The coffee mug drops from my hands and shatters on the kitchen floor as I stare at my TV. The newswoman is talking about the Shooting at the Beacon Hills Police Station that happened last night. I'm pretty sure I stand there not moving for a few minutes before I frantically pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans. I press the 1 on my speed dial.

"Sherriff!" I shout into the phone as I immediately get voicemail. "What the fuck is going on in Beacon Hills? Are you okay? Is Stiles okay? You know what, I'll be there in…2 hours. If you are just trying to avoid me, John, I swear to God." I hang up and run into my bedroom, thankful I hadn't yet left my apartment for my morning hell, I mean run.

The packing and the drive took an expected 2 hours and with trepidation, I stare at what was my home since I was 13 years old. They have to be alive right? I would have gotten The Call from somebody. Do I ring the doorbell? Or do I just use my key? I used to live here I can just walk in. Nodding to myself, I flick the key in the lock and enter the house. There right on the couch is Stiles. Just tapping his fingers on the wood as he stares at the TV. Only there's nothing on.

"Stiles, honey? Where's Sherriff?" He looks up and his face goes completely slack. Before I know what's happening I'm tackled into a bone-breaking hug with my little nephew. "Mieczyslaw, I'm not going anywhere." I can feel him hug me even tighter. After a few more moments of this, I let go. I grasp at his shoulders and push him back so I can get a look at him. "Why are you so skinny and when did you get taller?" I try to smile to lighten what I can only imagine was a terrible day. It looks probably more like a grimace by his reaction.

"Aunt Lottie, what are you doing here? You should be in LA. Not that I'm not happy to see you. I always am but you know 2 years ago you said after college you were going to stay in LA. What happened?" Stiles rambles as he starts doing that pacing and moving his arms thing he does. While he's pacing, I start moving to the kitchen in hope that he'll follow. Knowing that he's not going to sit down any time soon, I set to work looking through their kitchen, opening more drawers than expected given their cookie making materials are in the wrong spots. While I'm doing that I pull away my brunette hair from my face into a messy updo. It's way too cumbersome despite it being shoulder-length. Sometimes I want to buzz it like Stiles.

That last question though has me turning around. I don't want to swear in front of the kid but he's seen me go through puberty so he knows I've got the worst mouth. "What the fuck! You think I wasn't going to drive up the minute I heard that there was a fucking shooting at your dad's police station?! Is he ok? He's okay right?" I lean up against the counter and stare at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, Lottie, he's fine, but you really shouldn't be here. Beacon Hills is different." He's again doing that thing where he paces and gesticulates wildly. Well, no shit, little nephew, the station got attacked by a teenager. Aha! I found their cookie-making materials!

"Well. I'm here. So get your butt over here and help me make cookies." I grab his crazy hands and drag his arms and him with it to the counter.

"Fine, Lottie." He sighs.

I squeeze his cheek, "Oh turn that frown upside down, Miecyzslaw. And get the flour." And then we get baking.

After we made cookies we ate a whole bunch and were in a food coma on the couch watching Brooklyn 99 in walks Sherriff. He sees both of us smooshed on the couch and freezes. Yeah he better.

"Sherriff." He inches his way to the couch.

"Charlotte." John responds.

I point at him as I pout, "I'm very mad at you for not calling. Eat some cookies and watch Brooklyn 99. I'm too full to yell at you." He smiles nervously grateful the yelling is abated for now.