Merry Christmas, culacuuby!
King of the Hunt
for culacuuby, in the hopes that this brightens your holiday even a little.
“This is impossible, Scott,” Isaac nudged his shoulder against Scott when he thumped his head down onto the table. “It’s been two days. We need to call Stiles. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t called either of us yet demanding why Derek hasn’t been picking up.”
There was a moment of silence as Scott squeezed his eyes shut, his mind flicking through the events of the past few days, wondering what mistakes he’d made and where everything went so wrong.
He sighed, turning to the rest of the pack and assessing the situation. Erica was dozing off, snoring lightly into Boyd’s shoulder as he ran a hand over her curls, crammed into the loveseat while Allison and Lydia studied them with matching tired expressions, dark circles underneath their eyes and he nodded.
“Time to call Stiles,” he agreed with a grimace, pulling his phone out of his pocket and hoping to whatever supernatural being that was within earshot that Stiles would be too worried about Derek to yell at Scott for keeping him in the dark.