that I'm getting therapy out of Stiles and Scott's minds, it seemed there was no way to avoid it. Stiles had situated himself just outside the dining room; the prime position for eavesdropping. My jaw clenched. "Group therapy." I finished grudgingly. I heard Stiles suck in a surprised breath, could practically see his frown as this new revelation soaked in. I shook my head and looked down to spin the saltshaker from the table between my fingers. "It's no secret that I don't play well with others. Group therapy was a mistake, we should've seen this coming."

"Savannah," Sheriff frowned. "That's just not true. I know that ever since… Ever since your parents passed, and your brother went missing… You've had difficulty letting people in. The entire reason Judge Burnell and I decided group therapy would be best is to expose you to kids your own age, and other people who also have issues. It's the only way we made sure you were interacting with people who didn't live on the streets or deal out of the back of their van."

My anxiety kicked up as I heard Stiles breathing outside the room. This has to be like, fifty different kinds of privacy violations. I licked my lips and bit my bottom one, looking away from the saltshaker to glare at where I knew Stiles to be listening in. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm staying with a friend. I haven't been on the streets in… I haven't slept on the streets in like, over a week. Okay? I'm golden. Clean, squeaky." I brushed my fingers down my red jacket and shook my hands out to illustrate. "No more of that dirty shit."

Sheriff's eyebrows shot up and his mouth straightened from its familiar frown, which coming from him—is almost a smile. "That's great, Savannah! That's great news! I mean, it's not your foster home, but it's an improvement…" He shook his head and his frown returned. "You can't stop going to therapy. It's Group, or juvy. We've been over this."

"Okay, I know that," I poked the table with determination; leaning forward to show him how serious I was about this. "I get that I won't be getting out of this whole therapy thing, okay? I just wanted to… Not group therapy."

Sheriff sat back and crossed his arms, peering at me from the corner of his eye. A silence stretched between us as he considered me, the quiet filled the sound of their ceiling fan gently turning in their living room, Stiles' breathing and slightly escalated heart rate, and Sheriff's steady heartbeat. "You're asking if you can start therapy… with a personal therapist?"

I sat back and put my hands in my hair, letting out a relieved sigh. "Yes," I breathed. "Yes."

Sheriff sighed through his nose and mulled my request over. I cleared my throat and shifted restlessly, desperate for him to say yes. If I can get away from the group therapy sessions, the Argents won't have a way to find me so easily anymore. I want to make things as difficult as I can for them; they might be hunting us, but that doesn't mean I'm about to willingly step back into their trap… or worse, put a whole group of innocent people at risk.

Sheriff cleared his throat. "If this happens, I want you to report to me once every two weeks."

I let my head fall back as my body was freed from anxiety, and smiled gently. "Yeah, absolutely. You got it. Every fourteen days,"

"And it's going to be Ms. Morrell." He pointed at my face and I raised my eyebrows. "That's not negotiable."

"Who?" I frowned.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"Your guidance counselor at school, Savannah!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, right!" I quickly tried to recover, looking over to where Stiles still lurked. "I knew that, my guidance counselor—pfft, I was testing you." He stared at me disbelievingly and I put my hands up. "It was a joke! I have a skewed sense of humor, what can I say?"

"Uh huh." He deadpanned, not buying it for a minute. But hey, he's sheriff for a reason, right? He's not paid to be gullible. "It'll be Ms. Morrell, your guidance counselor at school. Twice a week. Same as Group, but now that means you're going to acutally have to show up for school at least twice a week. Ms. Morrell will reporting to me after every meeting, but I still expect to hear from you every two weeks."

"Done, done, and done." I clapped my hand on the table and rose from my seat. "Thank you so much, Sheriff. You're a really great man, ya know that?"

He pursed his lips and waved me off. "Yeah, yeah," He mumbled, unimpressed, and I heard Stiles scrambling to move as I rounded the corner of the dining room.

He sat awkwardly in a chair in the living room, his legs crossed in a very un-Stiles-like manner, his hands gripping a knee. He cleared his throat and I looked over him, noting that he now wore his grey jacket over top of a black t-shirt. I winked at him and wagged an okay sign, gesturing to his change of attire. "Very nice," I nodded, and he tilted his head to feign ignorance. "Much better. It really brings out your eyes."

"What?" He quipped, his voice a little too high to be casual. "What are you talking about? I spilled—something. On my shirt. This has nothing to do with—"

"Stiles." His dad said, realization dawning in his voice. "You're still here." I'm starting to pick up, after all these years of knowing him, that Sheriff Stilinski's favorite method of speaking is saying one thing when he's actually saying something else. See, what he said was that Stiles is still here. What he meant is that Stiles stayed behind from his date with Lydia, which he was panicking over just before this, solely so he could eavesdrop on his dad's work.

And Stiles knows that. He heard what his dad was actually saying, even if he pretended not to. "Yeah. Yep, yeah I am, because I spilled—ah, I spilled my drink on my shirt and I had to change. And then I sat here because I'm—waiting to hear back from Scott. Yep."

Sheriff's eyes narrowed. "Uh huh." He said, using the same tone he used on me. "And where is your drink at? I don't remember seeing you with one, do you remember, Savannah?"

I tauntingly frowned and shook my head. "Now that you mention it, I didn't notice him drinking anything."

"Well, see, that's because I spilled it." He continued, and his phone pinged. "Ah! But, there's Scott now, so I've changed, and Scott's answered, and I'm ready to go, so I'm leaving now to go on my date-not-date with Lydia at the ice skating rink—"

"Wait," Sheriff crossed his arms and sent Stiles that parental glare that said he was about to ask him to do something, but even though it might be phrased as a question it's actually a command. He appeared to like to make it look like Stiles had a choice in a lot of things, when he actually didn't. "Savannah," He turned to me and I raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you go with them?"

"No—" Stiles and I chorused. Sheriff stubbornly rose his chin at the two of us and Stiles and I exchanged a wide eyed glance.

"She's got a thing," Stiles jerked a thumb at me, and I tried to nod along convincingly. It's been a while since I've had to lie to a parent, and I'm a little rusty. Stiles' lead may not be the best to follow, I slowly realize, as he goes on. "And besides, it's not really her kinda thing anyways—"

"Hanging out with kids her own age isn't her thing?" Sheriff looked at Stiles from the corner of his eye before shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Savannah, what do you say? I mean, you won't be in Group anymore, but now you'll be in school a lot. So that means you're going to need to at least try and make friends." I opened my mouth to try and smooth this hot mess over, but Sheriff continued. "In fact, if you want me to believe you've changed so much, prove it. I think it'll be great for you to have some exposure to kids your own age."

"Hhhoh," I breathed, unable to form a coherent word as I laughed awkwardly and glanced between Stiles and his father. I scratched my cheek nervously, my mind racing as I tried to conjure a scenario where this didn't end in me leaving the house with Stiles. "Prove it…" I stalled, flapping my hands uselessly at my side and looking at Stiles with wide eyes. He seemed just as lost as I was, unable to throw me any sort of life preserver, and I finally settled for looking back at Sheriff. "That's… okay."

"Okay," Stiles and his dad chorused, but Stiles' was high pitched and incredulously questioning, and his dad's was just smug.

"You're right." I strode up to stand next to Stiles, "I need to spend more time with kids my own age. It's time I branch out of my comfort zone."

Stiles stood stiffly next to me. "For the record, this is a terrible idea." He growled, and I shrugged as his father sent him a look that said, 'I know better than you.'

"Trust me." Sheriff pointed at both of us. "You might be surprised."

"Okay," I grinned fakely, gesturing to Stiles. "Lead the way."

He glowered at me, but turned on his heel to trudge through the door.

"And Stiles, call me—"

"To let you know when I'll be home. I know. Got it."

We stepped out on the porch and I unscrewed my smile, reaching out to smack Stiles on the shoulder.

"What the hell was that!?" I hissed, and he jumped back to put some distance between us as he clutched weakly at his shoulder.

"Me!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands out to me in disbelief. "No, you! You what the hell, Savannah!"

"First of all, you eavesdropped on a very private conversation. Did you get it all, or would you like for me to elaborate? Do you perhaps have a recording device stashed in those pockets? Should I speak up, enunciate to make sure Scott is getting this all clearly?"

"Nope." Stiles quipped back with just as much sarcasm. He tapped his head. "Got it all right here. I'm not going to apologize for that, it's my house. But let's get one thing clear—you don't actually want to come ice skating on our double date, do you?"

I stared at him, wondering why he even had to ask. "No!" I exclaimed, and he sighed in relief. "But I had to do something to get your dad off our backs, since you were just standing there like a limp noodle! Some back bone you got there," I poked gently at his back and he swatted at my hands. "How can you even stand upright without a spine!?"

"I was caught off guard!" He snapped defensively, sidestepping my hands from any more pokes. "This is so not how I saw my evening going… I should be with Lydia right now, and instead, I'm here."

"Well, let me alleviate you of your position." I bit back, stomping down his porch. "Wouldn't want to inconvenience you—"

"Nope," He cut me off, grabbing me by the wrist to drag me towards his jeep. "My dad is going to be watching to see if you leave with me." I raised my eyebrows when he turned to look at me, looking pointedly from his face, to his hand on my wrist, and back to his face. "Alright, and I'm letting go," He put his hands up neutrally and scoffed. "Geez, you're just like Derek."

I pouted slightly. "That's offensive!" A smirk tugged at his mouth, but before he could comment, I came to a halt by his passenger door. "I'm not going with you on this date." I stubbornly reiterated.

"I know that," He drawled, putting his hands out as if to say 'What do I look like?' "But you've gotta at least make it seem like you are, I told you! My dad is probably watching for visual confirmation as we speak."

I stared at Stiles' honest face and considered my options. Knowing that he probably spoke the truth about his dad, and knowing that I would need to continue to play by Sheriff's rules—especially in light of recent events, I sighed heavily and snapped the light blue jeep door open.

It screeched under my harsh grab and stiles groaned out in protest. "Be careful," He whined. "This isn't much, but it's all I've got." He pet the dash lovingly as he slid into the driver's seat. "She didn't mean it, baby," He cooed.

I scrunched my eyebrows at him. "I thought you loved Lydia."

He peered down his nose at me, looking away to turn the key in the ignition. The jeep rumbled to life, and I mulled over the strong laundry detergent, and deeper spice scent that radiated from every corner of this jeep as he pulled away from the curb. "I've got room in my heart for both of them." He simply stated, drawing a snort from me. A few awkward moments of silence extended between us. I didn't even attempt to fill it as I stared out the window, watching the trees pass.

"Listen," Stiles shifted uncomfortably and subtly lifted a shoulder; something that I suddenly suspected may be a nervous tick from him. "I wanted to—ah, make a point to acknowledge that I was wrong about you." I gaped at him. He glanced at me briefly before focusing back on the road. "I mean, as far as the Erica thing goes… It just looked bad, ya know? And I'm just trying to do the best that I can with this whole… werewolf thing. I don't always make the right choice, and I know that. That doesn't mean I can't own up to my mistakes though."

I listened to his steady heartbeat, not detecting any hint of deceit or ulterior motive. When I decided he was sincere, I settled a bit and looked back through the windshield. I sighed before finally responding, "I think that… between you and Scott, you're the smarter one. You might've been wrong about me, but that doesn't mean that your motivations were wrong. I can be a raging bitch, but that doesn't mean I can't see the obvious. It's obvious that you care a lot about your friends. Derek isn't the most… reliable, or trustworthy person on the planet, trust me—I get that. And I know I'm undeserving of any trust at all, given my history, so… I think I would've suspected the same thing, if I were in your shoes."

He breathed out a sigh of relief and suddenly the entire dynamic between us lifted. "Thank you!" He glanced between me and the road. "I knew I wasn't being paranoid!"

"No, I get it! I'm the same way." I turned to face him head on and jabbed at the console between us. "Most of the time, Derek and I can't agree on a single thing. He always wants to just rush into things head first, jump in, confront, threaten, spy… Well, the last one, I usually am okay with."

Stiles snorted, flicking on his turn signal. "Same thing with Scott and I!" He nodded. "They're both shoot first, ask later. I just thought it was a werewolf thing," He said, looking over at me thoughtfully.

"His plans always suck. I usually have to dial the violence back about six notches before we can do anything. You should've seen the way he convinced me to take the bite… Sometimes, he can just be kind of stupid."

"Hey," Stiles cut a hand through the air. "You don't have to tell me about stupid plans. One time, Scott wanted to—" He suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to, which in turn reminded me. His mouth clamped shut and I quickly swung in my seat so I was facing forward, ramrod straight, staring through the windshield.

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably as I snuck a peek at Stiles. His face was hard for me to read, a peculiar mixture of embarrassment, surprise, and confusion, and I cleared my throat before nodding to the side of the road. "You can just drop me off here."

"What—here?" He glanced between the road, the side of the road, and me. Just beyond the side of the road lay woods, and I know it must seem strange to him as I nodded, but I couldn't stay in the jeep with him for much longer without suffocating.

"Yep," I simply said, my voice tight, and as he slowed and pulled to the side, I hopped out of the passenger seat before the jeep had even come to a complete stop. Stiles choked out in surprise and protest, muttering something under his breath that might've been a comment on my haste, or I don't know what, but I didn't pause to try and decipher it before swinging his door shut and waving at him briefly before striding into the woods.

Unlikely friends. Will they give each other a chance? Hmmm...