Notes:

Sorry this chapter took so long, it's been me vs my brain vs my temperamental laptop this week. D: Anyway I hope you like it and thankyou all for all the lovely reviews so far, there's been some really encouraging stuff! x) As a newbie to fanfiction writing (and a veteran to fanfiction reading :p) I'm grateful for any and all feedback, so if you have any thoughts please feel free to share them and if you have any ideas as to where you'd like this to go all potential plot suggestions are taken into consideration (That means you guys who have already left comments, they definitely affect how I see the story developing!)

Stiles kicked the jeep a couple of times for good measure, nothing says 'please kindly start to function like other socially acceptable vehicles' like physical aggression. Luckily for him his baby always responded positively to a bit of the rough and tumble. It had been a pretty chilly night and sometimes she just needed a little extra persuasion when it came to warming those poor frozen tootsies. In the same way Stiles had needed more than a little persuasion to crawl out from the mess of sheets and comforter his bed had become to haul ass to school this morning. He'd barely slept. His skin had coursed with a prickling sensation which even the most contorted positions (yes, even the one with his toes in his armpit) had been unable to shake and sooth him to sleep. By the morning the feeling had seemingly settled in his stomach, leaving it aching slightly with what might be dread.

An ache that put him right off his usual sugar-fuelled-taste-ecstasy that other people called cereal (which dragged in a whole different dimension of alarm because Stiles often considered the breakfast bowl his own personal brand of crack-pipe). He sighed as he petted his steering wheel, soothing his guilty conscience with reassuring strokes and whispered apologies to the jeep, sometimes it helped to let her know what she meant to him. It seemed this morning she was going to be fickle though, as halfway through his journey a sudden stop to spare a suicidal squirrel left her immobile for a good long minute.
A minute spent muttering further endearments and apologies, offering prayers up to the gods with his nose pressed to the plastic before him, seriously considering just abandoning ship and skulking back to bed. Fortunately (debatable, said the part of his brain remembering the cocoon he'd been extricated from this morning) she didn't stay down for long and Stiles made a bargain with himself that if he made it through the rest of the day safe and sound he'd take her to a relaxing spa date at the mechanics for a check-up. Any day now.

He took a brief moment to brace himself before opening the car door, stealing a glance towards the bike rack which cost him his footing as he stumbled, throwing his arms backwards to clutch the blue framework behind him for dear life. He froze, one foot stretched out to halt the customary greeting between his face and the asphalt, success. He met the gaze of a slightly startled girl whose path he seemed to have thrown himself into, her look of shock quickly turning to an offended scowl. He quirked his lips into a half smile and tilted his head with a shrug that was meant to portray Who wants to step out in the regular fashion nowadays anyway hey? I'm making an entrance. but probably came out as I'm not entirely sure how this new body works Earthling. He shook it off with a quick nod, slamming the door behind him and heading towards the stone steps leading up to the school, smiling as he recounted the look on her face, as if hurling himself out of his jeep at strangers was common practice... Well, he didn't do it for kicks anyway.

When he arrived at his locker he found Allison standing in front of it clutching a large grocery bag.
He approached warily, realisation hitting him as he began to recognise the familiar misshapen mounds protruding from it. She hadn't spotted him yet, staring off down the opposite end of the corridor, so he followed his instincts and quickly turned a sharp 180°, trying to struggle back through the crowd behind him.

"Stiles!"

Damn her. Damn her and her unassuming ladyvoice of witchcraft.

"Ohhh, hey Allison, didn't see you there... Hanging out... right in front of my locker...Which I was just walking past because, hey, who needs books?"

"..Stiles? Are you ok?"

"Perfect. Ship shape. On top of my game. Is that for me? You shouldn't have."

"We had a deal Stilinski."

"Ah , yes, but... Seeing as though you got to play detective last night whilst I was sent home without supper I thought.. maybe.. we were.. even?"

His voice trailed off at the stoic expression on her face.

"Fiiiinnnne gimme."

"No half jobs, I want them back good as new!" She sang over her shoulder as she walked back the way he had come, "See you in class!"

Damn her again. He thought before noticing a familiar dash of black amongst the colours filling the bag. Oh...

"So what happened?"

"What?"

"Last night!"

He nudged his desk infinitesimally closer as he leaned forward in a doomed attempt at subtlety.

"You know, out in the woods where the teddy bears had their violent, bloodthirsty picnic?"

"Can we talk about this later Stiles?"

"Awww c'monn I've had to wait a whole nine hours already, and I'm not saying patience isn't my strong suit but I totally have like, an entire list of attributes I'd probably put before it."

"Like?"

"Like the ability to hook my friends up with awesome evening entertainment with the expected exchange of information in gratitude!"

He wasn't whining. It wasn't a whine. There was no ignoring his voice had risen an octave though.

"Ok, ok, just... After class, alright? We can hardly talk about it here."

"At least tell me it was worth it."

She turned and gave him a self-satisfied smile, quirking an eyebrow in confirmation.

"Sweeet." He leaned back with a grin, crossing his arms behind his head in triumph.

"Stiles, is that... Are you wearing my shirt?"

"Shhh! Shhhh" He soothed. "Eyes forward Argent."

Suddenly the board was extremely interesting.

"Ok, come on spill."

They were in the library. Allison had somehow managed to put him off until lunch, using solely facial expressions and pointed glances at his clothing, which had changed slightly from the blue t-shirt he had arrived at school in. After cramming half a pack of curly fries into his mouth with alarming speed Stiles had dragged her through the sparsely populated room and in between the shelves for privacy. To anyone watching he probably looked like an overeager gropey teenager, all things considered he was slightly offended nobody had taken the time peer round the corner and check that Allison wasn't being molested.
He'd have at least taken a casual detour past to check, jeez. Then again, he did most things differently to the rest of the student body.

"Derek thinks it was an Omega attack, he says he can smell traces of them all over the forest."

"Them? As in plural? As in more than one rogue werewolf roaming the trees attacking hapless victims? Great... Just, great. Who was the guy, anyway?"

"They think he was just an unlucky hunter, wrong place wrong time."

"Hunter as in deer hunter or trusted-supernatural-family-secret-passed-down-through-the-generations kinda hunter?"

She responded with a roll of her eyes and a meaningful stare.

"I'm just saying, you know, you gotta be specific with these things or it gets pretty ambiguous.."

"Animal hunter. The type with fur hats and wolfsbane-free weaponry."

"To be fair your kind probably have fur hats too... Joke! Joke!" He cried out as she slapped him on the head with a nearby hardback.

"Argh, you know violence isn't the only answer!" He muttering, feigning hurt.

"No, but it usually gets the point across." She smirked.

"So, how many wolves are we talking here?"

He noted the slight fall of her face before she responded.

"He's not sure.." She half-whispered.

He felt a knot beginning to form in his stomach, reviving the ache that had started his day.

"Not sure because... their scents are all mixed up? Or not sure because..." He already saw the answer in the look her eyes gave as they rose to make contact with his "...there are too many of them."

The knot was starting to feel more like a minute black hole, pulling him in at his core.

"Well, that's bad news."

"Stilinksi!" Coach Finstock's voice echoed off the rows of metal as Stiles entered the locker room.

"YES, SIR!" He barked back with a lopsided grin, it was an unspoken rule that Finstock got more pep when he got his name right, which was increasingly often these days. Who knew?

"We've got a spot in our line that needs filling. Seeing as your batman decided to fly off... Gear up!"

"Batman actually... he more, glides, sir. It's a sort of flukey cape-jump situation." He was already retreating into his office as the words faltered at his back. Stiles shrugged.

"Sweet! First line here I... Wait, what? I'm Robin? Aww man I totally called that!"

He pulled his locker open with more force than necessary. "Or... Oh God." He turned to shout towards the open office door "I'm Alfred aren't I?"

"Gear up, Stilinski! I wanna see you out on that field in five minutes!"

At least Alfred didn't wear spandex. He couldn't imagine wearing spandex as a constant costume plan, probably itches like a mother. Unlike his current attire, which he was having difficulty parting with even for the sweet, sweet promise of actual playtime on the pitch.

"Keep it, by the way."

Those had been Allison's parting words at lunch. He knew there was a reason Scott loved that woman. It was like she washed her clothes in freaking fairy's tears. He fingered the soft fabric, evoking again the memory of last night, trapped in Allisons closet. Before, well.
Before he'd been sent home from the party with his tail between his legs. I mean, come on, if anyone was supposed to be sulking with a tail it was surely the man who sent him packing. Furry know-it-all.

He shrugged himself free of the smooth material, swapping it for the rough texture of his Lacrosse uniform, feeling a momentary touch of mourning before he remembered he'd be crawling back into its arms, tired and aching, after the training session.
He had tried not to dwell on the surprisingly neat fit.

He ran out onto the field to join the others, excess energy abounding due to his minimal expenditure throughout the day. Seriously, without extracurricular werewolf activities he actually felt unusually well-rested. That was about to change, however, judging from the look a certain dirty-blonde wereboy was sending his way. Coach was co-ordinating simple goal-scoring drills, a vaguely safe start, with no physical contact with Jackson seeming necessary in the near future. It could only last so long though, judging by the tinting of hazel Stiles could spot glinting his eye as he turned to face the shot. He was going to pay for those comment about whale noise CDs.

It was five minutes in before Jackson ran over towards Finstock to whisper in his ear. Suddenly he was swapping places with the current defender and Stiles began to hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, blood rushing past his eardrums as the pace picked up. He shuffled to the back of the queue of boys readying themselves to shoot, earning a cocky smirk from Jackson which screamed too well 'You're gonna get it.' Danny pulled up behind him after taking his shot, he'd barely inched forward before Jackson was tackling full force at his knees. He was his best friend. Things were starting to look pretty ugly on the Stiles front. And to think he could've done band. Or chess club. Anything really. Sport was Scott's idea, an eager attempt to battle his asthma and piss poor popularity in one fell swoop. Thanks a lot bro, really stellar choice. He patted Danny on the arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner as he attempted to edge around him to the back of the queue.

"You'll have to face him eventually, you know." Danny's face wore its usual knowing expression.

"Eventually sounds good, eventually sounds like later. I'm fine with putting pain off 'til later, I'm good with it, actually, helps me sleep at night."

He couldn't describe the rush of relief that coursed through him as Finstock pulled the whistle before Danny could take his next shot. Crisis narrowly averted. Until team play...

"Right, Team play!"

Of course.

He managed to pull defense, keeping him closer to the goal than he had hoped to expect. Jackson had ensured he was on the opposite team though, and the look in his eyes hadn't waivered all play, he was midfield so there was little to stop him pummelling Stiles from the off. He suddenly envied the goalies padding that was currently layered on Sean behind him. As soon as the whistle was blown Jackson snatched up the ball and made a beeline straight for him.
This was it. This was the end. He was going to die at the ripe old age of seventeen in cheap shorts on school grounds. He shut his eyes and braced himself for the bodily contact that never came. He dared to open his eyes at the echo of a heavy thud in front of him, looking up just in time to catch Boyd pull himself back from a painful looking tackle which had taken Jackson to the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by the Boyd.

The bigger boy never looked back, never sent him any recognition of what he was doing, but each and every single time Jackson looked like he was aiming for Stiles, Boyd appeared before in all his six-foot-stupid glory. Stiles had never been so grateful, nor seen Jackson more built-up to the brink of explosion. By the time practise was over he could see clearly the uncomfortable clamp of Jacksons jaw which signified an attempt to conceal canines to anyone able to read the signs.

He was back in the locker room when he felt Jackson seething behind him.

"You don't get to play the game just to duck out from the consequences, Stalinski."

"Yeah, I think in any normal game I'd have taken the hit for the team big boy, but it's sort of cheating when you're made of magic healing flesh and bone, don't you think? I'm a little more delicately put together if you hadn't noticed, so next time maybe think about channeling your anger into a letter. Or poetry? Who knows, just, growl at me in print, ok? It's much more soothing for the soul. And who doesn't like mail, huh?"

Jackson grunted, leaning closer to allow his stare deeper effect on Stiles before backing off. He managed to catch Boyd on his way out and throw him a quick

"Thanks, by the way man" Before he'd ducked into the hall with only the slightest nod of acknowledgment.

It wasn't until practice was over, when he'd settled back into his jeep and was just starting her up for the ride home that the feeling from this morning returned once again. It slowly crawled its way back into the deep caverns of his belly as he followed the eerily quiet road home. So, this was what school without Scott was like.
Sure, nothing terrible happened, and he didn't spend his time curled up in a bathroom stall shedding tears. But it felt empty somehow, like Scott's presence had taken something big with it, something that made the day... enjoyable. He'd muddled through, he thought, but something had lost its charm.

He was lost in his thoughts, staring straight ahead in an attempt to ignore his stinging eyes, when the Jeep made an excruciating howling noise, slowing her pace before stopping completely in the middle of the road. The feeling in his stomach increased ten-fold in response to the sudden prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck.