[Witches, man. Stiles could live without them. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Werewolves and kanimas and darachs, oh my. He felt like he was some mix of Alice and Dorothy, stepping through the looking glass and being attacked by flying monkeys. His life had felt very much like a bad dream lately, and this newest addition hadn't helped any. Wasn't it supposed to be over? He was pretty sure it was supposed to be over.

They couldn't catch a break.

Apparently Scott could catch a face full of something that had his best friend switching back from growly and laser eyed to the puppy looking Scott he knew and loved. Before he could ask if he was okay, he heard that being said. To him. From Scott. He laughed. He couldn't help it, it sounded so utterly ridiculous.]

Right. Okay, I think it's time for sleepy and possibly drunk werewolves to go to bed. What the hell was in that stuff?

[He turned to deal with the witch who'd tossed it, but they'd disappeared, making him frown.]

Crap, maybe we'll have to go see Deaton if you can't sleep it off. Let's go, buddy. Me and my gorgeous eyes are going to take you home.