#isawet

There are things that Stiles’ father tells him that would have made his mother angry, wisdom doled out late at night when his father slumps in the kitchen after a long day, mud on his boots, pouring out gold liquid into the glasses they used in their wedding. “Someone points a gun at you,” he says, “don’t do as they say. They’re going to kill you, your best move is to jerk and run.” “Okay dad,” Stiles says, and digs in the fridge carefully, looking for the plate with the plastic wrap. “Mac and cheese night, low fat margarine and skim milk. You’ll love it.” His father stares at the table without blinking, taps his fingers against the rim of the glass. “Harder to shoot a moving target then people think.”