Stiles sat in the dark front room, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't entirely sober, either. He was in that in between state where he was tired, but not tired enough to actually sleep, and mostly he was trying unsuccessfully not to think.
Chris had been sent back. Like always, it was sudden, unexpected, and traumatic. He was going back to nothing. Except near-death at the hands of Peter Hale and his own sister.
He wondered if the fallout from everything that was going to happen when he was possessed would ever actually end. It wouldn't, probably, unless he managed to find some way to stop it all from happening at all. But he'd spent so much time researching -- both at work and at home at night alone in his room -- and he was coming up with nothing but dead ends and he was just starting to feel...numb.
He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and rolled his head to look, chest tightening when he saw Scott. He pushed himself off the couch, proud of himself for a fleeting moment for not wobbling. "How's she doing?"