Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

“Patrick wonders idly what Toews' daemon is; something like a python, maybe, or a bird of prey. It would just figure if it were a hawk, Patrick thinks in disgust; he's already starting to hate Toews a little so he tries to dial it back. Then he notices a big cat—some kind of, like, mountain lion—sitting well apart from the other daemons. It's watching the ice intently, and if Patrick had anyone to bet with, he knows where he'd put his money.”

Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.