Stilinski's Family Reunion
Walking into the hotel had been a colossally stupid idea. See, ever since he'd left the hotel on his own, Stiles had only come back for three things: once, to check a theory he'd long since forgotten, and it had ended with a rather terrifying lady with swords trying to take off his head; once, to collect his current roommate, which had ended on a rather nicer note; and once to collect Isaac, which had been punctuated by his ghost being a pain in the ass and, well, Isaac.
So he'd made it a general rule for himself that he did not in any way, shape, or form enter the hotel for any reason.
Except he was hungry, and he was still so mad at Isaac and Rick and all of them that acquiring food was made complicated by the fact that Isaac worked at the diner. And Stiles was pretty heavily leaning on curly fries, speaking in dietary terms. So he'd been left with the choice of hungry, facing Isaac, or heading to the totally questionable kitchen in the hotel.
The hotel won out.
Slamming doors behind him hadn't exactly given him the idea that this was a two-way trip, though, and he was suddenly pretty damn sure he wasn't leaving the hotel alive. Great. Just. Just absolutely one hundred percent great. And he wasn't even going to get those stupid curly fries, was he?
Whatever. So he'd started across the foyer and down a hall in the hopes of discovering... what, exactly? Which had just led him into a narrow, confusing maze. He was pretty sure he'd passed the exact same tear in the wallpaper at least four times, when he rounded a corner just in time to see--a person. A person in a sheriff's uniform, with a build that was way too familiar, and--no. It couldn't be. Could it?