So Quidditch went about as well as expected. Meaning they lost. On a surprising note, they came close to winning during the second half, but British Jackson had to be Jackson-y about it. Of course, even Jackson refused to cheat at lacrosse. Much anyway.

His group was sitting in content silence outside, eating Frosties. Stiles tapped on his phone, trying to convince Scott that Google played special Quidditch with actual flying brooms. So far, he was successful.

"Bilinski!" An eerily familiar shout cut through his group's idle conversation. Stiles paused. No. No fucking way.

Bill stopped mid-80s reference to look up at someone Stiles absolutely never expected to see at Google. "Hey, my man, can I help you?"

Coach Finstock came to a halt by their table and studied Bill briefly. "You're either a perfect pick for a goalie because you're tall and cover most the goal or because you're clumsy and would trip if you did actual running."

"Coach?" Stiles interrupted, not wanting Coach to insult people that would actually be offended. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Bilinski, I met with my cousin who works here and he doubted my lacrosse skills and my ability to rouse the troops with the song of independence. So he challenged me to a mini lacrosse game. I choose one group of Googling-wanna-bes, like you, versus his colleagues."

"Did you know I was here?"

"Course! I wouldn't take a bet like that without any insurance. The sheriff practically made a public announcement when you were accepted here. What's with your stupid glasses? Oh god, you're not turning into one of those hippie drug people who don't like anything, are you?"

Stiles flushed, ignoring Neha's snicker. "I lost my contacts and couldn't get them replaced in time. Hence the glasses."

"Hmph. It won't affect your playing. Right? Good."

"Actually, I don't think my group wants to play lacrosse…"

"Bilinski, you play at Stanford—"

"Not on their legit team!"

"You can cover your group's slack."

"Well…"

"Sounds like it would be fun," Nick said. Stiles shot him a glare. "I never played lacrosse before. You guys coming?"

"Oh, definitely," Neha said. Yo-Yo, Billy, and Lyle followed with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Pretty much everyone was happy besides him and Yo-Yo.

"Fantastic!" Coach said.

"So you were Stuart's lacrosse coach?" Bill prompted. A normal person with average deduction skills would continue down the designated conversation path. Emphasis on normal.

"Stuart? Who the hell is Stuart?"

"It's my middle name, Coach."

"Oh! Much better than your first name. I can pronounce it for one."

"What is it?" Neha asked eagerly. Stiles honestly couldn't tell if she was attempting to establish a cute, annoying younger sister relationship or snarky, potential girlfriend relationship with him.

"Hell if I know. So many syllables. Why were you named that, Bilinski?"

"Family name. It was my mom's idea."

"Hmph. Course it was. Way to bring down the mood."

"But yeah, he was my lacrosse coach in high school and my economics teacher," Stiles said. He forgot how much of a filter Coach didn't have.

"Speaking of which," Coach said, "your dad gave me a ticket the other day."

"I'm sure the state appreciates your required donation."

Coach continued giving him an expectant look.

"What? You think I can talk him out of giving you a ticket you already have?" Stiles asked. "He's ruthless! He gave me a ticket before."

Coach snorted. "You probably deserved it. Taught you a lesson."

"And you were completely innocent when Dad gave you the ticket."

"I'm not a criminal, Bilinski."

"Me neither!"

"Right," the coach deadpanned, "and who kidnapped a student—"

"As a joke!"

"And got a restraining order—"

"Jackson couldn't take said joke. Besides it was only for like a month."

"And hangs out with murderers—"

"Ex-murder suspects."

"And completely destroyed a library during detention—"

"I wasn't the only one in there!"

"And pulled a fire alarm—"

"It was Halloween!"

"With a serial killer loose in the building."

"Where the fuck did you go to school?" Neha asked. Shit. He forgot they were there, stupidly enough. Shock was the prominent emotion. Billy and Lyle looked vaguely impressed.

"And," Coach Finstock continued, his shouting transforming into a hiss, "threw my whistle out the window of a moving bus?"

"Um…the whistle was bad luck?" Stiles protested weakly.

"Sure, Bilinski. I got my eyes on you. Now, wait here while I get the lacrosse equipment."

Stiles slowly turned to his group. "So Coach is just a tad eccentric."

"Eccentric means a person who has—" Yo-Yo began.

"Yeah, yeah," Neha interrupted. "Was all of that true?"

Stiles awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, taking in his group's eager, curious stares. "Well, a bit, but Coach made it sound worse than it was."

"What part of that was over exaggerated?" Neha interrogated.

"Um…" Stiles reflected. "The serial killer was never officially caught at my school?"

"This is why mom did not want me in the public school system," Yo-Yo said.

"Not all schools are like that, I promise," Nick said. "Where did you go to school?"

"Beacon Hills."

"That's like the Bermuda Triangle of homicides and animal attacks," Neha breathed. Shit. She was one of those. Conspiracy theorists flocked to Beacon Hills. Their lack of tact was almost astonishing. "What was it like going to school there? Wait! You were there when the serial killer who murdered people by garroting them to trees was there! Was he the one never caught in your school?"

"Neha," Nick coughed, shaking his head slightly. Neha ignored him.

"No, that serial killer stopped killing months before," Stiles said, trying to depersonalize himself from the events. "Never found said serial killer."

"How many serial killers did Beacon Hills have?" Billy asked.

"Tons," Neha answered. "And animal attacks. Wolf fur was identified on most of the victims, oddly enough."

"Why is that odd?" Nick asked.

"No records of wolves living in California exist," Lyle said.

"Huh, I guess you had an interesting high school career, so do you like lacr—" Nick said. Stiles was incredibly grateful for the topic change. Until he saw Neha open her mouth.

"So your dad was…is sheriff? That must've been hell," Neha continued. She was like a dog with a bone. Distantly, Stiles understood her desire for answers from a primary source, but she needed to stop prodding. Now. "Hasn't the sheriff's station been attacked before? Like by some things with swords? That's the theory on the internet. Of course, all the officials are covering it up. They're just pretending none of the deaths even happened because no one of importance died," she informed the group.

Stiles' expression turned murderous. "No one of importance?" Neha's eyes bulged as if she just realized her rambling actually affected him. "Your trusty internet tell you that? Good thing you passed the message! I mourned for these people, but how embarrassing to know that they weren't important. Hope none of the damn amateur documentaries caught my emotions on camera for the whole world to see. I would probably never live down the shame!"

"Stuart, I—" Neha began, apology on her lips.

"And it was such fun to be the sheriff's kid. When he got kidnapped I, of course, threw a party! No parents are the chance of a fucking lifetime."

"Stu—"

"Don't fucking talk about shit that happened like it was some fucking fanfiction you read on the internet."

"I'm sorry that—"

"Is there a problem?" Coach Finstock asked. Stiles glanced behind him and flushed at the small crowd. Why couldn't Neha leave well enough alone? He hated causing scenes.

"Nope," Stiles said shortly. "Ready to start?"

Coach grabbed Stiles' stiff shoulder and led him a few feet away. "You don't have to play, Stilinski. It's just a game."

Stiles gave Coach a forced smile. "Just pissed. I'll feel better after I body slam some of these guys and score. Can they play?"

"They play for recreation," Coach Finstock said after studying Stiles for a moment. "The biggest threat is unloved ginger."

"I can handle him easy," Stiles said dismissively.

"And you acted like you weren't good at lacrosse," Coach said. "I would've kicked myself in the Cindy Lou Whos if I knew you were going to be my biggest hope at winning a game."

"Did that sophomore year, Coach," Stiles said. "Might want to go over the lacrosse basics with them."

Coach patted Stiles on the arm once before turning abruptly to his group. "Alright, you pansy-assed girls!"

~O~

"You were amazing!" Billy said. "Where was that athleticism during Quidditch?"

"I had more motivation this game," Stiles said. Neha flushed and turned away. He never said he wasn't petty.

"You did decent, Bilinski," Coach said. "Shame you didn't come into your talent in high school. Our first line lacrosse players kept dropping like flies."

"Were you a bench warmer?" Lyle asked, tossing Stiles a water bottle.

"First year and a half."

"Would've been less if you actually made it to the earlier games, Bilinski," Coach admonished. "You had nothing more important going on. You were just a tiny sophomore."

"Eh, I liked the drama of my first game," Stiles said.

"What happened?" Nick asked.

"Bilinski scored the championship winning point and the lacrosse captain nearly died."

"Not what I was referring to, just for clarification," Stiles said.

"Someone almost died?" Billy asked.

"He was stabbed in the stomach and stopped breathing, but Jackson made a recovery at the hospital," Coach Finstock said. "What drama were you referring to, Bilinski? You missing after the game?"

"You went missing?" Lyle asked.

"Well, not missing missing," Stiles explained hurriedly. "Just some lacrosse players on the other team decided to…have a discussion."

"You were beat up by sore losers. Don't pussy foot around it," Coach rebuked. "And you went missing missing your junior year. Kinda like foreshadowing…"

"You went missing?" Lyle asked again.

"Twice," Coach inputted helpfully.

"Twice," Nick and Billy said with surprising synchronization.

"Once it's because I was sleep walking—"

"And calling your friends and generally causing havoc in Beacon Hills," Coach said.

"People do weird things while sleeping."

"And the other?" Lyle asked.

The other. As in when the Nogitsune took over after the MRI scan. Not really the appropriate sane response. He darkened his expression, which was not a hard accomplishment. "I really don't like talking about it."

"Damn, son," Lyle said. "You went through a lot."

"I do remember coming back and seeing Coach get shot with an arrow," Stiles said, kindly giving Coach the spotlight.

"An arrow?" Billy exclaimed. "Beacon Hills is certainly…"

"Different," Nick supplied.

"It's surprising you even had time for lacrosse," Billy said.

"We did pretty well actually," Stiles said, "which is a surprise considering."

"Surprising? Who taught you lacrosse? I trained everyone to perfection! I molded you specifically since you were a wee freshman and in serious threat of being more useless than my grandma's dead corpse."

"You were the best coach," Stiles said, only slightly sarcastic.

"Tell that to Jimmy," Coach Finstock muttered. Jimmy was Coach's cousin aka Head of Technical Support and very impressed with Stile's game. Stiles felt the business card in his pocket. Not a bad connection. "Thanks for the win. I'll think of you when he's buying me dinner."

"I do what I can to help," Stiles said.

"Stay sharp, Stilinski," Coach said. "Don't fuck up your life. It almost seems promising."

Stiles waved at Coach's abrupt turn, feeling oddly touched. "Aww, he does care."

"He seemed…nice?" Lyle said.

Stiles smirked. Lyle had been on the receiving end of Coach's yelling. He even said Greenburg was almost more useful. His group did not properly understand the direness of the situation. "He has his moments."

"Hear me out," Neha said. Stiles raised an eyebrow. He was expecting at least a peer-pressured, insincere apology, but not in front of the group. It made the apology seem almost genuine. "I…wasn't thinking. Earlier, I mean. I was so so insensitive. I've just been obsessed with Beacon Hills for a while—not that that's an excuse—and I let my excitement get away from me. I am so sorry. I'm sorry for everyone you lost. I'm sorry I was being an asshole. And I'm just so sorry that I hurt you."

"That helps," Stiles said after a moment. "I'm just still pissed at you right now. I'll accept your apology later when I actually mean it."

Neha gave a jerky nod and hurried away. Stiles vaguely hoped he didn't make her cry.

"I am going to forgive her," Stiles said to no one particularly. "Everyone's had a moment of stupidity. I just wouldn't mean it at all right now and don't feel like messing with this shit."

"Well, I know that—" Billy began.

"Please no vague reference," Stiles pleaded.

"Bilinski!"

Stiles' head jerked around.

"You're officially invited to dinner! Now clean up and meet us here in thirty!"

Stiles smiled and waved to his group as he hurried to his room to shower and change. Coach cares when he's not paying attention.