This was a suggestion by my big sister, SenseiGrace!
"Coach, are you sure we shouldn't forfeit?" Scott questioned, watching the rain fall at a rapid pace, the thunder and lightning sounding out of Coach's office. However, the suggestion to forfeit made Coach Finstock bust out laughing.
"McCall, you may be a co-captain, but I'm the coach, and unless both you and Jackson agree on the forfeit, or Davenford is a no show, then we are playing tonight, understood?"
"Yes sir." The werewolf sighed, leaving the coach's office, but as soon as he came out, he was amazed by a large line outside of the nurse's office of kids and teachers alike, blowing their noses, coughing into their elbows, or holding their throats, leading the teen to realize just how lucky he was that werewolves can't get sick.
"Yo, Scott!" Stiles called from his locker, clearly smitten as he glanced at Lydia, who was completely focused on Jackson and standing by his locker.
"What's up?"
"You, Jackson, me, Danny, Greenberg and like 12 other guys are the only ones on the team who aren't sick with whatever the heck has plagued most of the school. Do you know what that means?"
"That there is a school wide epidemic that will keep my mom at the hospital overtime?" Scott questioned, thinking logically and making a quick reminder to take Allison out that night after the game.
"Don't be ridiculous, Scott. It means I'm playing tonight!" Stiles squeaked happily after making his big announcement, only to be interrupted by a third voice that sarcastically cut him off.
"Oh my gosh, with Stiles playing, the game is saved!" Both Stiles and Scott turned to glare at the other lacrosse co-captain who had Lydia on his arm. "But seriously, with you playing tonight, Davenford is gonna kick our-"
"Hey, dude." Scott cut Jackson off, standing enough in front of Stiles to protect him if needed, but not enough for Jackson to make even more comments. "Knock it off. If you wanna forfeit, like I already tried to convince Coach to do, let's go talk to him together. No need to pick on people."
"Please, McCall." Jackson scoffed, standing in front of the floppy haired teen with a puffed chest while the strawberry blonde twirled her hair and tilted her head to the side, a smile on her face. "I'm gonna try to win, so just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours, Stilinski." Before the pair walked off, with Stiles glaring at Jackson, hard enough that if looks could kill, sickness wouldn't be the only thing the school would have to deal with.
Scott had to stop him, as he was about to storm after them, saying under his breath.
"Oh, he did not just threaten me..."
"Chill, Stiles." Scott insisted, laying a hand on his best friend's shoulder, leading him away from the school's "power couple" and towards the classrooms. "No need to punch a spoiled brat."
...
While the thunder and lightening had stopped after school, the rain had only gotten harder, to prove that was the small amount of attendance on the Beacon Hills Twisters side.
Lydia, Allison, Jackson's parents, Danny's parents and some assorted people who came to every game. Melissa had been swamped with the school wide epidemic, and Noah had promised he would come, but unsurprising to his son, he was a no show.
Davenford, being one of the largest prep school's in the district, had a huge turn out of parents, friends, and overall fans, making Beacon Hills High look pitiful.
"Huddle up!" Jackson's voice snapped the sixteen year old out of his thoughts as he and the other lacrosse played came over to Jackson and Scott.
"Alright, get the ball to me or Scott at all costs. If we want the game to be a easy win, just get it to one of us."
Stiles nodded, along with the rest of the team, as they grabbed all their lacrosse sticks, and Coach Finstock told everyone to get on the field.
Stiles lined up in front of the captain of the Davenford team, placing his stick on the ground, and ready to fight to the death over the small ball.
He sucked in a deep breath, making the mistake of glancing into the Davenford player's eyes, and gulped loudly, just as the referee blew into his whistle, and the Davenford player scooped up the ball, pushing Stiles off his feet and ran towards the goal, causing the sheriff's son to swallow mud. A lot of it.
Davenford scored.
Stiles took the dreaded walk back to the bench, trying to wipe the mud off his face from under his helmet without taking it off, and just so happened to look into the stands to see his father inching into the crowd. Perfect.
"What the hell was that, Stilinski?!" Coach Finstock yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts, only to see his very angry team glaring at him, with the exception of Scott and Danny, who were looking at him sympathetically.
"Sorry, Coach." Stiles muttered quietly, ready to get yelled at by Jackson, but instead, he was ignored as the team huddled, without him and with the coach, probably deciding if he should be benched or not.
Three minutes later, they broke and he felt Scott lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Luckily, we can't bench you cause we're so short on players and can only put people in if we get a injury, but we're putting you on second line, Kay? All you have to do is throw the ball and run a bit possibly. Super easy, and impressive to your dad."
"Thanks, Scott." Stiles grinned, knowing that he couldn't blow it this time. He walked over to the second line where Scott and Jackson were in front of him, Greenberg in the goal, and Danny beside him, and he adjusted his stick in his hands, just as a clap of thunder sounded and the coach blew his whistle.
Scott got the ball and started running towards Davenford's side, which lead the human to run faster then he had ever run in order to get the ball. Which he did, to which he started to run even faster, Jackson screaming for him to pass it, and Coach yelling from the sidelines
Then he tripped and rolled across the field, landing on his left ankle, but threw the ball from his stick into the goal, causing the whole Beacon Hills team to yell happily. Stiles promptly laid down on his stomach in the mud, feeling the rain hit his back hard, his main priority being not to swallow MORE mud. Then his ankle started throbbing, and the cheers turned to concern.
He felt two sets of hands gently grab his shoulders and turn him onto his back. When he looked up, he saw his entire team, his dad, the paramedics and even some Davenford kids staring down at him, so he lifted his head slightly, only to see his twisted ankle, almost making him sick.
Then the stabbing pain came in. He saw one of the paramedics try to get a better look at his ankle by lifting it slowly, but it felt like hell. Stiles let out a cry of pain, only feeling the pain get worse as he slammed his head back into the mud and grass. Fading in and out of darkness, he felt himself most likely being lifted into a ambulance, and while he couldn't hear anything, he could feel a presence squeezing his hand.
When he finally came to again fully, he was in a small, white room, with a large cast around his ankle up to his knee, an IV in his hand, giving him pure bliss from the pain, and his father holding his hand in the chair beside the bed, leading the teen to smile before exhaustion plagued him, and he fell asleep again, not even saying anything to his dad first.
...
"Alright, easy." Sheriff Stilinski told his son who was hobbling out of the car the next day and into the house, stumbling very noticeably on the two crutches, trying to keep weight off of the casted ankle. "Just move the crutches a little bit in front of you. No need to move a mile every time you lift them up."
"I've got it, Dad."
Noah responded by going in front of him, opening the door so he could get it, and then heard a loud sob, which caused him to whip his head around, and saw that Stiles had put weight on his ankle.
"Oh boy, kiddo." He sighed, before gently wrapping his arm around Stiles' torso, sliding the two crutches under his other arm, and lifted Stiles, carrying him to the couch, propping the crutches against the wall beside it. "There you go. Do you need anything?" He questioned, laying his hand on his son's right knee after laying him down.
"C-can you get my phone and pillow?" The teen asked, wiping his tears away on his wrist, clearly trying to calm down.
"Sure, bud." He smiled at the teen, going up the small flight of stairs and into his son's room, but instead of grabbing the two items and going back down, he sat down on the twin bed, and fell deep into thought.
Even though he had been raising Stiles for five years since Claudia died, he had been so wrapped up with work that he had basically left the school to raise him. Probably why he had to remind him not to curse half the the time. But he had basically forced his son to grow up at nine years old, and while he had always made Stilinski smile in the hardest time with his crazy antics and ridiculous jokes. While he had never really learned to care for a child, let alone a teenager, since he was the provider of the family, maybe this was the best time to start.
"Dad! Where the heck did you go?!" He heard his son whine from the lower level, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He grabbed the ancient pillow off of Stiles' bed, and the small cell phone as well, before walking down the flight of stairs, handing his son the cell phone and tucking the pillow behind his head.
"It took me a couple minutes to find your phone."
"How bad is your eyesight?" Stiles questioned jokingly, opening his text messages.
"Hey, I pay the bills, including the phone, your medical bill, the WiFi and the jeep, so I'd knock it off if I were you." Noah told him, smiling the whole time.
"I'll just make you eat a veggie pizza with a gluten free crust tonight." Stiles grinned widely from the small screen.
Noah rolled his eyes, allowing his son to order the pizza, making two mental notes. That he was gonna sneak some of Stiles' pizza that night, and that this may just work out after all.