I'd never been in a transport van before, but it wasn't all that different from what I'd seen in movies. The entire cab was encased in silver, bulletproof metal, a bench built into either side. There were four loopholes in the floor, each connected to a long length of chained handcuffs—and on the end of that chain sat Jackson.

He was still as shirtless as he'd been the previous night, though it seemed the cuts and slashes he'd gotten from Derek had vanished. Stiles also must've taken the liberty of cleaning the blood off him, which I thought was pretty funny. If nothing else, I was sure I'd be hearing the horror story of Stiles trying to put sweatpants on a naked, unconscious Jackson later.

"Your boyfriend is a dead man," Jackson hissed, glaring at the door as if he could see through it to the other side.

I rolled my eyes as and took a seat opposite him. "Yeah, well I'm surprised you aren't. Derek and the Argents did a number on you last night."

"I already told Stilinski! I didn't do anything last night! All I know is that I agreed to help you guys on your stupid mission to protect Lydia from Derek and his whacked up henchmen, and now you've got me chained up inside a fucking van in the middle of the woods! If you think I'm not gonna get out and sue all your asses then—"

"We're more concerned about you getting out and killing people at the moment, so. Thanks for the warning, but you're stuck here."

"I didn't kill anybody!"

"How did you get here?"

Jackson stopped at my question, glaring at me for all he was worth—however little that was.

"You and your stupid little friends locked me up, you bitch."

"No, I mean, physically. You came over to Scott's house and then what? How did we lock you up? Do you even remember what happened?"

"I…you…you probably attacked me from behind or something! Why the hell should I know how I woke up in a police van?!"

"Well, what's the last thing you remember?"

He was silent for a few seconds. I thought it was just ignorance for a moment, struggling with the reality that he had to think so hard to remember what he'd been doing. Then I saw his jaw clench and his arms tense in his lap. His eyes darted shiftily around the van, avoiding me at all costs, like he knew what he'd been doing, but didn't want to talk about it.

"Jackson," I prompted.

"I…I was kissing Lydia. Then I got this massive headache, which was probably one of you hitting me—"

"Stop." I gaped at him, rage tearing its way to the surface. "I'm sorry, I—did you just say you were kissing Lydia?"

Jackson rolled his eyes at me. "Wow, congratulations on your ears. Did you just get those? Yes, I said I was kissing Lydia. You asked me to help because you knew I still cared about her."

"No!" I shouted, and the sound reverberated around the van. "No, you don't—don't you fucking dare turn this around on me! I begged you to come along because you finally admitted that you gave a shit if she died, and because I didn't have any better options! She's your ex-girlfriend, you piece of shit! You—you dumped her for your own selfish fucking motives, and now you wanna play the lovesick card? No. No, I asked you to watch her, not make out with her and fuck with her head when she's already falling apart at the seams! I didn't ask you to screw with her when I know you don't have any intention of getting back together!"

"And how the hell would you know that?" Jackson challenged with a snarl. "Huh? You don't know me!"

"Oh ho, yes I do, Jackson. You're way too proud to ever admit that you fucked up. Maybe that's part of the reason you can't even turn into a werewolf right."

"Listen, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I was the one who got cheated here! Derek told me the bite would heal over, and then I'd be a wolf, just like him and McCall. Whatever happened here, it's his fault! Not mine!"

"Right. Of course. Nothing could ever be your fault! Well if it's Derek, how come Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are all okay, huh? 'Cause they can transform just fine."

"I don't know! Maybe he just didn't want to give me what he promised. That's all any of you seem to want."

"This isn't about what we want, Jackson!" I clenched my hands into fists, trying to stop them from latching onto his neck and throttling him. "This is about you, and the people dying left and right because you won't admit to yourself that something is wrong! You are the kanima and you're killing people!"

"No, I'm not!"

I was almost taken aback by the desperation in his voice. Jackson didn't seem to hear it, or notice how his whole body was suddenly shaking as he fought to form words.

"Look, I—I don't know what went wrong, but I'm not turning into a lizard and killing people. I'm not turning into anything. The bite…the bite didn't work."

I shook my head at him. "You don't believe that."

"Derek told me himself, okay?! I have black blood pouring out of pretty much every place it could, and he told me that my body was rejecting the bite. I don't know what happened, but it—didn't—work."

"Derek also knows the bite either kills you or turns you. You're not dead, so clearly you turned into something."

"What about Lydia?" he demanded. "She got bit by an Alpha. If she's immune, why can't I be?"

"Because she's not the one showing signs of being a shifter," I snapped. "You don't have the scratches on the back of your neck anymore. You don't have a mark from Derek's bite. I saw you practically bleeding out last night, and this morning you healed just fine. Jackson, you were in a room with Lydia and then you weren't. Two seconds later, the kanima was. It's you, whether you like it or not."

"Right. Don't you think I'd know if I was running around on all fours, climbing walls and flicking my tail at people? All I know is that I went to bed on the full moon and I woke up in my bed. Nothing happened. At all."

"You've gotta stop lying, Jackson," I sighed, shaking my head. "I know about the video."

"What?" Jackson's fury disappeared. For a moment, he almost looked scared. "How did you—"

"Lydia. She told me you were trying to blame her. You took a video of yourself on the full moon, and some parts are missing. You know that something is happening to you, and you don't know what it is. So stop playing dumb."

Jackson let out a long breath, leaning his head back against the wall of the van. I knew he was smart enough to realize something wasn't right. Maybe he didn't want to admit it, but he knew. The black blood, the lost time, the headaches—none of that was part of being a werewolf. But none of it was part of being human either.

"I'm just trying to help, Jackson," I sighed into the silence. "If you'd just been honest and come to us earlier, we could have been helping you from the start."

"Right," he scoffed at the ceiling. "You already made it pretty clear that you don't want to help me. You hated me from the moment I said I wanted the bite. You expect me to believe you would have helped?"

"I hated that you weren't thinking things through," I said tersely. "You're still not thinking things through. When things like this go wrong, you're not the only person who gets hurt. Anyone can get hurt, even when things go right. And as angry and…frustrated as I would have been with you, I wouldn't have risked that. I wouldn't have wanted you to go through any of this alone. None of us would."

Jackson lifted his head. It was one of the rare times I saw him with his guard down. I think he was so surprised by my answer that he completely forgot his façade. It hadn't occurred to him that telling anyone about the bite was an option, either because he thought he didn't need anyone or because he thought we hated him too much to care. It was probably a bit of both.

We stared at each other for a few seconds before he shook his head.

"So, what? Now you're gonna waste your time trying to tell me I was out trying to kill Danny last night?"

"Well, I don't know if you were trying to kill him," I conceded. "So far, you haven't tried to kill me, either. But he did get checked into the hospital. He only got out about an hour ago."

I watched with satisfaction as Jackson's skin paled to a clammy white.

"Seriously? What the hell happened?"

"You did. He went out to a club called Jungle so he could forget about Bryan dumping him, then you showed up and paralyzed almost a dozen people with your venom. I think you can remember how awful that must've felt for them."

He recoiled just the slighted, his eyes sinking to the floor of the vehicle. I expected some pushback, but he didn't argue the point. Instead he sighed, and said, "I didn't even know they broke up again."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "They've been pretty rocky since formal. I don't know if it was the attack or, uh…the fact that Scott broke up their dance to hide from Finstock."

His head was hung low, but I heard the slight puff of air from his laugh. It almost made me smile.

"Why are you trying to help me?" Jackson looked up at me, trying to glare, but there wasn't any strength behind it. He just squinted, betraying how much the question was bothering him. "If I'm just a shitty person, why bother?"

"Ha, I don't know if you've noticed, but you've kind of racked up a body count. I'm doing a public service."

"Then kill me." It wasn't a challenge. His voice was stone cold even, so matter-of-fact that it made me frown. "You think I'm that dangerous, that's the simple solution. Why not?"

"Because…killing someone is a lot harder than it looks."

Jackson stopped dead. He even sat back in his seat, leaning away from me with wide eyes. "Wait, you…you haven't…did you seriously kill someone?"

"No." It felt good to say it. I had so much more conviction now than I had a few weeks ago. "I didn't kill anyone. But I thought I had. And having a hand in someone's death, even when I wasn't the one who did it, even when that person was a terrible, manipulative, psychotic, murdering jackass…that tore me up. For weeks. And I don't really want to go through that again."

He nodded, turning that over in his head. I was hoping we could leave it at that, but with Jackson, it was never that simple.

"And that's it?" he prompted. "Nothing else?"

I pursed my lips. There was something else, but I wasn't about to get into it with Jackson. I was too proud to admit that, just like with Kate, there was a part of me that was holding onto the good times I'd had with him, that thought he might still be redeemable. I'd never say that to his face. So I said the next best thing.

"Lydia." He seemed to soften at her name, his whole body sagging by a few centimeters even as he fought to keep his face passive. "Apparently, she's seen some incredible good in you that she can't let go of. She honestly cares about you and losing you would probably kill her. You're already killing her—dumping her, screaming at her, blaming her, kissing her and then running away again. You fuck her over again and again, and I hate you for it, but I'm not going to let you die if there's something I can do about it. I can't do that if Lydia still wants a world here you're breathing."

The words hung in the air for a few good minutes. I wanted them to be a lie. I wanted Lydia to get over Jackson, because I knew she could be so much happier without him. It was just hard to see that when, once upon a time, she'd been so happy with Jackson. They'd been happy together. Then Jackson had fucked everything up by being a selfish prick. Until he got an entirely new personality and set of morals, that wasn't going to change.

"I hope you don't expect me to thank you after a speech like that," he snorted at last.

"Jackson, I've never expected you to thank me for anything," I said, managing a bitter smile. "I just want you to think about it. None of us know what's happening, but we're closer than you are. So stay here and try not to be too much of an asshole. We're trying to find a way to protect everyone from you, and to protect you from Derek and the Argents."

He scoffed and looked away, but there was no outright denial. I figured that meant I'd made at least a little bit of progress.

"I'll grab you some food before I come back for my lizard-sitting shift, maybe some clothes and something to do. You want to watch The Notebook on my laptop?"

"Very funny," he shot with a glare, and I grinned.

"I try. I'll talk to you later."

"Sadie," he said, making me pause just before I opened the door. "There's…there are some things I can do now. The healing, hearing. I know what a lie sounds like now. So you can lie to yourself, but…you can't lie to me."

I stared at him as his lips twitched up into the smallest smirk, and for a moment, he wasn't just Jackass Whittemore; he was the Jackson I remembered. The Jackson who'd grudgingly let me control the radio on the way home from the beach. The Jackson who'd ragged on me for liking football and taught me the rules to lacrosse. The Jackson who'd hung up party decorations with me and saved me from Dylan Peters and carried me out of the ruins of the video store. For a moment, he was almost the Jackson Whittemore I used to be friends with, and I was almost happy to see him.

"Whatever, Jackass."

I jumped out of the van and slammed the door behind me.

My feet hit a forest floor that was darker than it had been when I climbed into the vehicle. Evening was falling fast, the moon and stars making their first appearances in the sky overhead. Scott, Allison, and Stiles were congregated by Allison's car, talking in hushed voices. They looked up when I slammed the door, mouths clamping shut. Scott recovered first, and gave me a bracing smile.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, and I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever. Don't me do it again. Who's taking first watch?"

"I'm gonna stay here with Scott," said Allison. I pretended to be surprised for a moment, making her grin. "You and Stiles should get out of here."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Stiles agreed. "I've been out here all day. I need civilization. And a real bathroom. We'll see you guys in a few hours."

He wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me toward the Jeep, opening the passenger door and helping me up as always. He ran around to the driver's side, started the car, and we were speeding away before I even had my seatbelt on.

"So, I think I might've gotten through to Jackson," I started. "I was—"

"That's great, but I honestly can't hear about it right now. I mean, I'm glad you got somewhere with the Lizard King, but I've spent the last twenty-four hours with him, and if I hear his name again, I think I might puke."

"Fair enough," I said with a grin. "How are you?"

"Hungry, a little bit antsy. But you and I, Miss Bennet, are free for hours. So what do you want to do? We could go out and get dinner, we could have a movie marathon, we could go—"

"I think I want to go home."

Stiles's sentence died in his throat, and I could see the disappointment when he looked over at me. "Are you sure? I mean, we could—"

"I just want to talk to Lydia. She's mad at me because I ditched her for another study session, which she now knows is just code for whatever we're lying about. And apparently Jackson was messing with her head yesterday and—"

"And you're worried about her," he finished with a sigh. "I get it."

I gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Thank you."

Stiles didn't really reply. He mirrored my expression, then turned back toward the road.

The rest of the ride was quiet. I was a bit talked-out from Jackson, honestly. The conversation had been emotionally exhausting for me, and part of me was ready to collapse into bed and not get up until it was my turn on watch. More than that, I needed to be with Lydia. It'd been one thing when she said she'd been talking to Jackson, but now I knew they'd been kissing…her head had to be spinning. I knew I couldn't confront her about it, because that would mean I'd talked to Jackson, even though she knew full well that Jackson hadn't been in school. That would lead to lots of questions I didn't feel comfortable answering right now.

All I wanted was to sit with my best friend and do something normal, if she would let me. I wanted to salvage the last bit of friendship we had, even though she was trusting me less and less every day. I would just sit with her and watch a movie, like we had over the summer when we were first getting to know each other. That was all I wanted—but I didn't even get that.

I looked out the window as Stiles killed the engine, only to find that we weren't sitting in front of my house. We were parked in front of the Stilinski house, the windows dark and quiet. I knew the sheriff wouldn't be home. He was probably out looking for the teenage boy we'd kidnapped.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

But I already had a pretty good idea what was happening. I remembered my friends grouped around the car, how they'd stopped talking the moment I walked out. The way people stop talking when they're talking about you and they don't want you to know it. Just the thought of it narrowed my eyes into slits, and I could already feel my nails digging into my palms.

"I'm sorry…"

"No! Stiles, no! Turn the Jeep back on right now and drive me home!"

"I can't, okay?!"

"Yes, you can! Put the key in the goddamn ignition, start the car, and drive!"

"Sadie, I can't take you back home," he sighed, wiping his hands down his face.

"Why not?!"

"Because you're gonna tell Lydia!"

"I really wasn't! But now that you mention it—"

"You can't, Sadie! We're just—we know how much you love her. I get it, she's your best friend, but you cannot tell her what is happening right now."

"Of course not." I glowered at him, my teeth grinding together so forcefully I wouldn't have been surprised if he heard it. "What happened to you being on my side?"

Stiles flinched, as if the simple question had been a physical assault. I was so angry that I didn't care. He set his jaw and fixed me with a look of determination.

"Sadie, if you tell her right now, the only thing she's gonna hear is that we have Jackson. You know that."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't deserve to know! If you just let me explain—"

"She's not gonna let you explain, Sadie! All she's gonna care about is that Jackson is in trouble, and then she's gonna call the cops, tell them that it's us, and they're gonna bring us in and let him out and he's gonna kill more people. Do you honestly think that you can convince her that he's a freaking shapeshifter before she picks up the phone?"

"Stiles," I spat, "bring me home. Right now."

"I'm sorry," he said yet again. "I can't do that. Please, just come inside and we—"

"Stiles, I'm not leaving this car until you bring me home!"

"Sadie, please! I get why you're mad, I do, but please come be mad inside my house."

"No," I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "No, if you want to go inside so much, that's fine. Go. I'm not moving."

"Come on, Sadie…"

"Leave me alone, Stiles! Just go!"

Stiles sighed, but scrambled away from my rage. He leapt out of car and watched me for a few seconds from the pavement. I didn't bother looking at him. Eventually he closed the door, mumbling another apology before he walked up to the house. He stood on the porch for a few minutes, then went inside, closing the front door behind him.

I was so angry that I could hardly breathe. Not just at Stiles. I was mad at everyone. I was mad at everything. I was mad at my own existence. All I wanted to do was have a little bit of a normal life. I wanted to be able to hang out with my best friend, and that wasn't something I'd been able to do for a long time. All the danger, my fears, the secrets I'd been keeping—they seemed to have sucked up my whole life. It'd been pulled into this giant vacuum and tumbled around, thrown out of order and upside down and left me clutching to anything that passed just to keep some fragment of my sanity.

I couldn't have a normal day at school. I could hardly have a conversation with anyone without lying about how I was. Now I wasn't even allowed to be alone with my best friend in case I spilled the magic beans. Of course everyone was sorry. They didn't want me to be mad at them, but they didn't trust me. Even after everything they'd said, they didn't trust me to keep a secret. I was watching my relationship with my best friend disintegrate right before my eyes, and no one would let me do a damn thing about it.

I honestly felt like if I could just go home and ask her if she wanted to watch a movie, if she wanted to give me a horrendous makeover, listen to old music, anything at all, it might help the situation. It wasn't just the lies that was killing her, though it certainly wasn't helping any. It was the isolation. It was the fact that her friends were so afraid they'd let something slip that they weren't talking to her at all. Everyone else she knew, the peers who had once revered her, were now whispering behind her back and asking if she was crazy. For someone so concerned with her image, who was so good at hiding that her deepest fear was being unwanted, it was all too much. She was starting to feel like she didn't have anyone, like she really was crazy, and I wanted more than anything to prove her wrong.

I stayed in the Jeep for a long time. I watched the sky get darker, morphing through a different range of colors as time passed. The lights in the house were on now, windows shining brightly and letting me peer inside whenever my resolve broke. Sometimes I'd catch Stiles's silhouette in the window, watching the car just as anxiously as I was watching the house. I wanted to check the time, but I couldn't will myself to move. Every inch felt like I was breaking my word, even if I was still in the car. What good was refusing to leave if I was going to distract myself from my anger by playing on my phone or daring to stretch out my limbs?

A while later, Stiles reappeared on the porch. I didn't let myself get too excited, since I couldn't see the Jeep keys in his hands. He wasn't driving me home just yet, but he was carrying a few other things.

Stiles pulled the driver's door open, sighing when I refused to look at him.

"Okay, so I brought you a sweatshirt, in case it starts getting cold out here. And I know you haven't really eaten that much today, so I brought you a water bottle and a bowl of popcorn, buttered and salted to what I'm pretty sure is your taste. I was scrolling through the channels and Spider-Man is coming on in a couple minutes if you wanna watch. I'd obviously love it if you came inside to watch with me, but I shifted the TV as best as I could, so you should be able to watch through the window if you wanna stay out here. Is that okay?"

I felt like my chest was about to explode from the effort it took to swallow my response, but somehow, I was able to stay silent.

"Okay, uh…I'll be inside if you change your mind…"

He hesitated for a moment longer and then shut the door again. He walked slowly up to the house, like he was waiting for me to jump out of the car and come running after him; I was too angry for that. I was too angry to eat the food he brought me. I was definitely too angry to tuck myself into one of his comfy, nice smelling sweatshirts. Instead, I let him trudge inside and close the door again.

At least, I wanted to think that I was too angry, but the longer time dragged on, the more I resigned myself to the fact that I was probably just too proud. I was shivering from head to toe, and my stomach wouldn't stop growling. I hadn't had breakfast, and I'd been too nervous to eat lunch when the cafeteria was under surveillance. The popcorn smelled delicious, but every time I looked at it, I felt guilty.

The worst part was knowing that Stiles was partially right. I wanted to believe that if I told Lydia what was happening right now, her concern for Jackson would be enough to suspend her disbelief. On the other hand, there was every chance we'd all wind up getting arrested. She could think I was making fun of her and call the sheriff before I could blink, or else have me committed. Really convincing Lydia would mean having Scott or Derek by my side as proof, putting her in an environment where she couldn't deny the supernatural, but couldn't run away either. Right now, we'd just managed to work ourselves into another time-sensitive situation where the argument against telling Lydia was stronger than the case for it.

Of course, that didn't mean that Allison, Scott, and Stiles were right, I thought—even as I pulled Stiles's sweatshirt over my head. They were still awful and I was incredibly mad at them. I had a brain. I knew how to assess the risks, and I could hang out with Lydia without telling her the truth. I'd been doing it all year, hadn't I? They could at least let me hang out with her under their supervision. Never leaving me alone with Lydia was annoying enough, but not letting me see her at all was just…

"Stupid," I grumbled, popping another piece of popcorn in my mouth.

I let my gaze wander over to the window, where I had a pretty good view of both the television and the back of Stiles's head. He was bouncing animatedly while he stared at the screen, his arms a blur as he waved them around, yelling at the screen. He jumped up and down, shot fake webs from his hands, and pretended to swing around the room. He hopped up on the couch at one point and promptly fell over the back and out of sight. I was laughing before I could stop myself, snorting into the popcorn.

It didn't occur to me at the time, but Stiles was almost certainly overacting for my benefit. I watched him watch the movie, a grudging smile on my face as I finished off the water bottle and reached for another handful of popcorn. Instead, my fingers grazed the crumbs at the bottom of the bowl.

I looked down, startled to find that in my internal monologue of rage, I'd managed to eat the whole bowl of popcorn. The water bottle lay empty on the chair beside me, and I was sufficiently cozy in Stiles's sweatshirt. I looked back to the house, debating. I was still mad, but that didn't mean I had to be cold, hungry, and lonely too.

I walked cautiously up the driveway, belongings in hand. I hesitated for one more moment before knocking on the door. The shouting inside stopped, and a minute later, Stiles opened the front door. He looked almost as nervous as I did.

"I um…I finished my popcorn…"

I quietly lifted my plastic bowl and looked at him from under my eyelashes. Stiles looked at it for a moment before his face stretched into a smile. Not a victorious one, or a smug I-told-you-so. Just pure, innocent happiness.

"That's okay. We can share."

He stepped aside, letting me into the house and closing the door behind us.

Sitting inside was definitely a better decision than sitting in the car. Stiles got another bowl of popcorn and let me keep his sweatshirt even though I was warm. He plopped down next to me on the couch and hesitantly wrapped an arm around my shoulders. When I didn't protest, he pulled me a little closer, sinking his back against the couch and letting me lean on his chest. It was the classical couple-watching-a-movie position, and it was nice…for the first few minutes.

The problem was that Stiles and I were both pretty animated people. We wanted to quote and mock gestures and mime out movements to our hearts' content, and it was hard to do that while I was cuddling with Stiles. It wound up that I sank down on the floor, leaning my head back on the cushions and occasionally catching bits of popcorn that Stiles threw at my face. Stiles somehow ended up upside down on the couch. He had his feet thrown over the back and his head hanging down next to mine.

"You know, I heard they nearly drowned Toby Maguire during this part of the movie," he told me, his voice strained from the angle of his head.

On screen, MJ and Peter were standing and hanging respectively in an alley, rain pouring down from the sky and soaking them both through.

"Really?" I asked, grabbing another piece of popcorn from the bowl behind my head.

"Mhm. He had to hang upside down in the harness, and because they were using one of those Hollywood rain machines, the raindrops were really big and they kept getting up his nose. Nearly killed him."

"Fascinating."

Stiles grinned, pinching his nose closed. "Yeh, he ehnded up haffin' to whar noz plugs."

I laughed as he pulled a ridiculous kissy face and leaned forward. I had to swat him back, one arm holding my stomach to counter the pain in my side from giggling. Stiles chuckled, letting his arms drop to the floor and turning back to the movie. But I didn't. I watched him—the easy grin, the moles on his face, the pink cheeks that were now positively red from hanging upside down so long.

"How do you do that?"

"Hm?" He looked back at me, his eyes wide with confusion.

"I'm supposed to be mad at you."

His expression softened, a flash of regret shooting over his face, but he still smiled.

"Have you met me? If I didn't know how to keep people from being mad at me when they have every right to be, I'd probably be dead by now."

I smiled back at him, watching as his eyes flicked over my face. Slowly, I pushed myself up onto my knees and turned my back on the television. My thumbs grazed along his jaw as I grabbed both sides of his face, and then I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his.

We fumbled, to say the least. We were still working on the kissing thing, and had been making some incredible progress, but turning everything upside down made things a little difficult. My chin smacked into Stiles's nose and he was slowly losing his grip on the couch. He went for my bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. Then he slipped and accidentally bit me.

I hissed and pulled back, trying to suppress my giggles. "Sorry. That's a lot harder than it looks."

"H-hey, you—you don't have to apologize to me," said Stiles, swallowing thickly. "I'm uh—I'm have a grand old time up here. It's a nice spot."

He stole a glance down my shirt and my lips pulled into a smirk. I lifted my hand again, dragging a finger from his jaw down the column of his over-exposed throat.

"Well, Mr. Parker, why don't you swing down here so I can kiss you properly?"

"Swing…?" His throat bobbed underneath his finger as he gulped. "You want me to—yeah—yeah, I can—I can do tha—ahh!"

In his haste to scramble down, Stiles lost his grip on the couch again. He slipped off the seat head-first, his back slamming into the ground as he fell into a tangled pile of limbs in front of me, flailing as he tried to remember which way was up. I leaned back to avoid getting kicked, desperately trying to hold back my giggles.

"Oh, ha ha," he shot with a glare. "Very funny. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," I admitted.

He looked like he was going to complain, but I leaned in before he could. I caught his bottom lip just as he'd done to me a minute before; that seemed to silence any grievance he had.

Stiles surged forward and it became almost all I could do to keep up while remembering to breathe. He was trying push himself up onto his knees, grabbing the sweatshirt I was wearing and using it as an anchor to lift himself up, but that also reminded me of the heavy sweatshirt I didn't want to be wearing. I pulled back, ignoring his small noise of disappointment and grabbing the bottom of the hoodie. My arms crossed as I pulled it up over my head and my hair fell down in a mess the moment I was free; I didn't bother fixing it. I tossed the sweatshirt on the couch and leaned back into Stiles, taking advantage of his shocked face to slide my tongue along the inside of his lip.

That seemed to snap him right back into motion. Taking advantage of the sweatshirt's absence, Stiles grabbed my hips, sliding his hands up my waist and then splaying them over the back of my shirt. I grabbed the back of his neck and leaned back, slowly but surely pulling Stiles along with me. We scrambled a bit, me trying to untuck my legs from beneath me while Stiles tried to slow our descent, but eventually we managed to make it. There was one last frantic pause on Stiles's part before my back in the floor, and I was about to ask what was wrong when my head hit something soft.

My eyes fluttered open as Stiles pulled back, panting with his face flushed pink. I rolled my head to the side to look at the throw pillow I was resting on, which Stiles had grabbed from the couch at the last possible second.

"Are—are you okay?" he asked in concern. "What's wrong?"

A grin stretched across my face, and I shook my head as I placed my hands on his cheeks. "For the record, I'm still mad at you."

I think he mumbled something along the lines of "I understand that," but by the time the words got around to passing over his lips, they were already busy trying to catch up to mine.

He ended up kneeling over me, one elbow planted on the floor next to my head. His other hand stayed faithfully on my neck, tilting my head for better access to my mouth. But after a few minutes, I'd learned exactly how I was supposed to be angling my head, and Stiles's hand was still sitting there, hot on my skin and almost unbearably motionless.

Cautiously, I wrapped my arms behind him and arched my back. My chest pressed into his where he was hovering above me, and he let out a small hum of appreciation. I waited for a bit, then tried again. And again. Each time, Stiles would fumble with my lips, sigh a little, and then start kissing me again. And still, his hand was glued to my neck.

Finally I decided to try something else. Shifting down on the floor, I picked up my legs. I dragged my feet lightly along Stiles's jeans, enjoying the way he began to freeze above me, not expecting the new development. I peeked my eyes open, met with wide maple eyes staring down at me in anticipation. Then I grinned, hooking my knees around him and picking my hips off the ground.

We promptly fell back the floor with a thud, and I'd probably earned myself a bruise on my tailbone, but even as I winced, Stiles fell on top of me, hips pressing into mine. His dropped jaw and panicked eyes were enough to send me into a tirade of giggles, but it wasn't enough to cover his quiet groan or the "oh my God" that he gasped out.

"Hands," I whispered, sliding my own back up to his shoulders.

"W-what?"

"Your hands."

"My…? Me…" Stiles stared at me for a moment, his eyes about ready to fall out of his head. I pursed my lips and arched my back again, pressing my chest up and making his jaw drop. "Oh. Oh! H-hands?"

I saw his eyes drop from my face to the front of my shirt, my eyes back down to my chest, but never moving more than that. I let my head drop back to the pillow, watching as he stared at my boobs with something akin to horror. Suddenly, I was self-conscious.

"I mean…sorry. You don't have to if you—"

"No!" He almost yelled it in my face, making us both jump in surprise. "Sorry. No, I—of course I want to. I just…yeah. Okay. Sure, uh…I'll…um…"

He floundered for a few more seconds before I took pity on him. With one hand, I pulled him into another kiss, while the other slid down his arm to the hand that was still sitting motionless on my neck. I sighed in relief as the cool air hit my skin, and Stiles kissed me a little harder. He pulled his hand out of my grip and moved it down to my hip, then slowly began moving it up my rib cage.

I could feel the anxious heat radiating off him, seeping through the fabric of my shirt and into my skin. His fingers trembled as his hand slid higher, already slowing down and making me hold my breath. Finally, he made it to my chest.

Both of us froze for a moment, Stiles's hand cupping my breast and just sitting there in a panic. I raised an eyebrow, and he warily brushed his fingers over my shirt. Immediately, my breath caught in my throat. It wasn't quite a gasp, but he must've noticed all the same. A few seconds later, his fingers were digging into my skin as his nerves fell away. He caught my lips again, distracting me and leaving me frazzled. It was hard to concentrate on what my mouth was supposed to be doing when Stiles was palming me through my shirt, but after a while, concentrating didn't matter. My back would arch, legs tangle with his, all of their own accord. I guess that's why it was so easy to get caught up in the moment.

Stiles tilted his head, pressing me back into the pillow as he groped at my chest. I winced, jumping a bit as I pulled back. "Ow—"

The single sound was enough to make Stiles spring back, pulling everything away from me in hopes of immediately correcting whatever he'd done wrong.

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry. Shit, I'm—"

"It's fine." I had to fight to keep myself from giggling at his panic, even as I rubbed the pain out of my chest. "Just ease up on the muscle there, Stilinski."

"Ha. Right. Sorry. I—I didn't realize I…sorry…"

I smirked, grabbing his hands and momentarily twisting our fingers together. I eased him back down on me, keeping my eyes locked on his. Then I brought his hands up to my chest and placed my hands over them, fingers splayed wide.

"You just have to be…a little…gentler…"

Stiles gave me a very nervous look, shaking his head. "Sadie, no. I swear, if you're about—"

I ignored him, using his hands to squeeze my breasts together. I tipped my head back, my eyes fluttering shut as I sighed. I was hamming it up, for sure, but it was worth it to hear Stiles curse above me.

"Okay, you are not getting away with that, Bennet."

He frantically shifted on his knees, trying to find some position where he could kiss me and use both hands at the same time. Before he could figure it out, a shrill ring cut through the air, making us both jump.

"Oh no…" Stiles tipped his head back and groaned at the ceiling. "No, no, no! Not now!"

"Sorry, Stilinski." I pushed myself up onto my elbows, looking around for my phone. "Looks like it's our turn to babysit Jackson."

"What? No! It's not our turn. You—you are definitely imagining things."

"Mm, I think you're lying because I can definitely hear my alarm going off."

I spotted the phone on the carpet a few feet away and went to grab it, but Stiles caught my wrist from the air. He pinned it to the carpet with an overly innocent smile.

"Alarm? What alarm? There's no alarm."

The next thing that happened was simultaneously one of the best and worst things to happen to me. It was bad because Stiles found a very easy way to manipulate me. It was good because, for the most part, I enjoyed being manipulated.

I grabbed for my phone, dodging him as he leaned in for another kiss. Not ready to admit defeat, Stiles changed his target. His lips brushed over my neck and my hand faltered in its search for my phone. He trailed kisses over my jaw, each one more forceful than the last, like he knew that he was winning. When he left an open-mouthed kiss on my pulse point, I let out an audible sigh.

"Stiles…"

He promptly stopped, and pulled back a few inches. My eyes had fluttered closed again, but I didn't need to see him to hear the proud smile in his voice. "Yeah?"

I bit my lip, which seemed to be enough of an answer for him.

"Okay, then."

He pressed a kiss to my cheek, using it to turn my head, then his lips were darting down the other side of my neck, exploring the skin with excitement now that he had found something he was naturally good at.

The hand that had been holding my wrist disappeared. I felt it a second later on my waist as Stiles snuck a few fingers under the hem of my shirt to graze teasingly over my skin. I held tight to the back of his shirt, holding him close while my other hand clawed at the carpet for purchase. My fingers bumped into something cold, smooth to the touch, vibrating in my hand…

I grabbed my phone and, with all the strength I had left, pushed Stiles back.

"Stiles we—we have to go."

He groaned, pulling and pouting like a small child who'd been told it was time to leave the carnival. "Oh, come on. This is so much more fun than keeping an eye on Jackson."

"I know. Trust me, I know." I glared at him as the pout morphed into the proud smile I had missed before. I put my hands on his chest before he could lean in again, and gave him a stern look. "Seriously, Stiles. Lives on the line?"

"I know this is awful, but I literally don't care right now."

I smirked in spite of myself, drumming my fingers against his shirt. "Maybe if Jackson's on his best behavior, we can continue not caring in the Jeep?"

"Right, because that worked so well last time."

"Well, you do have a backseat…"

There was a beat of silence as Stiles stared at me, his eyes steadily growing wider as that information processed. The next second, he was grabbing my wrists, pulling me to my feet as quickly as possible and running around to collect his things.

"Sadie, don't be such a slow poke! Come on! It's our turn to watch Jackson! Lives are on the line here! Chop chop!"

"We have to stop for food on the way," I reminded him as we headed for the door. "I told Jackson I would pick up dinner, and maybe get him a pack of cards or something. Oh, I should've gotten his homework to—"

"Blah, blah, blah, Jackson's needs. I got it. Let's get moving."

It was some of the most reckless driving I'd seen Stiles do outside of an immediate emergency. Somehow, I was still laughing all the way there. It felt nice to be flushed with adrenaline that came from a good place for once, instead of the fear and panic we dealt with every day. Stiles completed all our errands for Jackson without complaint, winking at me as he ordered an extra container of curly fries with dinner. Then we were back on the road, speeding with the windows down, enjoying the last couple minutes of freedom before the world came to a crashing halt.

Stiles sped into the clearing, throwing the car into park and passing me the food from the back. "Okay, so why don't you feed the beast, and I'll go tell the lovebirds to clear the…hell…out…"

"Stiles? What's wro—" I stopped short as I followed his gaze, immediately spotting the problem. "Fuck…"

The transport van was parked exactly where we'd left it, only it was now missing two very important things: the lock on the back door, and the prisoner inside.

Jackson was gone.