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No One Gets Out of Here Alive

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Stiles almost groans when he spots the werewolf three rows away in his freshman English class. For the first time, it isn’t because he’s being forced to take freshman English.

No. This groan is because there’s a werewolf sitting three rows away.

He’d gone to college to get away from the supernatural.

Okay. He can do this. There is no reason for the girl to pay him any attention. He’d taken at least ten showers in the past few days in the hopes of scrubbing the stench of werewolf off of him.

It helps that this is a freshman English class. There are about a hundred people in the stadium-style classroom. The professor won’t bother taking attendance. Not verbally, at least. It’d take forever.

And…

He’s wrong. There’s a roll call. Because it was the first day and the only thing the prof had planned was taking attendance and passing out the syllabus.

He knows exactly when the prof gets to his name. This is a university class at NYU. The class was filled with people from everywhere.

Even so… his monstrous name defeats the prof, who just says, “Stilinski?”

And because Stiles hasn’t learned how to filter his words he says, “That’s me! Um, people usually call me Stiles. For obvious reasons.”

The second, the second, the prof speaks his name the werewolf three rows away whips her head around and stares.

It makes him uneasy.


It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks of his first semester in college.

Three weeks of Sally, the werewolf, giving him shy smiles in his English class.

Three weeks of him grimace/smiling back at her and praying she doesn’t talk to him.

He wanted out of the supernatural!

He did not want to get sucked into whatever supernatural hijinks that would come along with Sally.

His knees couldn’t handle anymore running.


Stiles wasn’t a lucky person.

So obviously Sally finally gathers her courage and corners him after class. Because she was a werewolf ninja and sneaky.

“Um, hi? Hi! You’re Stiles, right? Can I, um, ask you a question?” she asks all big blue puppy eyes and his resolve is crumbling. She is too fucking cute! And sweet!

There were a lot of things Stiles didn’t understand about werewolves and the supernatural. The thing he doesn’t understand the most was how a mythical monster could be so fucking adorable.

It was how he knew they were evil. This much cute had to be a mask for a dark and twisted mind.

He nods warily.

“Gosh, I’m so nervous. So I know that it’s pretty unlikely, although your name is kinda unique, but are you that Stiles?” she asks.

It was… confusing, “Um, which Stiles?”

She furtively glances around, presumably checking no one can overhear them and she whispers, “You know, the Stiles from Beacon Hills? All-around badass human? The one in the stories?”

Stiles’ brain essentially shuts off.

The badass human. What.

The one in the stories. WHAT.

This was…

He can’t even…

“What?” he croaked, “What stories are people telling about me?”

“Oh my, god. OH MY, GOD!” she squealed, “It is you. Can I, um, get your autograph? I have class soon but if you give me your number, we can have coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She is beaming at him. Like werewolf sunshine or something.

She’s a creature of the moon! She shouldn’t be allowed to smile like the fucking sun.

Evil. It’s the only explanation.

He feels like he can’t breathe.

Did she seriously just ask for his autograph?

His autograph!

The world didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

He counts his fingers because this was a dream.

Except it isn’t. This is real and an adorable werewolf named Sally wants his autograph.

He signs her notebook in a daze and thinks he wrote his number.

He’s not sure. Everything was a blur and he’s trying to block the memory.

He refuses to acknowledge that he lives in a world where random (but adorable!) werewolves want his autograph.

Refuses.


They end up going for coffee. It’s rather pleasant.

He tells her that he’s trying to have a normal college experience. Doesn’t want to get drawn into supernatural shenanigans. She seems understanding.

She tells him some of the stories that are passed around about him.

Stiles is appalled.

Not because the stories are exaggerated or inaccurate. But because they are very accurate. Suspiciously so.

Oh, it’s not everything. Not even close but it’s more accurate and detailed than should be possible, if the stories were passed around by an observer.

Stiles is pretty sure that someone he knows is responsible for circulating these stories.

If he had to guess, it was probably Peter.

Because, when in doubt, blaming Peter is usually right.

Though, in this case, Stiles really thinks it must’ve been Peter.

He always said he liked Stiles. As one of the token humans without special training, there’s no reason why he’d feature so prominently in the stories.

The whole thing is ridiculous and Stiles is vehemently ignoring it.

Because he’s living a normal life. Having a normal college experience.


He’s happy that Sally seems to respect his wishes and she doesn’t talk to him again.


Stiles does want to punch her when he sees her smirk, the first time he sees her after running into Derek.

Because Derek had hugged him. More than once. Not to speak of what happened at his apartment.

Stiles is pretty sure that no amount of showers could wash away that stank.

He lets her be smug and knowing until the end of class, after which he does punch her. Not in the face. But still.

It hurts his hand.

And he gets all kinds of disapproving looks from people who don’t know that this adorable girl is actually an evil creature of the night. So it practically looks like he punched a bunny. Or a puppy.

With Derek back in his life, he can’t pretend that the supernatural doesn't exist. Not when it’s existing in the bed beside him.

So he and Sally become friends. She sits next to him in class and tells him about how her friends and her pack are super jealous that she’s friends with the Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles hates her.

(Well, he tries. But you can’t hate anyone that adorable. Even if they are a mythical monster.)