"It's tough rattling around the house all by myself," the Sheriff says. "You boys are coming to dinner on Sunday nights from now on. Erica, too. You look like you could some feeding up. Do you eat anything aside from pie?" "Yes?" Derek says. He's not really sure how they ended up here, or how all that pie went so fast.

They find the baby under a butterfly bush, a sweet smelling buddleja with purple flowers and narrow, green leaves. The baby is dirty, wet and hungry, wrapped in a fur blanket, and this close its squalling is loud enough to wake the dead. -- Or the one where Stiles' mom was a harpy and passed certain genes along.

Some things in life are certain. Roses are red, violets are blue, Connor McDavid excels at hockey and he really—really—doesn't like sex.