Diss the Claim, you know the drill.

Last time:

"So he skipped school?" My dad was clearly skeptical, but his psychic waves of super-skepticism passing through the car were all that gave it away.

I shrugged instinctively, "Teenagers."

"Teenagers," he repeated in exasperation.

"Now, you're getting it!"

"Stiles, regardless, you're grounded," he said, and paper rustled on his side of the line.

Biting back my gut reaction of what and why, I sucked my lips in contemplatively for a moment. "Because I skipped practice?"

"Because I didn't know where you went, when you skipped practice."

"To be fair," I interjected, raising one finger he couldn't see authoritatively, "I didn't know where I was going, when I skipped practice." The sigh on the other end was not a good sign and I leapt ahead of myself into an ill-thought out excuse, "Wait, wait, listen. Scott hadn't been there all day, and when he's moping, he doesn't answer his phone, yeah? So I actually didn't have any idea where the hell-"

My father coughed.

"Where in the world he was," I amended, "and I just very slightly freaked out and went to go find him instead of going to practice."

"Still grounded," my father repeated firmly. Really? Here I was, offering him the actual reasons behind what I was doing, getting as close to the truth as I could without putting him in even more danger or... Erm, maybe putting Scott in more danger, and he was still grounding me? Granted, he didn't really have a clue what was going on... I grumbled internally as Common Sense rationalized his decision away. "For today."

"What?" Honestly, I'd thought he would just hang up after delivering the verdict.

"You're grounded today. Come home."

"Like, just for the rest of today?" Was I pushing it? I think I was pushing it. I should really learn when to shut up.

...Hah, hah, no. I even had myself going for a second there. Talking is like breathing; you stop, you die.

"Would you like it to be longer?"

"Nope- uh, no, sir." I hastily replied, catching sight of a familiar specimen of the local wildlife fondly referred to as my best friend and waving him over. Convenient, him showing up just then. Really, a lot of the timing in my life has been somewhat suspect, and if it weren't for my mother's solemn oath that she'd only follow me in a non-haunting manner after she died, I would probably be pulling out ouija boards to ask her what the hell she was doing. The thought of her, with my father's voice in my ear sent a little twinge through my chest that I ignored with the ease of practice. "I love you, Dad; oh- can I drive Scott home first? I'd come right home afterwards."

"Right." Completely unconvinced, huh? Well, I would drive right home; so there! Not that it would really prove him wrong or anything. "Do it. Love you, too." He hung up.

"Who was that?" Scott asked, already half in the car with a nod towards the cell phone.

"My dad. I'm grounded for the rest of today because you got shot," I told him, reigniting the engine, "But he was surprisingly cool about it when I lied about going to help you through your sudden guilt trip about breaking up with Allison."

"What?" He whined, "That's such a lame cover story."

"Hey," I said, turning to face him, "It might make your mom go easier on you." I'm good with believable cover stories, dammit.

"Still." Scott crossed his arms and settled back into his seat. I leaned across and kissed him, without warning, and after a tic, Scott reciprocated with a pleased hum.

As suddenly as I'd initiated it, I broke away, "Right, we gotta get back."

"Man, come on," Scott complained, right back to the pouting and the angst he was so easily drawn to. It was one of Scott's less endearing traits, but damn if I didn't find it the teensiest bit adorable.

As Scott rambled quietly about his Adventures With Hale: Finding the Cellphone, I listened with half an ear, thinking all the while, I must really love you.

-x-

By the time we reached his house, I'd managed to get a word in edgewise and inform him of Allison's shiny new Hunter identity, and the fact that she knew we were together. I'd expected a little backlash about that, but he'd just groaned that I liked putting myself in danger way too much for his comfort.

"Stiles, if she figures out I'm a werewolf," Scott was explaining with his serious face, "She might come after you, for leverage or something."

"I'm proud of your correct use of the word leverage."

"Stiles!"

A giggle for his indignation was okay, right? I mean, obviously Scott didn't think so if the way he was scowling was any indication, but how many times has his judgment been correct? ...Maybe that one time, when I dragged him out into the forest to look for a dead body against his will and he was savaged by a werewolf? I sobered slightly, "No, really, Scott; I get all that. It ran fleetingly through my mind behind the total panic of the moment that she was going to kick me in the nuts." Scott winced. "But, I felt like she deserved to know, and that, well, she wasn't going to take advantage of the knowledge." My eyes met dark brown to try and convey my point, "She's a good person."

He sighed and unbuckled himself, preparing to get out of the car, "Yeah, I know."

There was resignation in his tone, and I stopped him with a hand on his. "Seriously, Scott. I'll be fine." I pressed my lips briefly to his then, for emphasis, and Scott gave me a slow blink.

"You know, I'm really liking this," he informed me, and it was my turn to blink. Serious conversations in his driveway? What was he referring to? "I mean, this whole, you-kissing-me thing, instead of always me-kissing-you." Gee, thanks for answering my mental question so eloquently, Scott.

I felt my cheeks and neck grow hot as he continued looking at me, "Well, don't point it out again then, cause you're making me all self-conscious."

A grin, and he was leaning in, "But you look so good in red." Scott kissed my lips, and then my neck, and hopped out of the car. That boy had a serious fixation on my neck, and I wondered briefly how a shirt that showed off a bit more of it would affect his judgment. Shaking the unfocused plans from my head, I shifted gears and headed home. I still had to go play another game of Twenty Questions with my father tonight before I could finish my homework and sleep.

Or try to sleep. That night I tossed, and turned, and generally made my beddings into a knot a Boy Scout could be proud of. When the first rays of sunlight tickled my eyes like a hammer to the face, I couldn't say whether or not I'd slept at all. I wasn't even sure why. It's not as if I had much to worry about besides werewolves and Hunters and Alphas and my father's reaction to my sexuality and whatever the hell Dr. Deaton was. No, for some reason, I didn't think it had anything to do with the multitude of rational worries I could have been preoccupied with. Every time my eyes shut, it had felt like the darkness was pressing in on me, malevolently covering each inch of my body and pushing.

Needless to say, I was a little jittery when I made it to school that morning. Scott commented on it, but I'd already mentally confined it to the classification of "bad dream" and refused to let the details escape the box. It was a little easier in the light of day, with werewolves and Argents to distract me, to ignore it and move on, but every shadowed corner and every cloud across the sun niggled at the memory, like it was something I shouldn't just brush aside. At lunch, though, I almost stopped thinking about it, because Allison sat with us for the first time since she and Scott had broken up. Despite the fear of furry discoveries, it would have been an overall positive experience, if not for her posse.

Jackson and Lydia had come with her, for "moral support." What morals and Jackson had to do with each other, I didn't want to know. Not up to me to judge what people do with concepts in their personal time, but I couldn't imagine any healthy relationship between the two of them.

I would never like that boy.

"So," I started, after the uncomfortable silence had dragged on long enough that Scott had a total of three claws on one hand digging into my thigh. The rest of his nails and his teeth were pretty normal, interestingly enough, though he was covering the lower half of his face with his human hand, so I wasn't completely sure of the teeth. I wondered if there was a way he could have just one canine- and, focusing now. "How are you all doing?" Silence. Lovely. Jackson nonchalantly stuffed his gob as Scott stared off into the distance, still casually covering his mouth, while Lydia and Allison seemed to find the ceiling and walls, respectively, rather intriguing. "Okay, uh, anyone here heard that the newest in the line of XXtreme games is coming out this week?"

Lydia's head snapped around, "It is?" Suddenly, everyone at the table came back to reality just in time for Lydia to pause, look at her nails and repeat disinterestedly, "I mean, is it? I heard this is a Zbox 380 version, or something like that."

"Yeah, I saw a commercial for that," Allison put in, "Is that line any good?"

"It's the best," I enthused, feeling Scott's hand leave my thigh (and finger-shaped imprints behind) as he relaxed enough to begin eating. We spoke about neutral topics for the rest of lunch, the XXtreme games that Lydia was suspiciously well-informed about (she fooled no one), the upcoming lacrosse games, and different classes we were taking. It felt almost normal.

Of course, every couple of minutes or so, Allison's pendant would catch the light, or Jackson would give Scott a sideways look, and reality would poke its nose back into my thoughts. And every so often, of course, the clouds passed over the sun.

But mostly, I didn't think about that. Actually, I thought about something non-supernatural and harmless that had been bothering me for a few days now.

There was no lacrosse practice after school that day, and Scott didn't have anything going on with Hale or any leads on the Alpha, so I threw him in the car (or told him to get in and he complied, whatever) and drove out to a nearby pizzeria with the rise and fall of Scott's monologue in one ear and out the other. Or- er- I paid him the deep attention he pays me when I'm off my meds.

As we were walking to the front door, and I was texting my dearest father where I was, Scott stopped in sudden realization, further proving my hypothesis that he can't walk and think at the same time. I paused and l looked back at him questioningly, clicking send and dropping my cell into my jacket's inside pocket. "Scott, what?"

"Is this- No, this is a date," He corrected himself, "This is our first date." I imitated the "winning" bell sound effect in our favorite game show. Holding up a finger, he said, "Wait."

"Is this going to take all day?" I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my weight back on one foot. While it was amusing how easily this topic had blindsided him, it was a little nippy out and I was hungry. "We're going on a date, so we can be properly dating and also because I like cheese, and you, and this will combine the both of them. Does that about sum it up?" A moment of silence later, I lost my patience and Scott let me lead him forward by the arm, his nose still wrinkled in thought.

"I'm supposed to take you out on a date," he replied slowly, as if it were actually relevant. My laughter was rude, and not hiding it was ruder, and so perhaps Scott could be forgiven for losing his temper. "You know," he slid his fingers through my belt loops and pulled me to him with a dark expression. My laughter trailed off as he began looming again in the middle of the empty parking lot. It was getting to be a hobby of his, looming. Especially over me. Scott tilted in towards my ear, his chest just millimeters from mine and his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, "It's not nice to laugh at people, Stiles." My name slid past his lips breathily, and he nipped my ear lightly as punctuation, "Though you'll probably enjoy my revenge later." He leaned in as if to impart a kiss, and then backed away, walking towards the pizzeria entrance with a smirk playing on his lips. Almost laughing again, I followed my wayward date into the restaurant.

It was sort of like... Every single time we'd ever hung out before, but with flirting and awkwardness. When we'd passed through our millionth nervous laughs and eaten the last slice of pizza, I leaned back, my feet brushing his, "This was fun. Ridiculous, but fun."

He linked our feet, "Why ridiculous?"

I waved a hand absently, feeling my cheeks heat as I looked away, "Well, you know, it's just… We always do this kind of thing, and I realized we don't really need to call them dates to be dating."

Scott laughed and detangled his feet from mine, leaning forward, "That's true. What was with the sudden desire to label us, again?"

"I've been thinking about- all of this," I said, quietly, "And I mean, Allison already knows even, so, I want to tell my dad."

"Oh." Seeming almost taken aback, Scott very visibly thought the scenario through. I could understand if he didn't want to out us just yet, and I was about to elaborate that we could probably swear my dad into secrecy if he didn't want his mother to- "Ok. We should probably tell everyone, anyway."

My jaw worked soundlessly for a second, "What?"

"Well," Scott had settled into a didactic tone, leaning back comfortably on his side of the booth, "The only reason we're not telling anyone is fear, right? It's not like we're ashamed of each other, and to be honest, I was thinking about it, too. The danger you're put in just being my best friend is essentially equal to if they know we're dating. Plus, waiting won't make us less afraid and it won't make our family any more or less accepting when we finally tell the truth." He paused, "This does not apply to the other thing we aren't telling anyone." Shaking his head, he stood up, "We're never, ever telling anyone ever about that."

We'd already split the bill at the counter so, following his lead, I fell in step beside him, "Are we referring to your furry problem or that thing in the seventh grade with the lacrosse ball and my dad's window?"

Paling, he groaned, "Oh, my god, Stiles; I'd almost forgotten about that."

"I never will," I reassured him smugly and he sent me a mock glare, but it was swallowed by fond exasperation when I took hold of his hand, "Never." I'd gotten what I wanted with a minimum of fuss, so I was supposed to be happy, yeah? Yet, as we made the drive toward my house, I was vaguely nauseous, and sort of feeling the whole 'let's turn this car around' plan forming in the back of my mind. That bit of my brain didn't have much control over my limbs, though, because we pulled into my driveway with little delay.

Scott looked at me sidelong, "I can tell you're having second thoughts, so I thought I'd remind you that if he hits anyone, it's going to be me."

"How's that?" I asked automatically, before the rest of his run-on sentence registered, "And why would he hit you?"

"One, you haven't said anything the whole way here," Scott counted off on his fingers, "You just gripped the steering wheel harder whenever I spoke. And two," The fingers waggled at me, "He'd hit me because, being the more responsible of the two of us, I should know better than to allow you to seduce me."

I almost snorted, but instead I just let go of the steering wheel, "I really didn't say anything while I was driving? I was pretty sure I was answering you."

"I think you were having some sort of conversation," Scott twirled his finger next to his head in a gesture that implied his doubts about my sanity in a loving, eloquent way, "But it wasn't with me."

"Shut up," I shot back, but I was smiling, and Scott grinned back, hopping out of the car.

"Let's go before you wimp out," he called back, "Your dad is home, right?"

Uh, maybe?

He was. Actually, he was leaning back on the kitchen table with his arms crossed over his chest in thought just as we walked in.

Scott was pleased while I almost turned around to walk right back out the door, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back under the amused gaze of my useless father. Honestly, with the sheer amount of times my dad's just allowed Scott to manhandle me, you'd think he already approved of our relationship.

"Stiles has something to say to you," Scott announced grandly, and then stepped back out of the range of fire. I hoped Dad would shoot him in the leg, just because. What? He'd heal. Sending these murderous thoughts telepathically to Scott, I inhaled deeply.

"So, you know how the other day I was getting all up in your face about your political leanings and stuff, and I was asking about gay rights and you told me you thought they deserved them?" I released in one breath.

Being a veteran in Stiles-speak, my father took only a few moments to decipher the mass of words I'd thrown at his face like a spitball and nodded, already looking suspicious, "What about it?"

How could I phrase this that would get both the gay and Scott out in the open in the most rip-off-the-bandage approach possible? Oh. I spread my arms in the universal gesture of honesty and said, "I'm dating Scott." Speech done, my hands dropped back to my sides, and a shrug worked its sneaky way into the equation as an unspoken, 'what can you do?' Even then, I could see Scott just in my peripheral vision struggling with the desire to laugh or to hide behind me while my father stared impassively at my completely-honest face.

Suddenly, the stare off ended when my father blinked (I won) and shook his head, pushing off the table before re-crossing his arms, "Very funny, Stiles, but you're not gay."

That was an interesting counter-argument."No, Dad; I'm seriously dating Scott."

"It's true," Scott finally piped up, receiving my mental waves of back-me-the-fuck-up-Scott that had been emanating from somewhere in my central brain. "We even hold hands." The message must have gotten mixed up somewhere along the way, because that was clearly sarcasm my cute little best buddy was throwing around, and I had been hoping for something that would actually convince my skeptically eyebrow-raising father.

"Okay, wait, ignore Scott's utter unhelpfulness for a second and listen to me with your super cop powers of perception," I instructed. He gestured for me to continue once he'd activated them- or maybe he was just impatiently waving for me to get to the point- and I reiterated, "I am dating Scott." Another blank stare. "I can just keep repeating this until it sinks in, if that's what it takes."

"Hold on," our dear Beacon Hills sheriff raised a meaty paw, "You're actually dating Scott?"

I took a second, then nodded like a bobble head, "Yeah; yeah, I think I just said that, if I'm not totally losing my mind."

Dad pointed from Scott to me, "You're dating my son?" When Scott nodded, his eyebrows furrowed and he asked, "Why?"

"What- Dad!"

I was ignored as Scott pondered, "Well, he's both funny and super intelligent, for one."

"Scott!" Wait, that had been a compliment.

"I like being around him, I like who I am around him and-" Scott's gaze flickered to me for a second and his tongue wet his lips nervously as he remembered himself, "And reasons I respectfully don't think I should share with you, Mr. Stilinski, if I want to keep my body mostly intact." That was actually vaguely sweet. Or very sweet. Or Scott just rolled around in a vat of sugar and poured on some maple syrup for good measure- up until the end, anyway.

A fleeting grimace contorted my father's face as Scott's not very well hidden meaning sank in, but he was back to all business a second following. Dad's eyes were piercing both of us as he demanded of Scott, "You really like him?"

"Yes," Scott answered without hesitation, and with an unnecessarily firm nod of the head. I would've felt all warm and fuzzy, but he'd yet to step forward into my dad's swinging range, so I held off.

Turning to me decisively, my father stated, "I need to speak with you, privately, Stiles."

"Uh, no," I replied without thinking, amending when he just looked at me as if I were insane, "I mean, I'd rather there were witnesses if you decided you weren't okay with homosexuality, after all."

"Stiles…" He said warningly, but his accompanying sigh rather undermined the effect. Glancing at Scott, he leaned back against the table again, "Fine, but you brought this on yourself. I am entirely disappointed in you, Stiles." Well, it was better than 'I have no son.' Scott evidently didn't think so, as he ducked his head to hide a supernatural eye flash. "Leading Scott on like this- I thought I raised you to respect others' feelings more than that!"

Wait, what? I shook my head slightly like the image would blur and fade into a dream, but even when I squinted, everything remained the same, so I reiterated aloud, "Wait, what?"

"I know you're at that age where you," And here his voice grew hushed, "Where you want to experiment, but with your best friend? Just because he's gay doesn't mean you can take advantage of him like that-"

"The fuck!" I blurted, clasping my hands over my mouth as the other two occupants of the room looked just as surprised as I was. Lowering my voice consciously, I hissed, "I'm not leading him on! I'm dating him! I thought I'd got through to you, but I guess not because then you'd realize I wouldn't ever experiment with Scott! I love him!" A moment of silence for the remains of my dignity slipping from me as I blushed like a cherry tomato.

"Oh, screw it," Scott breathed before turning me around by the shoulders and kissing me so forcefully, I nearly forgot my dad's presence in the room behind me. I was only just starting to get into it when Dad tried to support himself against the table with his hand, missed, and nearly fell over with a slight clatter that brought Scott and I up for air.

His mouth was just barely open and his eyes were wide with shock, so I figured he needed some time to himself to think things over. I wracked my brain for the right thing to say, but my mouth leaped ahead of me with, "Told you so; see you later, Dad!" And I ran from the house, pulling a laughing Scott along behind me.

"I love you, too," he managed between giggles, "Can we do the same thing to my mom?"

I practically threw him in the car, "Gets us away from my dad before he blows, so- why not!"

It wasn't even near a repeat, actually. Scott called Ms. McCall to see where she was, and she'd distractedly informed him she'd be home at seven. This gave us a little time to calm down (Scott from his inappropriate case of the giggles and myself from the near heart-attacks I was having every couple of minutes) and plan out a better reveal. Naturally, we did nothing of the sort and watched a movie to further procrastinate any sort of mental work on our parts. It was a pretty fantastic movie, and we'd both gotten somewhat absorbed in it when Melissa got home.

"Hi boys!" She'd called, business as usual, as she walked past the front room to hang her purse from the post at the end of the railing, but backtracked for a moment rather than reach her goal to stare at us with an uncomfortable kind of focus.

"Hi Mom," Scott replied distractedly, the fact that his arm was around my waist and my legs were draped over his on the cassock flying right over his head as he winced at the main character getting slammed into the wall by the antagonist.

"Scott's got something he'd like to tell you," I mimicked dutifully, "But he's being an idiot right now."

"What?" I could actually watch the comprehension dawn in Scott's eyes as he tore his gaze from the television. It was beautiful- looked like vengeance and justice all rolled into one and I memorized the expression vindictively for future gloating. At least, until he spoke. "Oh, right; I'm in love with Stiles." He punctuated the remark with a chaste press of lips against mine as proof and finished with, "Ta-da."

Ms. McCall sat down on the unoccupied armchair heavily, her forgotten purse thumping to the ground between her feet, "Really?"

"Sorry, Mom," Scott explained, sobering, "With the way Stiles' jump out of the closet went, I felt like I should at least try to make mine go half as horribly wrong." I shifted uneasily at the reminder and pulled away to sit a full centimeter away from the other boy. Such independence. Much healthy relationship.

"What happened?" She asked, numbly.

"He thought Stiles was taking advantage of my love for him to experiment with his sexuality," Scott said slowly, sneaking peeks at me to check my reaction without attempting to bring me back. Sadly, I appreciated it. With the movie rolling, I'd managed to stop thinking about it, but I had no idea what I was going home to later. A little physical space was nice when I really just wanted to go be alone for a while and wonder how I'd managed to screw up something so simple as telling the truth.

"Uh…" Melissa laughed awkwardly, "Well, then." She cleared her throat, "I'm sorry he reacted that way. I've got a few questions, though," her voice steadied, "And I'd like you both to answer them."

"What are they?" Scott made as if to cover my hand with his, nearly redirected, and then finished the movement with a look of pleased realization. Hopefully, he wouldn't take the whole "tell everyone" idea to be a good excuse for wolfy-fueled super clinginess. Normal Scott clinginess was more than enough for me. Not to even think about my dad's reactions. Taking advantage of Scott, my ass…

"How long has this been going on?"

"A… Month?" Scott tried, "Since I broke up with Allison?"

Melissa gave him a searching look, "Is this why you broke up with Allison?" At Scott's nod, Ms. McCall sat back with a sigh, "I suppose you haven't told her yet."

"I told her," I admitted with no little unease, "Saying nothing became lying and I just didn't like it." A little of the tension left me when Scott's hand tightened once over mine.

"Alright," Melissa rubbed her temples, "Now, I don't like asking this, but you two both know you still have to practice safe sex even though-?"

"Ms. McCall!" I stopped her, red-faced with one hand out in front of me, and Scott was blushing just as vividly, despite his darker complexion, "Not a necessary talk! We totally understand!"

"At least, now, I know you're both still virgins," she muttered, and Scott covered his burning face with one hand in embarrassment. "One more question," she pressed on, and Scott emerged slightly, one eye visible between his fingers, "How did this even happen?"

"Well, it all started with that promise I extracted from Scott in sixth grade to never leave me," I began grandly, blush fading with the cooling balm of almost-sarcasm.

I expected a laugh. Melissa startled, however, and interjected, "The Sheriff and I always thought Scott got you to make that promise. You really…?"

A~and the blush was back. "I was jealous and I thought I was losing my best friend to some random crush and this was supposed to lighten the mood, not turn into an embarrass-Stiles fiesta." I freed my hand from Scott's and crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against his shoulder more roughly than necessary since both he and his mother looked ready to laugh at me if their self control let up for a split second.

"Really, though," Scott calmed, already warming up to the topic, "For me, I realized something was weird the first time Stiles held my hand to calm me down. I remember thinking, 'Am I supposed to feel this happy?' and trying to brush it off as a brotherhood sort of feeling. From then, I just kinda over-thought everything we did and eventually I snapped and kissed him-"
"Twice," I interjected without thinking, and Scott nodded.

"Yeah, and the second time I was completely sure that I really wanted to be with Stiles," he shrugged and I had to fight the simultaneous urges to kiss him senseless or deck him for embarrassing me.

"That… Was very cute, boys," Melissa decided, but fixed us with her steadiest gaze, "But you know, the first love isn't usually your last. I want you two to be happy, and I know every teenager thinks they're going to stay with their first sweetheart forever. I'm not telling you that you can't beat the odds or something, but I am saying to remember your friendship, and to make that the base of whatever way your relationship flows. Okay?"

"We're still best friends, Ms. McCall," I assured her, "And that's not likely to change any time soon." Scott kissed my cheek fondly and I wondered if a talk about our respective attitudes towards PDA should be worked into our busy, busy schedule.

"Well, good," She stood up with hands on her knees for balance, and patted the front of her trousers as if she were clearing them of dirt, an air of finality about her, "And no more sleepovers. I wouldn't let Scott have a girlfriend overnight as a sophomore, and I won't let him have a boyfriend overnight either."

"Not even for all-night movie marathons?" Scott hedged, and his mother shot him a look.

"Especially not all-night movie marathons," she confirmed, "I know what teenagers get up to in a dark room with a movie playing."

"In our defense," I put in instinctively, "We were just watching this movie, in a dark room when you came in and were obviously not up to anything." I gestured to the screen where the protagonist was raising some chalice above his head triumphantly and amended, "But I get your point."

Melissa snorted in a distinctly Scott-like sound and left the room, shaking her head, "You go home by ten, Stiles."

"Gotcha," I muttered, and Scott wrapped an arm around me, folding me closer.

I waited for his soothing words of wisdom, sure they would ease my mild irritation. "We can always Skype," he said. And by Skype, he meant, climb in one another's bedroom windows in the dark of the night, of course.

My father called me at nine on my cell and demanded that I return to our shared domicile.

When I relayed this knowledge, Scott volunteered to go with me but Melissa and I shot him down like a lame duck. Instantly regretting this, I spent the drive home anxiously bouncing the leg not intimately involved with the whole driving process. I was say, ninety-eight percent sure I wasn't going to be in for any physical trauma, but add in emotional damage and that certainty dropped to a low ten.

"Should I go drive off into the distance and live in the woods for the rest of my life, Jeepy?" I asked the true love of my life tenderly. The check engine light came on and I frowned, refocusing on the road, "Fine, but I'll have you know Survivorman took his lessons at my knee."

I wasn't looking forward to a new form of Dad's patented Stilinski Twenty Questions.

Welcome back to the in-progress point of the story. Nothing has been written past this point as of now. So, for those of you that haven't, click that story alert!