A/N: I'm emptying out my WIPs folder. This is another story I started well before season 3 started. While it might incorporate some season 3 spoilers, consider it an AU from season 2. This story is based on a prompt for a Scott/Stiles/Isaac story. Comments and concrit are always welcome and are highly encouraging.

Youth and Consequences

by LadySilver

The bell rang, and Stiles was out of his seat, out of the classroom, and half way to his locker before its sounds finished reverberating through the halls. An amused grin quirked Scott's lips as he extracted himself from his desk and followed his friend through the halls. Fellow students bumped and pushed each other in their eagerness to quit the building; an elbow struck his side, a foot trod his toes, but even that couldn't dispel his good mood. Summer was finally here.

By the time Scott caught up with him, Stiles had crammed the remaining contents of his locker into his backpack and was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of the open and empty storage unit.

"That's the fastest I've ever seen you clean anything," Scott commented. He gave an appreciative nod at the now-empty space.

Stiles bent in half, his backpack tucked in the crook of his waist, while he struggled to get the zipper to close. He looked up long enough to roll his eyes before returning to his fight with what looked like a pair of flat sticks that were slightly too large to fit in the main pocket. Scott didn't even want to know. "Like you're one to talk," he responded. "I've seen your room."

Scott clapped Stiles on the shoulder. "I learned from the best. A little more practice and I'm sure that I, too, can master the art of losing my socks in my sock drawer."

"That? That's nothing. Anyone can lose things in plain sight. The true art is in figuring out how to find things without looking for them." The sticks disappeared into the bag and the zipper slipped shut with a loud scrape. Satisfied, Stiles pumped an arm at his success before slipping his backpack into place for the last time of his sophomore year. Slinging an arm over Scott's shoulder, Stiles began leading his friend down the hall. "Come on," he urged. "We have places to go, food to eat. School to not be in. But, first, we need to tackle the 'perfectly organized' landfill that you call a locker. Quickly. This will be the test to find out how fast werewolves can haul ass."

Scott let Stiles tug on his arm like that would get him to move, then shook him off and slapped a hand to his forehead. "I forgot something."

Sounding alarmed, Stiles responded, "What? No. No forgetting things. No backtracking or retracing. We're supposed to be getting out of here. We have already been in this school way too long."

Scott made a face and glanced around the rapidly emptying halls like he couldn't believe his own forgetfulness. Letting the grin fully take over, he adjusted the already-full backpack that hung off his right shoulder and confessed: "I've had my locker cleaned out since this morning."

Stiles went still for a long second, then lunged for the backpack to examine it, as if Scott might be trying to pull one over on him. He yanked the zipper open and rifled through the crumpled papers and war-torn notebooks that were crammed inside, wrinkled his nose when he found the wadded up gym clothes shoved into the front pocket, then finally stepped back and leveled a very put-upon stare at his best friend. "You planned this," he accused. "You have been waiting all day just for this moment."

With a shake of his head, Scott corrected, "Not for this moment, no." He grinned, an eyebrow lifting in forecast of a secret soon to be shared. But, not yet. "I have been waiting all day to get out of here, though."

"Hey, that rhymes!" Stiles said. He knocked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand and chided, "Bad, Stiles. English class is over. Three months of freedom from rhymes and alliteration and symbolism and…You can stop me anytime, Scott."

Scott laughed, his friend's exuberance a delight to see again. The spring semester of their sophomore year had easily been the strangest experience of both of their lives. The ringing of the last bell and Mrs. Edmund's cheerful fairwell of "Have a great summer!" had seemed like the endnote on that weirdness. "Why would I want to do that?" Scott asked.

Stiles shot him a look like the counter-argument was too inane to make, then bounded into the exiting crush of students and out the doors. The stream of students parted at the doorway, with the bulk of them heading toward the bus loading zone. Stiles turned the other direction, toward the parking lot, where his jeep had been not-so-carefully parked in the back. They got there in the fastest walk to guys can manage without it turning into an undignified run.

They were at the Jeep, their backpacks already tossed into the backseat, when Stiles said, "Too bad you have to go to summer school. We've got three months free and clear to do whatever we want, except…" Stiles trailed off as Scott ducked his head and scuffed his foot against the hot parking lot asphalt. "What?"

"I don't have to," Scott answered with a tiny shrug of his shoulders.

"You don't have to what?"

Scott looked up, his eyes meeting Stiles's. "I don't have to go to summer school."

Stiles's mouth dropped open. He used the tip of his finger to close it, swallowed, then asked, "Why not?"

Another shrug, like Scott wasn't really sure. "My mom talked to the acting principal and told him that I'd been dealing with some health issues. She even got a doctor's note to back it up."

"Deaton?" Stiles asked. "You know he's not a real doctor, right?"

"He is too! The number of times he's saved my life-"

"Please tell me you didn't give the principal a note from your veterinarian."

Scott chuckled, his earlier grin so etched into his face now that he was having trouble unlocking his features long enough to articulate. "Dude, she works at a hospital. She got one of her colleagues to write it. Said she owed her a favor."

"Your mom's awesome," Stiles commented with a shake of his head. Climbing into the car, he got the key into the ignition, turned it, then sat for a second, staring out the windshield as if he'd forgotten the next step. "But, don't you still have to fix your grades?"

"She convinced the principal to let me retake some tests. Ms. Morrell talked to a couple of the teachers. Even Coach put in a good word." Scott pulled the door open and slipped into the passenger seat. He hissed as summer-heated vinyl burned his legs. "So, now I'm officially a junior."

Stiles blinked rapidly. His keys jangled in his hand from the force of his grip on them. "How come I didn't know about any of this? I could have helped you study."

Leaning back in the seat, Scott propped his arms behind his head with the kind of insouciance that only summer vacation allowed. He took a moment to revel in knowing something that Stiles didn't, to enjoy the growing impatience on his friend's face at having to wait for an answer. Finally, he explained: "Because telling you this way was a lot more fun."

"You're evil," Stiles proclaimed. "I can't believe you kept this from me. Me?! All this time you've been letting me suffer, thinking that I was going to have to waste my summer sitting at home, all by myself, while you were out-" The Jeep jolted forward just as a group of former-Freshman danced in front of it. "Hey, assholes. Go celebrate somewhere else," he called out the window.

Beside him, Scott could only shake his head. Some things never changed.

Their conversation had to go on hold while Stiles navigated the Jeep through the parking lot and the gauntlet of other cars and trucks that were scattered around the parking lot like Escher had painted the lines. For all the other kids' eagerness to leave the school building, many had made it only as far as the parking lot before grouping up to discuss urgent summer plans, and vehicles that had been backed from their spaces stopped without warning or logic for the driver to talk to someone whom he had spotted crossing his path.

Scott tuned out Stiles's swearing and reveled in the fact that he'd made it; he'd finished his sophomore year of high school with passing grades all around, albeit lower ones that he was normally comfortable with. Considering everything that had happened, he was more-than-mildly surprised that he'd made it through without killing anyone.

They'd finally gotten onto the main road, when Stiles picked the thread back up with "So, summer's all ours? Free and clear? We can do whatever we want?" He had to shout over the noise of the air rushing past the car and the rumble of the motor, though he still managed to hit a register that had Scott wincing and rubbing his ears.

"I still have to work," Scott corrected.

Stiles dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "I meant the rest of the time."

Scott grinned and kicked his feet as far out in front of him as the depth of the floor well allowed. "No summer school," he confirmed, highlighting the information he knew Stiles really wanted.

"That amazing!" Stiles proclaimed, like he was still having trouble believing it. He peered at Scott sideways, seeking to confirm that Scott wasn't lying. Scott's posture must have provided all the validation that Stiles needed. He tapped out a quick rhythm of finality on his steering wheel and sat up straighter. "Totally beautiful! Summer break, here we come! I think I want to kiss you."

It wasn't the first time Stiles had made some comment about kissing Scott. Normally Scott dismissed the overtures because, well, it was Stiles. But it was summer. Summer had its own rules and Scott felt like, after everything they'd been through over the last semester, that he owed it to himself to take advantage of that. Also, it was Stiles. "Sure," he replied. "OK."

Both the boys lurched forward as the Jeep came to a sudden stop. Stiles had slammed on the brake and was now sitting with both hands clenched tight on the wheel, staring at Scott with widened eyes. The engine idled for a moment, then stalled completely. "What?"

With one hand braced on the dashboard, Scott assessed the situation. Luck had been on their side; the Jeep's abrupt stop hadn't involved any other cars. "Stiles. Car."

Stiles didn't respond. His mouth hung open in stunned silence and he seemed oblivious to the fact that he had very nearly caused a car accident, and that he still could if someone coming up behind him wasn't paying attention to the stalled car in the middle of the road.

Stiles shook himself. "Not caring," he stated. "You said 'OK'? I heard you say 'OK'."

Scott nodded and Stiles's eyes went even wider like what Scott said was the fulfillment of his deepest dreams.

Oblivious to the traffic still passing around them, Stiles unplugged his seatbelt and started to scramble across the center console to where Scott was seated.

Someone behind them laid on the horn and he jumped, ramming his head into the Jeep's roof.

Scott steadied his friend and pushed him back into the driver's seat at the same time. "How about a rain check?" he suggested. "You know? When we're not in danger of being rear-ended?"

For second, Stiles made a face like he didn't think that was a good enough reason to forestall kissing Scott. Then he scrunched his lips together and forced out a breath through his nose. "Fine," he said. "But I'm totally holding you to it." He turned to the task of getting the Jeep started again while Scott repositioned himself in the passenger seat, thankful that he hadn't ripped his own seatbelt from the car with his strength.

The Jeep resumed moving, then quickly met and surpassed the speed limit. The wind whipped around them, repleat with the scents of exhaust and fried foods from the roadside restaurants.

"Alive," Scott prompted, which Stiles reluctantly conceded to with a slowing of the Jeep so that they at least weren't passing every car on the road. "Also, my mom's home now and I have to work this afternoon."

"Now you tell me," Stiles grumbled, allowing the Jeep to slow a bit more.

Scott tilted the seat farther back and pillowed his arms behind his head again. "We have time," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

The sun that came through the open windows warmed his body comfortably; the clock on the dashboard reminded him that the class he wasn't in right now was Econ. Scott couldn't remember the last time he'd felt more at ease. Summer vacation had always been a time to throw away old routines and to start afresh. He needed that more than ever this year. Kissing Stiles felt like a natural extension step, and one he was surprisingly eager to explore.

Too soon, they reached Scott's house. Stiles dropped him off with a reminder to call as soon as he was available. "You're only getting one raincheck on this, dude," Stiles said.

"One's all I want," Scott replied, which sent Stiles into another flurry of rapid blinking. It was another minute before Stiles could collect himself enough to drive away. The effect his decision was having on Stiles made Scott feel oddly proud of himself and he decided that summer was off to a great start.

Scott's good mood evaporated as soon as he saw his mother's face. He let his backpack drop to the floor and took one halting step toward her before coming to an abortive stop. The front door was still open behind him, spilling a swath of bright summer light into the house.

Melissa shook her head, her expression a mask of studied neutrality. Wringing the dishtowel clutched in her hands, she answered, "Your father wants you to come visit."

Scott frowned, not sure how he felt about that. He hadn't seen his father since the previous summer and had only talked to him twice in the intervening year. Both conversations had been stilted, uncomfortable affairs with neither of them sure what to say to the other. It seemed obvious to him that whatever relationship they'd once had, it was over. While the idea of breaking up with one's parent felt strange, Scott could think of no better way to categorize what had happened. "You told him I can't, right? I have to work," he said, grappling for the first excuse to come to mind. "We need the money."

Again, Melissa shook her head. "I've already talked to Dr. Deaton. He agreed that you could use some time away from here."

Scott's eyes widened in disbelief. "Mom!" he protested, because, while it was probably true that he could use a vacation, going to his father's was not the way to get one.

"Your father already bought the bus ticket." She paused, drew a deep breath, and gave the dishtowel an extra hard twist. "You're leaving on Friday."

"Friday?! Mom?! That's, like, three days from now. I can't be ready in three days. How long am I supposed to stay there?"

"Four weeks."

Four weeks was nearly half his summer vacation. He'd had plans for this break. Lots of plans, most of which involved sleeping very late and doing alarmingly little. Then there was the matter of what he'd just said to Stiles, and the horrible realization that being sent away for four weeks was bound to screw up any momentum on that front. "Stiles!" he blurted out, that one name a short-hand for nearly everything that summer was supposed to be about.

"Stiles can live without you for a few weeks." Melissa's brow crinkled as she considered the truth of those words. She tucked back a stray curl that had come loose from her ponytail and stood up straighter, taking on the pose of resoluteness that Scott knew all too well. She was going to stand by this announcement. "You can still text and call. You're going to be in Los Angeles, not the middle of nowhere. I promise you'll be able to get a cellphone signal."

Scott dropped his head in defeat, his hands gripping tight on the back of his head. The sunlight played across the scratched hardwood flooring, twisting the shadows around his feet. Four weeks, leaving on Friday. That was just enough time to get a taste of summer before it was ripped away from him. Four weeks was one month and that—

Scott's head popped back up. "I can't go," he stated.

"I told you—" Melissa started, but Scott interrupted.

"No, it's not Stiles. Monday is the full moon." He pressed his mouth shut before all the worries tied up in that observation could spill out.

Melissa stilled, speechless, for a long moment, then tipped her eyes toward the ceiling as if the offending object already hung overhead. "That's a real thing?" she asked quietly.

Scott nodded. He wasn't about to take now to go into how the full moon situation was so much more complicated than his mother thought, because this was the possibly the longest conversation they'd had since she found out and he didn't want to sacrifice it that quickly.

In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that his mother had initiated the visit to his father's in order to get rid of him and that it hadn't been his father's idea at all. He pushed that thought down. "I can't go through the full moon at Dad's. It—" would probably destroy any attempt at re-anchoring himself, he thought, which would probably end in him slaughtering everyone. "—would be impossible to keep him from finding out."

Melissa acknowledged the danger of that possibility with a long closing of her eyes. The denim capris and bright pink t-shirt she wore suddenly looked like they'd gained two sizes on her. They both knew that all of her difficulties in adjusting to her son's new supernatural state would look like nonchalant acceptance compared to how Scott's father would react. Scott even telling him the truth was simply out of the question.

"I'll call him back," she responded. "Ask him if you can come out Tuesday instead."

"Do I have to go?" Scott was trying to keep his tone reasonable, but even he could hear it lilting toward a whine. He'd been officially on summer vacation for less than an hour and already it was blowing up around him.

Melissa gave the dishtowel a final, hard twist. "Yes. As long as he has legal right to you, you have to go."

"Tell him I have to be back before the full moon?"

"I'll look up the dates," Melissa promised, which sounded really hopeful. Scott was trying to work out how to winnow more time off the trip when she added, "Your father's the one buying the bus tickets."

"Mom," Scott warned.

Holding up a hand to still his protest, Melissa stated, "I'll see what I can do." She turned and headed back toward the kitchen and its wall-mounted phone, leaving Scott alone in the hallway with the open doorway unnoticed behind him.