ephemeral || stiles and the originals

chapter eight

i'm writing this while passive aggressively screaming one direction

friday, february 18
new orleans, louisiana
third person pov

"Why do all of you look like," Coach gestured to them, "well, like that?"

Stiles slumped against a wall, a large black coffee in his hands and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. A hoodie was sling messily over his head, and he was pretty sure he had never been more exhausted in his life. While he didn't technically need sleep, it was still nice to close his eyes and rest after a long day, and while it had only happened a few hours ago, meeting Marcel again felt like the longest day of his existence.

So if he looked rough, his pack looked shredded. Scott was practically asleep on Allison's shoulder who was slumped against the wall. Lydia was her usual bitch self when she didn't get her sleep and Isaac looked about normal because who doesn't love the brooding, emo werewolf that wears stupid fucking scarves all the fucking time.

"You didn't sneak out did ya? Cause that's clearly in the rule book, yup, see 'no sneaking out.'"

"I saw them leaving last nigh-"

"Oh shut up, Greenberg, no one likes a snitch," Coach rolled his eyes and waved his pen at the pack, "Just stay out of trouble, yeah? I don't know exactly how you all do it, but you always seem to attract disasters of large scales."

The Originals would be a bit of a disaster, Stiles mused, his brow furrowing as the internal debate he had been engaged in returned full force.

Give away his identity, try and calm any sociopathic tendencies in his siblings and then beg the pack for forgiveness or let some people die, which might possibly be the pack, and let the pack remain oblivious to his identity or find a way to reverse time so he can make sure they never ended up in fucking New Orleans.

"Hey, you'll never guess what just happened."

Malia, who had been the only one to sleep last night because of her refusal to do anything she didn't want to, grinned holding up a piece of paper. "I just bumped into that guy from yesterday and I totally got his number again!"

Stiles scowled, great, that's just absolutely fantastic.

"Malia, there isn't any time for french boys from Louisiana, we have to figure out the third key in less than three days."

The werecoyote crossed her arms, "Why the hell not? We're dying in three days, might as well live my life."

Scott, ever the loving, sweet baby alpha, huffed, "We're not dying, Malia. We just need to go get some food and then we'll sleep for a few hours and restart on all the theories."

Allison yawned, "Sounds good to me."

Isaac shrugged, "I'll go get food."

"I'll go with you," Stiles blurted it out without thinking, no one would be going anywhere alone. Isaac rolled his eyes but moved toward the door, waiting for Stiles to follow him.

He glared at Malia when he said, "Don't sneak off, okay? We don't know what could happen."

The werecoyote scoffed, "It's day, what could a vampire do to hurt me?"