Yours (Stiles Stilinski)

Chapter Fifty Six: Season Four

"This doesn't seem so bad," Stiles said, clutching my hand. I grinned at him.

"It's pretty," I murmured.

"It's not the town, it's the plan," Lydia said.

"What's wrong with the plan?" I asked. Lydia gave me a pointed look.

"Y/n, this could be the stupidest plan we've ever come up with. You're aware of that, right?" Lydia asked. I sighed, and Stiles lead me forward.

"I'm aware it's not our best—"

"We are going to die," Lydia interrupted. I sighed.

"Are you saying that as a Banshee, or you're just being pessimistic?" I asked sarcastically. She glared at the two of us.

"I'm saying it as a person who doesn't wanna die," Lydia snapped. I rolled my eyes.

"Okay... Would you mind restricting any talk of death to actual Banshee predictions?" Stiles asked. Lydia looked at the both of us one last time before huffing.

"This plan is stupid and we're going to die."

"Thanks, Lyds. Very helpful."

—

We were in Mexico. No, not for spring break, or anything remotely fun. I wish. Instead, Lydia, Stiles and I stood in front of two tall guys as we tried to infiltrate a party to look for our missing friend. Lydia stepped up, as the guys put their hands out.

"¿Estamos aquí para la fiesta?" She asked about the party in Spanish. Stiles glanced over to me nervously, and the two guys shook their heads. I pulled a card out with a skull on it. Instead of showing it to the two men, I turned looking up at the camera facing down at us. I held it up to the camera. The door clicked open. I took a step forward, and Stiles took my hand. I led the group down a dimly lit hallway as the front doors closed behind us. I walked confidently down the hallway.

"Try and act normal you two," I said. I felt Stiles' grip on my hand tighten, and I squeezed back comfortingly. I opened the rattling metal door ahead and walked straight into a whole rager. It was crazy, the music was deafening, people were all over the place dancing, kissing and god knows what else. I pulled Stiles through the crowd, towards the bar. I shuffled along, spinning around.

"What are you doing?" He shouted over the music. Lydia squirmed in behind us, trying to keep up. I turned, wrapping my arms around his neck. I leaned close to his ear.

"That guy up top has got eyes on us. You need to relax," I ordered. He put his hands on my hips, as we made our way to the bar. Lydia grabbed my arm, trying to keep near. "It's alright you guys," I said. The bartender poured three shots and shuffled them in front of us. Stiles began to pull out his wallet, but a hand held on to his shoulder and mine. I looked back to see the man who had been watching us from the beginning.

"No. On the house. Most American teenagers don't cross the border to refuse a drink," Severo said. I recognized him as the man Mr. Argent told us about. Lydia scoffed at him.

"We didn't come here to drink," she said, putting a golden bullet into her shot. I looked back at the man with a smile.

"But I'm never one to refuse, either," I said, picking my own shot up and throwing it back. Stiles sent me a disapproving look as Severo pulled us to the back. I rolled my eyes at the roughness, and we were soon sitting in front of an elderly Mexican women. She was ripping string out of a piece of cloth rather viciously.

"Severo hates this music. Me? I've always loved the music of youth. This especially— it has a savage energy," she said as she went along. I crossed my leg over my knee.