Chapter Text
lonely
adjective;
affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.
She waits on the side of the road. The wet pavement glistens. The sky weeps a soft, gloomy drizzle.
alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone
She fades with the shadows of the forest as the sky grows dim with nightfall.
The few cars that pass by don’t notice her- or maybe they do, and just don’t care.
She begins to shiver as the cold of twilight seeps into her skinbloodbones.
She needs to get out of here.
The rumble of a car sounds, getting nearer.
She steps to the edge of the road, hitches her heavy rucksack farther up her back, sticks out her thumb.
Every time she does this, she says a prayer (to whatever god or deity or whatever is listening) that the driver who picks her up won’t be a creep or a murderer.
There are a lot of creeps out there.
She spots the car coming around the corner now.
A broken down, rusty old blue Jeep.
She thinks about putting her thumb down, and blending in with the dark of night in wait for the next car, one that’s less creepy. Or even just walking.
It’s too cold though.
Her thumb stays up.
The car’s headlights hit her, and she puts a hand in front of her eyes to avoid being blinded by the harsh brightness.
The driver slows down.
It’s a teenage boy.
She’ll take her chances.
He’s skinny enough, and she’s pretty sure she could take him.
“Hey, where ya going?”
“Beacon Hills.”
“That’s where I’m headed. Hop in.”
She hesitantly slides into the cracked leather of the seat. The car smells like Old Spice and the reassuring scent of boy.
The boy glances at her, and she can feel his gaze burn into her.
He suddenly cranks up the heat, and she realizes she’s been shivering from the chilly air.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. So, why are you going to Beacon Hills?”
She bites her lip, unsure whether she should tell the truth.
The jury is still out on whether he’s a creep. Or murderer.
Fuck it.
“Honestly? I’m trying to get as far away as possible from home.”
“Oh. Where’s home?”
“New York. I got tired of never sleeping.”
He looks at her strangely for a second.
“It’s the city that never sleeps, or hadn’t you heard.”
“Oh. Right.”
There’s an awkward pause.
“So, how do you like California so far?” He doesn’t seem to believe in silences.
To be honest, she’s sorta missed having a normal conversation with a seemingly normal person.
“It’s okay. I miss New York pizza. And bagels. And basically all other foods. California is very… organic.”
“Have you tried In N’ Out though?”
“No.”
“Oh my god. You have to.”
“I guess I will.”
The lull in the conversation once again only lasts a minute or so.
“So, how old are you?”
“17. You?”
“Same. Did you come here with your family? Beacon Hills is... Well, it must be very different from New York City.”
She shoots him a look (why does he think it’s his business?), before remembering that he’s doing her a favor.
She doesn’t want him to think she’s alone. He’d probably be more likely to murder her or something if he thought no one would care.
“No, the ‘rents are back East. I’m staying with a cousin.” Hopefully.
She hasn’t felt so alone in a while. Painfully alone.
“How’d you get here if you don’t have a car?”
Jeez, this guy asks a ton of questions.
“Am I being nosy? Sorry, I get really curious and then start to basically interrogate people-”
“Hitchhiked. Caught a few buses and trains.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
This time he seems to pick up on the fact that she’s not interested in opening up to him, and the conversation is dead until they reach a suburban area.
“Where should I drop you off?”
“I’m staying at these apartments on the edge of town? The Park Central?”
All she had were the building name, the cousin’s name, and a few family photos to help her figure out where she was going.
“Oh yeah, I know a guy who lives there.”
As they near the apartments, he asks another question:
“Are you gonna enroll at Beacon High?”
“Uh. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I probably would need to get a job first.”
“Hey, my dad is actually looking for a desk receptionist right now!”
At her confused look, he clarifies, “My dad’s the sheriff.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know…”
“It’s pretty good money. At least talk to my dad about it.”
“Okay, I guess. Thanks.”
Hesitantly, she unbuckles her seatbelt and puts a hand on the door.
“How do I contact him?”
“Oh yeah! Give me your number and I’ll set it up.”
Luckily her cell phone hadn’t been canceled. Yet.
“What’s your name?”
“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. And you?”
She gives him a strange look.
“Althea. Althea Rivers.”
curious
adjective
eager to know or learn something.
For the entire 10 minute car ride back to his house, Stiles drives on autopilot, and loses himself in thought.
Althea Rivers.
Her name echoes in his mind.
His car still carries a vestige of her scent- a mix of rosemary and something smokier.
There’s nothing Stiles loves more than a mystery. Especially a mystery that isn’t life threatening.
Althea Rivers, although definitely peculiar, didn’t seem like a murderer.
Stiles parks his car and slams his door with huge force accidentally, causing one of the side mirrors to crack.
Shit. He needs a new car.
He loves his Jeep.
Stumbling into his kitchen, he finds one Sheriff Stilinski at the small wooden table, surrounded by a mountain of files, snoring away.
Shaking his head with a fond smile, Stiles rouses his father and orders him to go to bed.
“They work you too hard at that station, dad. You need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“If anything, Stiles, I’m the one working them too hard. I’m the boss, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, go to bed, old man. Hope you’ve been laying off the curly fries.”
“Goodnight, Stiles. You better get some sleep too. It might be summer, but you’re still human.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
Werewolf. Banshee. Hunter. Werecoyote. Kitsune. Kanema. Chimera.
Human.
It wasn’t that he resented the pack or anything. He really didn’t. In the end, he was happy to be indefinitely normal. To be a watcher, not a player (yes, that was a Nerve reference- Stiles had to admit, the movie was definitely nerve wracking).
And anyway, Stiles was smart. Stiles was going to be a cop, or a detective, or someone who could help people. He had a lot of hurt to make up for.
And he had a pack- a whole bunch of family who he loved, and honestly, what more could he ask for?
Althea Rivers hadn’t seemed like she had a whole lot of family who she loved.
He was pretty sure she was a runaway- not that it was a bad thing. He was pretty sure runaways usually had a pretty good reason for doing so.
New York to California? NYC to Beacon Hills? Probably not just for fun.
But Stiles had learned pretty well not to make assumptions about people.
He just hoped he would be able to find out more about her.
His phone buzzed suddenly, startling him out of his daydream.
Hey man u down for pizza
Scott was always looking for food.
Yah sure bro u wanna come over
Sounds good be there soon
Stiles snorts at the terrible grammar that he and Scott both employed when texting. It was almost 11pm (why was she hitchhiking so late?) but Stiles shares Scott’s love for pizza (what was so much better about New York pizza? Or bagels?).
Grabbing his phone off the counter, he scrolls through his Instagram feed, liking all the pictures posted by Pack members and Kylie Jenner.
He had bought Lydia the Kylie Lipkit (honestly he was still in shock that it was 30 bucks for one lipstick thing) in like Mary Jane and Kristy or something like that. Needless to say, she had squealed with joy, and had immediately begun studying the formula and making improvements on it.
He had followed Kylie on Instagram and despite being mildly put off by the way she used her power as a horrible role model to youngsters, he kinda had a crush on her.
His phone buzzes again as his front door opens, this time a Snapchat from Scott.
“Hey man, I just got your snap.”
The picture shows Scott holding two boxes of pizza with a silly grin on his face.
Stiles looks up to see basically the exact same image in front of him.
“Pizzaaaaaaa!”
Obviously Scott is very excited.
“Keep it down a little, bro, my dad’s asleep.”
“Oh, shit, sorry Sheriff Stilinski!” Even louder.
A muffled yell sounds from his dad’s bedroom.
“That’s alright, Scott. Enjoy your pizza.”
Scott thumps the boxes down on the coffee table, grabs two sodas out of the fridge, and flops down on the couch next to Stiles.
“Bro, it’s been way too long since we had one of these nights.”
“Agreed.”
The pizza is delicious, in Stiles opinion.
“Something weird happened to me today, man.”
Scott’s smile slips into a frown, expecting the worst.
“Ah, shit, already? I thought we might be able to relax for a while-”
“No, no, Scott, nothing supernatural. I just came across this girl who was hitchhiking a few miles away. She was a runaway about our age from New York, I think.”
“Wow. That is pretty weird. So you picked her up? Did she flirt with you?”
“Jeez, Scott, is that all you ever think about? Don’t answer that. Yes, I picked her up. She wanted to be dropped off at Derek’s building. Said she has a cousin she’s staying with there.”
“Huh. I wonder if Derek knows her cousin.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. But he’s so antisocial I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.”
They munch on their pizza in thoughtful silence for a few moments.
“What was her name?”
“Althea Rivers.”
“That’s a badass name.”
“I know.”
“Bro, have you heard from Kira?”
“No, man. I guess the Skinwalkers don’t let her use her phone. It’s driving me crazy.”
Dejected doesn’t begin to describe Scott.
“I’m sorry, man, that’s tough. Wanna talk?”
“Na, I’m okay right now. Thanks, Stiles.”
“Anytime, Scotty. Anytime.”
The conversation lightens into more fun topics.
The night continues with more pizza.
More thinking. About her.