Anti-Creepy Mansion | Friday Afternoon

Stiles was dying. This was it, his last days on earth. He had clearly contracted some sort of ebola-like disease and was in the midst of shuffling his mortal coil. He would die on this couch.

Or he could just be really sick. It was probably that one.

At least it was his last day of torturing people in the mansion with his coughs and whining. He was going back to Beacon Hills tomorrow to torture his dad and the McCalls with it. Everybody deserved to deal with Stiles when he was like this. At least the werewolves couldn't catch anything.

[Open for the people that live there/visitors. Gotta get this brat out of town during the BDE. Stupid job with stupid working]