(Authors' note: we're continuing this mirror of canon, with only a very few tweaks. Lots of quoting from 1x06. Poor Stiles; this chapter doesn't exactly end on a positive note, but we promise, we have lots of nice things for him coming up. Warnings for discussion of sexual orientation, light Dom/sub, masochism, and lots of complicated feelings. -amy and gala)
Stiles woke up to his phone ringing. A lot of people turned their phones off at night, or at least charged them in another room as to not be bothered by someone's late night Facebook status update. Not Stiles. Even before all the werewolf shit had gone down, Stiles had been the kind of guy that could always be contacted. He had online friends in too many time zones to deny them 24/7 access.
But it wasn't a text from Franco from Wiltshire, or Costel39, or any of the others. It was just Scott, and it was an actual voice call. Stiles jabbed the button and carefully balanced the phone on his face so he could slide his arm back under the blankets. Standard procedure, unless he was about to be told something that necessitated getting out of bed.
"Hey man. 'Sup?"
Rather than a hello, Scott groaned into his ear.
"Should I be asking what's going down? You don't sound happy. Did you get bit by a randomly appearing mountain lion? Are you now a were-mountain lion/wolf hybrid?"
"The entire universe is out to cock-block me, man."
"I promise I won't interrupt you if you want to jerk off right now," Stiles replied without thinking. Then he grimaced and shut his eyes tightly when the replay of his words went through his head. Shit. Well, he couldn't backpedal. Backpedaling was suspicious as hell. It wasn't like Scott knew he had crushes on multiple people. There was a reason Stiles took his interest in Lydia to an extreme in front of others. As far as Stiles knew, Scott didn't even take the comments about Danny seriously.
"I don't want to jerk off. I want to be with Allison. And we almost did that! It was going to be so great. She's so pretty... so nice."
"Uh-huh," Stiles managed. This wasn't the time for Stiles to tell Scott he was full of shit. His reasons for liking Allison were a hell of a lot different, and they definitely didn't include the words nice or pretty. Still, he could be supportive.
"But her aunt walked in. Kate... man, I swear she exists just to fuck me over. I was hiding in the closet for almost twenty minutes!"
"There are so many jokes I could make here, dude. I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm not touching that."
"Uh, okay?" Confused Scott was adorable. Stiles kind of wanted to skritch his head. "So then I'm heading home, blue balling like crazy, and the freakin' Alpha attacked and trapped me in my mom's car, and drew this weird-ass symbol in the condensation."
"Can you describe it?" Stiles rolled to the edge of the bed and pawed blindly for the notebook that he usually left close by. "I'm awake now, I'll get my Giles on, and -"
"Yeah, you're gonna freakin' have to! Because it's the spiral Derek's sister was buried under, and he wouldn't tell me anything. Said I was better off not knowing."
"Wait, you talked to Derek already?" Stiles wasn't jealous. He wasn't. Yeah, he wanted Scott to talk to him, share everything about this with him, but logically speaking, second-hand info Stiles could scrounge from the internet that might be wrong, versus tapping the source? It made sense.
"Do you consider him asking dumb questions, telling me I can sense feelings like an X-Man, then not telling me anything about the one thing I'm sure about talking? Plus he broke into my damn room!"
"He what?"
"I got home, freaking out because of the Alpha, and he was sitting there in the pitch black, waiting for me!"
"Wow." Okay, no. He was jealous as fuck. Why did Derek loom at everyone but him? What could he do to draw Derek in for some Stiles loomage? Maybe he could put a bloody rabbit in the corner of his bedroom. Derek's wolfiness would go crazy for it.
"I think it was because he demanded I break up with Allison, and I told him I would. I think he wanted to smell her on me or whatever. Screw that though. If he can't even be honest about stuff, why should I do what he wants?"
Because it would be hot. "Um. I got nothing." He really didn't. Advice was basically impossible when the mental image of Derek ordering both him and Scott around was getting more and more detailed.
'Maybe you should come talk to him with me."
"Oh, yeah, that would be a good idea." Stiles glared at the phone. "When there's already so much trustworthy trustingness happening between us. You want to help yourself? Stay as far away from that guy as you can."
"But the three of us were a really good team last time," Scott protested. Because he was completely delusional, obviously.
"Were you attending the same 'last time' I attended?"
Scott apparently took that question at face value. "Uh, I think so? Remember, you kept him safe and I found the bullet and then you hit him awake and I saved the bullet and then we burned it and Derek's arm was fine? I mean, he didn't thank us, because he's kind of a jerk, but it all worked out. You said yourself it was awesome." Scott paused. "Wasn't it awesome?"
Stiles had no way to explain that the awesomeness of supernatural life-saving was completely nullified by how disturbing the subsequent jerking off fantasies had become. Not to mention he was now living in a realm dependent entirely on lies. Because of Derek, he couldn't be honest with Scott. Because of Scott, he couldn't be honest with his dad. Because of Derek and Scott, he couldn't be honest with Allison, who was the only person who actually listened without assuming he was joking or being gross. Everyone in his life was making everything in his life impossible, and it was after midnight and - fuck.
"Would you just fuck off about Derek!"
"Um, dude..." Scott trailed off, clearly confused as to how things had turned. Well, too bad for him. It wasn't Stiles' job to lead Scott to every answer.
"He's not going to fix anything, okay? He's just as big and bad and scary and unpredictable as the Alpha. If you're going to go to him for answers, leave me out of it."
"Stiles." Scott sounded hurt, but Stiles wasn't going to back down on this one. He cut him off.
"I mean it, Scott. I know there's nothing special about me; I'm not a werewolf or anything else awesome, but you've always trusted me before."
"I still trust you! That's why I want you to come with."
"No. Nope. Sorry, no, done." And with that fantastic goodbye, Stiles hung up on him. Maybe Scott could be persistent enough to get ten thousand answers from Derek, but Stiles wasn't about to put himself in a situation that would lead to more dangerous dreams. Not to mention risking spilling the beans to Scott about just why it was a bad idea for Stiles and Derek to be in the same room together. That was a whole world of honesty he wasn't prepared to face.
Stiles had breakfast alone most days of the week, but every now and then his dad was home while Stiles was getting ready for school. Today was one of those, although his dad didn't bother to make breakfast for him anymore, and Stiles was forbidden to have coffee. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and slid into the seat across from his dad. "Hey."
"You have a lacrosse game coming up?"
Stiles was too surprised to specify when. He nodded.
"I'll do my best to be there." His dad looked at him over his mug. "So, you haven't tried to wheedle any information from me or Bev about the mountain lion."
Crap. Who would have thought that not being a nosy bastard would be the thing that would trigger attention. Stiles shoved the biggest heaping spoonful he could in his mouth, and then mumbled an answer around it. Not a real answer, a Peanuts wah wah wah answer, but hopefully his dad would respond like he'd heard actual words, and it would give him a moment to see where his dad was going with this, and think.
"I would have thought you'd be all over the death of the animal that caused the most excitement Beacon Hills has seen in years."
Double crap. His dad was right. Stiles definitely would be, had he not had a theory it was the Hunters semi-literally throwing the lion under the bus to close the case and move the attention along.
"I guess I didn't want to know everything?" Think boy, think. "I'm kinda maybe semi-dating this person, and they're really into PETA, and I didn't want to be the guy that knows every detail about a wild animal being murdered?" Hah. Perfect! Stiles ate another bite of his cereal, supremely satisfied with himself. His dad would totally buy that.
"What's her name?"
Not out of the woods yet, but close. Stiles was confident in his ability to bullshit. Worse come to worst, Stiles could find a random Getty Images picture to put on his phone of her.
"Alex. We had one group date thing, hence the semi-maybe thing. I dunno if she came with her friends to see me, or saw me because of her friends. If that makes sense. Does that make sense?" Stiles wagged his spoon at his dad, who only sighed as milk dripped off it.
"Sure. Bring her over to the house sometime so I can meet her, okay?" He nodded out the window. "You giving Scott a ride today?"
Stiles twisted in his seat far enough to spot Scott waiting on the porch with a kicked-dog expression on his face. "Uh - no. I'm pretty sure I'm not." He picked up his bowl of cereal and went to the door, not opening it, but close enough so he could talk to Scott without his dad hearing.
"Can I come in?" Scott asked.
"If you tell me you didn't talk to Derek again last night, then yes."
Scott had zero poker face. Stiles thought he might actually be able to read the word guilty in the lines on his forehead. Stiles wheeled away, rolling his eyes.
"Jesus christ, you did. After everything I told you about him. You must really think I'm a fucking idiot."
"He's the only one who knows anything, Stiles! I have to rely on him. Okay, maybe he's a little volatile, but he's proven -"
"Volatile?" Stiles hissed. "Are you serious? Me and Derek, we're like potassium permanganate and glycerol. Nitric acid and sodium thiosulphate. You might as well throw us in a fume hood and walk away, because there's going to be an explosion, and I can't promise I'll come out of it intact."
Scott was doing that confused thing again, but at the moment, Stiles was too angry to find it endearing. He put both hands against the screen door and pressed his nose to it.
"I can't," he said through gritted teeth, "be around him."
Scott shook his head. "I won't let him hurt you, Stiles."
"That's not the problem."
"Then what is the problem?" Scott shouted.
Stiles pushed open the screen door and let it slam behind him. As Stiles approached, Scott stumbled backwards down the steps, his eyes going wide. Stiles managed to keep his voice low, but the words came out too fast to stop them.
"The problem is that I want him to hurt me. The problem is that I would let him do anything to me. Anything. And I can't let a guy like Derek get that close to me. I have zero control when he's around. I have dreams about him that are blowing my mind. That's the fucking problem. Okay? Are you happy now? Is that enough too much fucking information for you, Scott?"
Scott had gotten smaller and smaller during this flood of words, until by the end he was hunched back on himself, staring up at Stiles in miserable confusion. "You're gay?" He made a useless gesture. "I thought... don't you like Lydia?"
Stiles could feel his eye twitching. "Go away. Or I will throw my cereal bowl at you, I swear to fuck."
He didn't stick around to watch Scott leave. He took his cereal bowl back into the house and put it in the sink, running water over it. Then he leaned his forehead on the refrigerator, trying to stop himself from trembling. Oh god, he needed Allison.
"Well, that didn't sound very good." His dad rested a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I didn't realize you two were having a fight."
"It's not really a fight." He turned his head to feel the cool stainless steel surface of the fridge against his cheek. "I don't know what it is."
"Yeah, well, when two people are as close as you guys are, there's bound to be some friction."
Stiles managed to refrain from choking. "Yeah," he said. "I think that's all it is." Friction. Jesus fucking christ.
He took his backpack and went to sit in his Jeep, trying to calm down, but his hand was still shaking badly when he dug his phone out and called Allison.
"Stiles," she said, surprised.
He didn't give her a chance to ask anything. "I'm freaking out. I told Scott about Derek and - and I'm freaking out, and I have to go to school. Did I mention I'm freaking out?"
"Hang on. Where are you? We still have a half hour before first bell."
"I'm in my garage." He writhed in embarrassment as the scene replayed in his head. "God, why did I tell him?"
"Because he's your best friend. Stiles, do you need me to come get you, or can you drive over here?"
"I don't know. But I haven't told him ever, this whole time we've been friends. Because now he's going to know, and it's going to be weird for him. He's not going to hug me or anything anymore." He was already annoyed with himself for being so ridiculously whiny.
"Turn the car on, Stiles, and pull out into the street. You can keep talking to me."
Autopilot somehow got him out of the driveway and moving in a forward direction. He felt undone in a way that none of this supernatural stuff had managed to do.
"It's not just my life," he tried to explain. "It's my best friend. I think I could deal with losing the first one, but..."
"You're not going to lose him. Wait for me at the corner of Forest and Green; I'm technically still grounded."
He kept his head down and focused on the in and out of breathing until he heard the passenger door open, then close, and then Allison's arms were around him, holding him while he fell apart. It didn't matter that he was idling there in broad daylight, in plain sight of anybody who happened to walk past his very recognizable car.
"Yeah," she murmured, "it's okay. M'here."
He dug his face into her shirt, trying to block out the stupid everything-else that was interfering with his Allison fix. "We can't really go upstairs and do that lying down thing on your bed before school, can we."
"No. This is what we get right now." She took a resolute breath, then pushed him back to look at him, framing his face with both hands. Her expression was very calm and very serious. Somehow it squashed down the panic into a manageable bundle. "But you can handle this."
"Okay?" The answer came out in an hysterical croak. Immediately he shook his head and tried again. "Okay. Yes."
"Yes." She held him firmly in her hands, and her eyes made it a question, one he couldn't have ignored if he'd wanted to. He nodded vigorously.
"Yes, I'm okay. I can handle this."
Allison smiled at him, the kind of smile he'd only ever seen her give to Scott before that moment, and it was like a cool facecloth in the height of summer: soothing, and enough to make his skin stop crawling, even if it was fleeting. She dropped her hands to his lap and interlaced their fingers, then kissed him soundly on the cheek.
"Holy shit," he said, feeling absurdly normal again, and laughed. "How did you do that?"
"Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea?" She flashed him a very ordinary wicked Allison smile, but she didn't let go of his hand. "We'd better get to school. I am completely forbidden from being even tardy for the rest of the year. So tell me exactly what Scott did when you told him about Derek."
Stiles didn't see Scott again until social studies. No doubt the bomb dropped on Scott's front steps had something to do with that. He'd been hoping for a day of mindless classes, because he'd been done with the entire day starting at about 8:15, and having some pushy teacher trying to cram another concept down his throat really wasn't on his To Do list. Considering Mr Bergen had already wheeled a tv into the room, Stiles had figured he'd gotten his wish granted. Sitting still to watch half a movie for a period might not have been his strong suit, but it at least meant Scott couldn't try to talk to him.
But the halls were still busy when Scott walked in and nodded his head at him, and the warning bell hadn't rung yet, so Scott had at least a few minutes before Mr Bergen closed the door and turned off the lights. And of course he took the seat right behind Stiles.
"Still not talking to me?"
Obviously not.
Next Scott said some crap about his dad, which Stiles happily ignored. His dad was fine, aside from a few bruises, and if Scott really cared, or if Stiles was actually worried, that conversation would have happened a lot earlier. Scott was just trying to get to Stiles through his weaknesses.
"Okay, what if I told you I'm trying to figure this whole thing out, and I went to Derek for help?"
Stiles didn't care if he went to Derek for help, or for training, or for fancy Buffy-esque leather tomes. Hell, he didn't care if Scott went to Derek for a great peach cobbler recipe. Stiles had made his opinions clear last night, and Scott had totally ignored them, because Scott clearly thought Stiles' opinions weren't important enough.
"If I was talking to you," he said without turning around, "I'd say that you're an idiot for trusting him. But obviously I'm not talking to you."
He forced down his curiosity and maintained his silent treatment for an absurdly long time. It took almost a whole two minutes before he broke like porcelain and twisted in his seat to look at Scott.
"What did he say?" Because of course he wanted to know what Derek thought.
Scott frowned, mouth hanging open slightly, like he wanted to make sure he'd gathered the right words before speaking. "I don't care that you're gay. You didn't really give me the time to say that this morning, but I don't. And you don't have to pretend with Lydia, bearding or whatever it's called. No one cared when Danny came out."
"Lydia was not a beard. Is not a beard, never has been one. The moment she drops that tool Jackson, I will put a ring on it, like Beyonce requested." Stiles was unashamed of the reference. Inside every guy was a Kurt Hummel who could do the whole routine of at least one girly song. Stiles was sure of it, because his dad could do all of Stevie Nicks' shawl twirling, and his dad was a pretty manly man.
Scott looked doubtful. "I don't think Lydia's gonna marry you, man. She's way too self-centered. She's gonna want a guy who only wants her."
"You're having listening problems again." Stiles threw a pen at him. "Wanting Derek does not preclude wanting Lydia. Or anybody else, for that matter. It's possible to like girls and guys; it's called being bisexual. For that matter it's possible to like girls and guys and genderqueer people. That's called being pansexual. And there are other ones too, but since they're irrelevant to me, I'm not going to confuse you."
It was obviously too late. Scott was beyond confused. "So...you're bisexual, then?"
"I think? For now? I mean, Beacon Hills isn't exactly teeming with people who reject the gender binary for me to look and and consider dating. Maybe I'll learn new stuff about myself once I graduate."
"Huh. Okay, so -" Scott cut himself off as Mr Bergen got up and turned the lights off. Every other conversation quickly petered out too. For as much of a slack class as had turned out to be, with a movie at least once a week, the teacher was pretty strict about them actually watching and taking notes. The only time a student ever got detention in social studies was if Mr Bergen caught you talking. And chances were, Scott would need his notes later, so he'd better take good ones.
It was hard to focus, though, when things had changed so radically in such a short amount of time. He wasn't exactly sure how to tell Scott, look, the liking-guys part of my unintended announcement wasn't actually the big deal. Because Scott had apparently missed the rest of Stiles' memo: the part where he'd admitted the idiotic desire to be manhandled by an emotionally unstable, uncommunicative asshole. Or, possibly, Scott had heard, and was still dealing with it in his own little confused-werewolf way, and Stiles would hear about it eventually. There was no way to know for sure. Even asking might not help, not if Scott himself didn't know how he felt. All he could do now was watch, and wait, and deal with the consequences over time.
By the time the movie was over, Stiles felt more jittery than he had before Scott had sat down behind him. He elbowed Scott on the way out the door. "So are we still discussing my fascinating coming out, which will no doubt be around the school by lunch? I better get a rainbow balloon taped to my locker, by the way. I earned it."
That earned him a small smile. "I'll get you a balloon if you want? But I hope you know I wouldn't tell anyone. How would it get out?"
"Because Tamika of the bleach-blonde-imported-from-Indonesia hair was sitting beside me, diagonal from you, and her ears are tuned for the frequency of gossip like the Fundies tune to FBC radio. Anyway, do you have any more questions, or some definitions you don't want to Google for fear of accidentally getting porn? Or are we discussing what Derek told you last night?"
"It really wasn't much. Honestly. He still wouldn't tell me what the spiral meant." Scott went on as they walked down the hall towards the corner they'd have to split up at. Stiles let him talk without interrupting until the recollection of Derek's insanity was too much. Not to mention the mounting jealousy about Derek's willingness to be all buddy-buddy with Scott.
"He wants you to tap into your animal side and get angry? Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but every time you do that, you try to kill someone. And that someone is usually me."
"I know! That's what he means when he says he doesn't know if he can teach me. I have to be able to control it."
"Well, how does he teach you to do that?"
"I don't know." Scott shrugged. "I don't think he does, either."
Stiles couldn't help think about the way Allison had defused his anxiety in about ten seconds that morning. He was absolutely sure she could do the same for Scott's anger, if only she knew about the werewolf stuff. It wasn't like Stiles didn't know what to do; he could kind of see what Allison had done, but there was absolutely no way Scott would let him lie down with him on a bed and snuggle him until he was calm.
"When are you seeing him again?"
Scott was looking more uncomfortable the longer they talked about Derek. "He told me not to talk about it. Let's just - act normal and try to get through the day."
"When?" Stiles pressed.
Scott sighed. "He's picking me up at the animal clinic after work."
"After work. All right, well, that gives me till the end of the school day, then."
"To do what?"
Stiles took a resolute breath and let it out. "To teach you myself."
"Teach me what?"
"How to deal with your feelings. How to make it okay when it isn't, because you have to. Sometimes you can't get what you need, but it has to be okay anyway, because you have school or your parents or other things, and you can't just lie on the bed and freak out all day." Stiles realized Scott was staring at him. "Not that, uh, you ever feel like doing that."
Scott nodded. "I... guess I don't," he said apologetically.
"No, no, that's probably good," Stiles said. "It's definitely good. Better than feeling like that, anyway."
Scott stared at the collar of Stiles' shirt while he thought. "So what do you do? When you feel like that, I mean?"
I call Allison, he didn't say. But not saying it was kind of a revelation all by itself, because Stiles realized, as he listed them, that all the alternatives he'd experienced had fallen short. "I stay up all night and talk to people on the other side of the world. I mindlessly surf the net. I take drugs. Prescription drugs," he clarified. "I eat a lot of Doritos. I jerk off. I watch endless episodes of -"
"Okay, okay," Scott said, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I get it. You distract yourself."
"Yeah. Some things work better than others. Other people work best."
"Other people." Now Scott looked confused again. "You mean somebody to talk to?"
"Talking actually makes it worse." Although, as Stiles thought about the way it had been with Derek, when he'd been taking care of him, kind of, he'd felt calm. Even when Derek had been unconscious, he'd come up with something to do to handle it. And then, afterwards, he'd freaked out. "I think if you end up having to make it okay all by yourself - if you have to suck it up and cope, without leaning on somebody else - then there's, like, a consequence later. It's physics. The equal and opposite reaction."
"Okay. So you're saying it'd be better for me to have somebody to... to help me?"
Allison, Stiles wanted to shout, but clearly that wasn't an option, not with wolf-Scott hovering behind one eyeblink of anger. "Either that, or somebody to deal with the consequence."
Scott paused, his brow knotting further. "And... you want to do that?"
"Not really," Stiles admitted. "But I think I can help you figure out a way to get it anyway, and that might be enough for now. Come on."
Scott followed him, though that was small comfort. "Where are we going?"
"Lunch." Not because Stiles was hungry, although he was, but because he knew Allison would be there. He couldn't exactly ask her for help, but maybe being around her would rub off on him and somehow make him more effective by osmosis.
Scott hid, in a very obvious way, behind his American history textbook and fretted. "Did you figure out a plan yet?"
"I think so," Stiles said. He hadn't, but that had never stopped him before.
He eyed Stiles. "Does that mean you don't hate me now?"
"No, but your crap has infiltrated my life, so I have to do something about it. Plus I'm definitely a better Yoda than Derek." It didn't matter how keyed up he was; Stiles had to snicker. "Your Yoda I will be. I said it backwards, because -" He saw the way Scott was looking at him, and cut that comment off. "Yeah, I definitely still hate you."
Allison chose that moment to look up and notice Scott, who vanished as quickly as he could down the hall into the boys' bathroom. "Scott," she called, scrambling to gather up her books, "Scott, wait..."
Stiles waited for her at a reasonable distance, watching her turn away from the closed door with a crestfallen expression.
"Why's he avoiding me?" She looked back over her shoulder at the door to the bathroom. "Is this about you and Derek?"
"No, it's completely nothing about that."
Allison fixed her eyes on him. That look was surprisingly intense for the middle of the hallway, but Stiles managed to stay present and vertical.
"Is it about you and me?"
He had to swallow on a dry throat before he could answer her. "I'm pretty sure that question has not come up in any of our conversations."
"Then what?"
He had to give her something. Something that wasn't he's a werewolf. "He's worried you're bad for him. But I'm going to convince him he's wrong."
That startled her into a smile. "You think I'm good for Scott?"
"Of course I do. What kind of a question is that? You guys are freaking adorable together. It's like watching puppies and kittens cavorting through a verdant field."
She laughed. "I thought maybe you might be jealous of us."
"Jealous? I'm so jealous. But that doesn't mean you don't get to have what you have with him. I think it's great, full stop. Just give me a couple hours to get him refocused. First, I need to acquire a few things."
"Acquire, hmm?" She tilted her head. "You need some help with... the acquisition?"
"I would absolutely freaking love that."
He sent Scott a quick text in the bathroom, saying he'd meet him on the practice field in fifteen minutes. Then he linked arms with Allison, trying not to feel smug about getting to have a little time alone with her at school. She was still smiling.
"So what's on the list?"
He numbered his fingers. "Duct tape. Coach Finstock's heart rate monitor. His phone. A big iced coffee."
Allison smothered a giggle. "One of these things is not like the other..."
"Okay, okay, the last one is optional. I'm thinking I can find everything else in his office, if I'm lucky."
They decided that it would be simplest if Allison kept watch in the hall while Stiles rooted through Finstock's things, with a ready excuse of something awful happening elsewhere in the building if they were spotted. That would allow Stiles time to get away if necessary.
He couldn't help hugging her hard before going in. She hugged him back, looking pleased.
"What was that for?"
"You. You just..." He tried to explain. "I can't think of anybody else who's ever put up with my shit, other than Scott. But you do."
"Yeah, I do. I kind of love it."
He felt his own smile widen. "You love my shit?"
"Yeah. Don't let it go to your head." She gave him a little push that was more of a smack than anything. "And don't get caught."
Stiles saluted her, feeling giddy as he stumbled backward into Finstock's office. "Yes, ma'am."
Lucky for both of them it went without a hitch, and Stiles found the first three things in under five minutes, and the coffee he hadn't really wanted anyway. When he opened the office door a tiny crack and peered out, Allison was already casually walking down the hall. He picked up his lacrosse stick and headed the other way toward the practice field, texting Allison with one hand as he went. Success.
Way to go, Bandit. See you in econ.
Stiles put on a burst of speed as his adrenaline propelled him to where Scott was waiting for him behind the bleachers. Scott gave Stiles' lacrosse stick a dubious look.
"Wait, so we're not going to fourth period?"
Stiles gestured to the expanse of grass in front of them in answer. "Does it look like it?"
"Shouldn't we maybe go to class? Since I'm bombing like, everything?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise that you'd paid exceptional attention at your parent teacher conferences and vowed with swordtip to forehead to do better. Oh, wait. You didn't." Stiles rolled his eyes. "Come on man, one period is not going to bring your grades down any lower, but one hour of practice might save you from being stuck with Mr Menace." Scott made a face, but continued walking towards the field with him, so Stiles considered his point made. He added, "And it's day four, dummy. On evens you have your spare period now."
"How do you know my schedule better than I do?" Scott didn't wait for a reply, which probably would have been something like because I actually care that you don't have to drop out and get a GED. Stiles had a lot of feelings about education, half of them out of spite towards the first psychiatrist he'd had, that had told his mom he'd probably struggle in school, and she should consider alternative schools. "That's good. I think if my mom got a call home right now about me skipping, she'd kill me."
Stiles plunked his duffle and lacrosse stick on the front bench of the bleachers, and sat down so he didn't have to juggle everything. He pulled the recently liberated heart rate monitor from the bag and handed it over to Scott. After giving him a bit of crap about the definition of theft, Scott shut up and strapped the heart rate monitor to his chest under his shirt.
Stiles carefully looped the duct tape sticky-side-out around Scott's wrists, then again with the sticky side in. Even if he didn't wolf out, Scott wouldn't appreciate having his regular old human arm hairs ripped out when Stiles took the tape off later. Scott didn't move his feet from where Stiles had placed him. He just twisted around and strained to meet his eyes. It added onto the excitement that was simmering in Stiles' stomach.
"This wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my free period," Scott muttered.
There was a space in the conversation for Stiles to say me either, but seeing as that was a blatant lie and wolfy Scott could sense lies, Stiles instead backed up a few feet, taking his duffle and stick with him.
"All right. Ready?"
"No?"
"Remember, don't get angry." Stiles bent and turned the app on Finstock's phone on.
"I'm starting to think this is a really bad idea."
Well, too bad for Scott. Stiles didn't think it was a bad idea at all. Not for reasons of wolfiness, because he honestly believed that his Incredible Hulk-inspired idea of keeping Scott's heart rate down was much more positive long-term than Derek's idea of breaking Scott's freakin' hand. Nor was it bad for Stiles' own enjoyment. Life had been pretty crap lately, but here he was, getting an opportunity to be ordered to hurt someone. It was undeniably fantastic.
Stiles rolled the top edge of his stick over the ball before letting it pop into the pocket. He raised the stick, twisting it as he lifted, and shot the ball forward. From such a short distance, his accuracy was dead on; the ball struck Scott in the abdomen. The heart rate monitor shot up instantly, to 115. Stiles giggled, pure joy bubbling out of his throat, and threw a second ball. That one hit Scott's collarbone, and Scott bent sideways, unable to grab himself with taped wrists.
"'Kay, that one kinda hurt."
"Quiet!" Stiles ordered. "Remember, you're supposed to be thinking about your heart rate, about staying calm." And he was clearly going to have to think about gross stuff, to keep his dick calm. Because this was feeling great already.
After a few more solid strikes, Stiles made the executive decision to back up a few steps. Not enough to lower his accuracy; that was literally the last thing he wanted. Just enough that his erection would be a little less obvious, if Scott happened to be looking directly at him. Hopefully Scott was focusing on his own reactions, not Stiles'.
"Argh - son of a bitch!"
Stiles was going to be hearing that in his dreams. It was with a touch of delirious joy that Stiles replied, "You know what? I think my aim is actually improving!"
"I wonder why!" Scott snapped.
Stiles looked down at the monitor, the excuse for this whole thing. Scott was up to 130 now. "Ah ah ah, don't get angry."
"I'm not getting angry," Scott muttered, following that up with a bellow when Stiles hucked another ball into his thigh, inches from his dick.
Stiles kept throwing, kept hitting Scott, kept looking down at Finstock's phone to check the coloured gauge because, quite frankly, it was either act like this was all business as normal, or go running skipping through the field shouting I have a Golden Ticket - and if he did the second, Scott would probably think he was insane, and would definitely not let Stiles hit him anymore.
Eventually Scott dropped to his knees. He hunched forward over his thighs with his head nearly on the grass, tied arms straight behind him. It was so perfect, such a textbook response, that it took everything Stiles had to not pull out his own phone and take a picture. Then Scott started groaning. Stiles' mind went to the crazy place where Scott was loving this as much as he was, and he thought for a brief moment that Scott was coming, untouched except for the impact of the lacrosse balls. Stiles thought for a even briefer, more infinitesimal moment that he might run over and tell Scott to raise his head, and when Scott obeyed, Stiles would just rub his dick against Scott's cheek until he came in Scott's hair.
That's when the heart rate monitor beeped in warning. Scott's heart rate was 160. He wasn't orgasming; he was freaking out. By the time Stiles squatted and seized the phone, Scott was up to 165 and it wasn't even beeping anymore, it was just a steady blare.
"Scott?" Oh, shit. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He didn't want Scott's heart to beat out of his chest. He hadn't done this to kill him.
Scott flexed his arms, and the duct tape tore like tissue paper. He lunged forward, but didn't end up moving further than all fours. He was making more infuriated noises, and Stiles was just about to do something insane in attempt to calm him, like sing lullabies, when the rate dropped. Not a lot, only two BPM, but it was enough to get the monitor back to beeping, not blaring.
Scott dropped onto his stomach and Stiles immediately scuttled forward. He hovered his hand over Scott, pulling it back then stretching it out again, not sure if Scott would want to be touched. "Scott? You started to change."
"From anger. But it was more than that," Scott broke off to pant, like it was old times and Scott was dying after a flight of stairs. Stiles reflexively reached for the inhaler he kept on him, before the current situation reminded him it wasn't needed. "The angrier I got, the stronger I felt."
"So it is anger, then. Derek's right."
Scott's face was devastated. "I can't be around Allison."
That made no sense. "What, because she makes you happy?"
"Because she makes me weak."
Stiles helped Scott to his feet, shaking his head. "Dude, that thing she makes you, it's not weak. It's -" He rolled the word submissive around in his mouth as they walked back toward the school. It was another word he'd never said aloud to anyone, though from the reading he'd done online, he was pretty comfortable applying it to himself. "It doesn't feel bad, does it? When you're around her, and she, you know. Handles things?"
Scott was staring at him like Stiles was speaking another language. "No," he said, after a long pause.
"You like having her there, right?"
He pushed open the door to the locker room, holding it open. "Stiles, I can't be all relaxed and happy and mellow if the Alpha is coming after me. I have to be -"
"Yeah, the big bad wolf."
Scott's glare was pretty ineffective, but Stiles got the point. "Fuck you," Scott added, just to make it clear.
"Hey, you do what you have to do, right? All right, so you stay away from her for a few days. You can do that."
"But is it a few days or is it forever?"
Stiles crossed his arms, squirming in annoyance. "You know, this whole women make you weak thing is a little too Spartan-warrior for me. It's probably just part of the learning process."
"Yeah, but you've seen Derek. I mean, the guy's totally alone. What if I can never be around her again?"
The idea fell somewhere between disappointing and terrifying. Stiles tried to tell himself that was because Allison was his friend now, too, and having to keep playing this avoidance game while remaining her friend was already wearing on him. He didn't dwell on half-formed ideas and concepts about what might be possible, however unlikely. "Well, if you're not dead, that could be a good thing."
Scott bowed his head, slumping against the locker. "I'd rather be dead."
"Look, you're not going to wind up like Derek. All right? We'll figure it out."
Stiles led them out of the locker room, chattering about the rancid smell of it on the way. Of course it smelled bad, he couldn't think of words more applicable than Scott's rotting. He happened to know that the girl's wasn't much better; one of the first detentions he ever got in grade seven was for sneaking into the girl's.
"It's like fifteen until Econ. Do you wanna just sit in front of the door, or..."
"Can we go to the caf, first? Since you made me toss my lunch so you could throw stuff at me."
Stiles shook his finger at Scott, old granny style. "Don't even try that with me. We left the caf at the end of the lunch period. I had time to eat everything I brought. If you didn't eat your gross peanut butter banana sandwich, it's because deep in your soul you know it's unnatural and wrong."
At least Scott was smiling again. "Hey, you give me crap about my great sandwiches, and I won't share my fries with you."
They ate on the way to Finstock's classroom, not bothering to talk around full mouths. The recycled cardboard container went in the garbage across the hall instead of next to his desk, because although Finstock's opinions were mercurial and his hot button issues changed hourly, he frequently flew into a rage about his team eating unhealthily.
Scott balked and took cover behind an open locker when he saw Allison approaching the classroom from the other direction. Stiles watched her notice him, then zero in on Scott's "hiding place," and finally continue on with nothing more than a friendly smile for Stiles. They followed behind her to find a seat.
Scott gestured wildly at the desk behind him, but Allison gave Stiles such a look that all he could do was back away and let her have it. He shrugged helplessly at Scott. What can I do, the shrug said; she's calling the shots.
But Allison didn't act like she was calling the shots when she spoke with Scott. She acted like just another ordinary teenage girl, flirting with her boyfriend.
"I switched lab partners," she told him.
"To who?"
"To you, dummy. This way I have an excuse to bring you home to study." When he didn't respond, her smile fell away, leaving a tentative, almost scared expression. "You don't mind, do you?"
"I just... I don't want to bring your grade down."
"Well, maybe I can bring your grade up."
Stiles had to roll his eyes at that one. He'd been trying to bring Scott's grades up, to no avail, since grades had begun to matter.
"Come over to my place tonight. 8:30?"
Scott held his breath. "Tonight?" he echoed.
"8:30."
It didn't sound like she was giving him much of a choice. Stiles was already nodding in response, yes, yes, I'll do that - only the invitation wasn't for him. He turned it into an awkward stretch.
And then Finstock, in a spectacular display of bad timing, proceeded to ream Scott a very special new orifice for not doing the reading the night before. Stiles had to remain silent, because if he started in on the witty repartée with the Coach, he'd only make it worse for both of them. He was a little surprised that Allison also refrained from engaging with him, but then he remembered the deep doo-doo she was already in for skipping an entire day of school. Stiles himself had skipped innumerable days, and so far the worst his dad had done was give him a stern talking-to.
When the gauge started dropping, Stiles thought at first it might be broken. There was no reason for Scott to suddenly be so much calmer. And then he saw Scott glance over his shoulder at Stiles, his face placid and his eyes serene. He spotted Allison's hand linked with Scott's under the desk. She was rubbing the side of his finger gently with the edge of her nail. Seeing that connection made his heart do complicated flips and side-rolls.
I know just how that feels, he thought. Allison's hand on him; the murmur of her voice; her confidence in him, buoying him up when he felt like he couldn't do it himself. Allison was giving Scott exactly what he needed, and watching it happen felt like the biggest gift he could imagine, almost better than getting it himself.
When Finstock finally let them go, two minutes after the bell, Stiles waited while Scott slowly gathered his books and stuffed them into his backpack. Allison made brief eye contact with Stiles before leaving them to talk in relative private.
"The Coach was in rare form today," he said. Scott nodded. His face was still calm, but he was starting to emerge from the trance Allison had put him in. Stiles touched his arm gently, watching Scott notice the contact. "You okay?"
"Sure," Scott said. "Yeah. I'm okay. I mean, maybe I shouldn't be? But... I am."
"It's her."
Scott looked around himself in confusion. Yep, it was still adorable. "What do you mean?"
"It's Allison. Remember what you told me about the night of the full moon? You told me you were thinking about her. And the night of the first lacrosse game? You said you could hear her voice out on the field. Well, that's what brought you back so you could score. And then after the game, in the locker room, you didn't kill her - at least not how like you were trying to kill me." Stiles wasn't sure if Scott would appreciate the word dominant applied to Allison in this context, but all he could think about was a little puppy Scott, following happily at Allison's heels as she coaxed him away from distractions and dangers. "She brings you back," he said at last.
"No, but it's not always true," Scott said. "Because any time I'm kissing her or touching her -"
"No. That's not the same. When you're doing that, you're just another hormonal teenager thinking about sex." Because you don't get off on that stuff like I do. Because you don't want her to be in control when you're making out. He sighed as Scott's eyes went misty. "You're thinking about sex right now, aren't you? Okay, that's fine. Back in the classroom, when she was holding your hand - that was different. I don't think she makes you weak; I think she helps you let go of your need for control. She's like an anchor."
"You mean, because I love her."
"Exactly." Stiles snapped his mouth shut on the rest of his sentence just in time, because oh my freaking god, Scott didn't need to hear him say I love her too. Meanwhile, Scott was looking like he'd been poleaxed.
"Did I just say that?"
"Yes," Stiles sighed, "you just said that."
"I love her?"
Please, Scott, just let it go. "That's great. Now, moving on -"
"No, no. Really." Scott did the opposite of letting it go, which was to grab Stiles' arm and look at him full in the face, his eyes shining with revelation. "I think I'm totally in love with her."
"And that's beautiful. Now before you go off and write a sonnet, can we figure this out, please? Because you obviously can't be around her all the time." Stiles danced restlessly from foot to foot. He needed to calm down, and he was pretty sure Scott wasn't going to let Stiles lob more lacrosse balls at him. Scott watched him curiously.
"So what do I do?"
"I don't know. Yet." Fuck. How had this happened? This was bad. This was worse than bad. Because even Stiles knew the last thing a nice guy should do is fall for his best friend's girl. He couldn't tell anybody this, least of all Allison.
"You're getting an idea, aren't you?"
"Yeah," he lied. Okay, he could do this. He just needed something else to raise Scott's heart rate, preferably something that didn't involve himself getting off on hurting Scott. He wondered if he could order Scott to throw himself off the roof. Then he remembered the kids who always hung out by the east parking lot playing dice. He was pretty sure it wouldn't take much to piss them off.
"Is this idea going to get me in trouble?"
"Maybe."
Scott squinted at him. "Is this idea going to cause me physical pain?"
"Yeah, definitely. Come on."
He hoped Scott wouldn't ask who he was texting as he walked. Your boy sure was grateful you were there to hold his hand in econ.
I was glad to be there,she replied. It's the best thing ever to help like that.
He wasn't nearly so grateful when I was hitting him with lacrosse balls.
Are you going to explain why you were doing that? Or what the duct tape was for?
I told you, I'm convincing him you're not bad for him. And it seems to have worked, partly.
That's really good news. I spent my free period sitting in the hallway getting hit on by Jackson Whittemore.
That doesn't exactly sound pleasant.
No, especially because he was basically creeping on me to get to Scott. I think he was suggesting a three-way.
Stiles couldn't help make a noise when he read that, but Scott seemed distracted enough that it didn't matter. That's not necessarily creepy.
A three-way with Jackson? Yes. Yes, it is.
He wanted to say no, a three-way with somebody else, but Scott was right there and he just wasn't going to go there. He wasn't. Crap, yes he was. How many times could one person get sent to hell, anyway?Because of Jackson or because of the three-way?
"What are we doing?" Scott asked. Stiles stuffed his phone into his pocket.
"You'll see." They'd rounded the corner to where the underage gamblers were loitering. There were seven or eight in at Beacon Hills High. Statistically, Stiles thought come their ten year reunion, five would be in jail, two would be living on their mom's couch with deep debts, the kind that made you run and hide from guys named Vinny, and one would be ridiculously rich.
Stiles got Scott to pose for him for the second time in almost as many hours. It was surprisingly only a little less hot for the actual position being so much less erotic.
"Now, whatever happens, just think about Allison. Try to find her voice like you did at the game. Got it?"
Scott didn't answer but for a worried nod. The not-nice, attracted-to-Derek part of him didn't appreciate the way the nod moved Scott's previously still body. Stiles let his impulse take over, and readjusted Scott's arm, pushing him further into position while repeating the command: "Don't move." Then he walked forward until he was at the truck parked beside the curb, and keyed the shit out of it, from front wheel to back.
Stiles gave himself a brief moment to enjoy Scott, mouth wide with shock but otherwise still perfectly still, just the way Stiles had left him. Then Stiles shouted, and watched as one of the four of the guys - all of whom had been playing craps against the side of the school, like they were in 1970's New York, what the fuck - jogged forward.
"What the hell!" the guy shouted, immediately before punching Scott in the face.
"Oh!" Stiles winced. "My god. Wow!" The plan had counted on the gamblers being overly aggressive, but there was a big, big difference between predicting the reaction, and seeing someone whale on Scott for the first time since elementary school.
Scott staggered with the hit, but didn't fall. Then he turned and tackled the gambler in the white jacket. The guy turned the move around immediately, throwing Scott half into the air. Scott went down, just in time for White Jacket and Black Padded Jacket to seize him by the legs and drag him back.
At that point it was four on one. Stiles clenched Finstock's phone so hard his knuckles might be turning white, not that he was about to look away to check. The monitor was still beeping steadily. Stiles muttered a mantra of stay calm, stay calm, not sure if he was talking to Scott or himself. He was definitely conflicted. This entire situation was very conflicting. Scott looked good being taken down, even if was a horrible thought for a friend to have. A good friend would run in and try to stop this, or at least make it four vs two, but Stiles couldn't. This was happening for a reason. He was being a better friend by helping Scott in the long term, not the short term, right? He wasn't just being selfish, because Scott wanted this too. Right?
Only a small part of Stiles was envious not to have a turn beating on Scott, himself. That wasn't the big deal, though. It had been fun, but he'd gotten a chance this morning. No, Stiles was envious of Scott, getting to be prone on the grass, struggling as a group of hot guys loomed over him, doling out pain. That, above anything else, was why Stiles couldn't rush in. Because Scott was fighting back. If Stiles was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure how much he would have.
The monitor was up to 130 the next time Stiles could bring himself to look away from the personalised porn in front of him. High, but not dangerously so, if working on the scale they'd used on the lacrosse field. It hovered there for a minute, before starting to go down. It had to be working, Scott had to be tuning into Allison.
Out of nowhere, Mr Harris rushed in to ruin the day. "Stop! Stop it right now." The gamblers fled, but Mr Harris didn't offer Scott a hand to stand up, only continued glaring. "What do you idiots think you're doing?"
Scott's groan was his answer. Stiles didn't have anything to contribute but waggling the monitor, proudly proclaiming 68, at Scott.
"Who were you fighting with?"
Scott shrugged. He probably knew, but he wasn't a rat. Stiles, on the other hand, had no problem throwing strangers -or acquaintances or friends, for that matter- under the bus if need be. "Gambling kids."
"Which gambling kids?" Harris asked acidly.
At that Stiles had to mimic Scott and shrug. He didn't really know any of them personally. They were all the Jackson type; hot, violent, and rich enough to literally throw money around. Not the kind of person Stiles willingly spent time with.
"Well, I need names to assign detention. Lucky for you two morons I'm attentive in class."
With positively Herculean effort, Stiles refrained from pointing out that Harris was a crappy teacher who only knew his students names in order to pick on them specifically. That sort of comment would leave him a week of detention, and one was quite enough, thanks.
Scott's nose was still bleeding when Mr. Harris brought them back to the chemistry lab. The dick didn't tell him to go to the nurse, or even plunk a box of tissues on the table in front of him. Stiles managed to fire off a brief text to Allison explaining what had happened before he was required to put his phone away. At least now she wouldn't worry.
"Excuse me, sir," Scott said in his ultra-polite Scott voice. "I know this is detention and all, but I'm supposed to be at work, and I really don't want to get fired."
Harris just gave Stiles a bitter too bad, sucker smile and went back to his paperwork. Scott slumped against the lab bench in defeat. He glanced over at Stiles.
"You knew I would heal."
"Yep."
"So... you did that to help me learn?"
"Yep."
"... and partly to punish me."
"Yeah." Stiles' response came out as a muffled gasp. Because, yeah, it had been half-discipline, half-punishment, but... Scott didn't mean it like that. He didn't. Did he? Stiles stole a tiny glance back at him. "That was obvious."
"Dude." Scott tapped his pencil resolutely against his palm. "You're my best friend, and I can't have you being angry with me."
Stiles engaged his hand in something other than reaching out to touch Scott, because that would be completely uncalled for and embarrassing. He ended up rubbing his mouth. "I'm not angry with you anymore." Fuck, I don't know what I am. "Look, you have something, Scott." He went ahead and let Scott think he was talking about the wolf business, even if it wasn't that at all. What Scott had, with Allison, that was just as significant, maybe more. "Okay? Whether you want it or not, you've got something that most people could only dream of. And that means you don't have a choice anymore. You have to do something."
"I know," said Scott, his voice sober. "And I will."
Stiles couldn't look Scott in the eye. He thought he might come right out of his own skin if he couldn't fucking move, right fucking now, but luckily he never found out whether or not that was the truth because Mr. Harris said, "All right, you two. You're out of here."
Stiles scrambled to his feet, stuffing his book into his bag. "You're going over to Allison's tonight?"
"I think so. I mean... I have to tell her." He shrugged at Stiles. "Tell her how I feel, you know?"
"Yeah. Good idea. You do that, man." Stiles reached over from a safe distance and patted him on the shoulder. "Let me know how it goes."
Walking out to his jeep through the parking lot scattered with cars felt a little surreal. It wasn't the exhaustion of being called to manage Scott's confusion all day. He didn't really mind that. It wasn't even the hard-on he'd been dealing with since that afternoon; that, he was used to.
He picked up his phone to send Allison a text, but let his hand fall back to his side. What was the point? She didn't need to hear what he had to say, not when Scott was on his way over. She had the right to have the kind of relationship she wanted, just like Scott did.
Just like you don't, said the hateful voice in his head, thinking of the way Allison had smiled at him that morning, the smile that had eliminated every doubt that she could take care of him. He turned the ignition roughly, grasping the steering wheel as he accelerated out of the parking lot. You don't get something like this. Nice guys finish last, and that's the way it should be. Scott deserves that.
hold tight the night is getting longer
count down, i feel it getting stronger
break free and lose your self-control
just light the fuse and let it go
get up, get up, let's get started
go on, go on, we're gonna throw it down
get up, get up, it's what you gotta do
get up, get up, let's get started
go on, go on, we'll lift it off the ground
or reach up high, and touch the sky
rewind the trouble that you're facing
get back the dreams that you were chasing
open your eyes and you will see
that it's time, we're gonna set you free
stay tough, the situation calls for more than ordinary men
it's you, you gotta make it something no one else would understand
break through, don't give in
something better's on the other side
eyes open wide
- Nick Nolan, "Get Started"