This has not been a good week. Stiles is tempted to remain on the ground forever until the car he hit runs him over and puts him out of his misery. Thoughtful, he eyes the tires of the car. Except that he’s abruptly reminded of that scene in The Temple of Doom where Indiana Jones’ foe is pulled into a machine and crushed to death. Wow, he so does not want to be a red stain on the pavement. Stomach churning, he scrambles to his feet just as the driver checks on him.

“Oh my god, I don’t want to be human-paste-roadkill—jeez, you’re small.”

Hello, Clive. Stiles is just fine.