It's an unnaturally early hour in the morning, and Stiles is sitting at his desk in his Chemistry classroom, doodling on a piece of scratch paper while he waits for class to start.
The bell rings, and Harris walks into class. He pulls a stack of papers out of briefcase, and drops them on the desk. "Pop quiz time!" he says, smirking.
Stiles sighs. He's really not looking forward to a pop-quiz. He's managed to keep up with his homework, but hasn't really reviewed the material as much as he would've liked. Knowing Harris, he'd take off a bunch of points for every small mistake Stiles makes. Failing one quiz certainly won't ruin his GPA, but he doesn't really want to make a pattern of it.
Stiles steals a look at Scott. He's sitting upright in his seat, wearing his 'oh-shit-I'm-in-huge-trouble' face.
Scott is Stiles' best bro, and is an awesome guy and all-around good guy, but was never a good student even under ordinary circumstances. Unlike Stiles, Scott needs to spend many, many hours trying to understand the material, and has maintained a solid 'B' average solely because of Stiles' many impromptu tutoring sessions.
This year though, Scott has been too busy trying to protect this hellhole of a town from werewolves and fox-demons to spend much time studying. His grades have suffered, and despite Stiles' best efforts, he's been straddling the line between passing and failing Chemistry for most of the semester.
"You'll do fine!" he mouths to Scott as Harris begins handing out the papers.
"Stilinski!" Harris shouts. "Stop talking to McCall. McCall, try to pass something without Stilinski whispering the answers in your ear."
Stiles slumps in his seat. Scott's doomed. He sits down and starts taking the quiz. Harris collects the quizzes about ten minutes. Stiles thinks he did okay. He doesn't think Scott can say the same.
Eventually, the bell rings, and Stiles gathers his stuff and walks out of class. Scott's walking down the hallway ahead, and Stiles hurries up to catch up with him.
"So, how'd it go?" Stiles asks.
Scott shrugs. "Not too well."
Stiles reaches up and squeezes his shoulder. "I'm sure you passed."
Scott shakes his head. "I'm not so sure."
"Well, don't worry about it until we get the quizzes back," Stiles tries. "Maybe you did better than you thought. Maybe you passed."
"Maybe," Scott says. He doesn't sound too optimistic, and Stiles doesn't really blame him.
Harris hands back his paper. Stiles flips it over and sees he got a B. He looks over the questions, and it seems like he mostly made some careless mistakes, like adding '3' and '2' to get '6'. And since Harris is on ass, he gave him no partial credit on those questions. Whatever. Stiles feels like he knows the material, even if he made a couple of mistakes in the actual calculations.
He looks over at Scott. He's slumped in his seat, and doesn't look to happy. He doesn't want to try to get his attention now and get Harris even more upset with him. He'll wait until after class.
Once the bell rings, he immediately heads to Scott's desk.
"How'd it go?" he asks.
Scott shows him the paper, but doesn't look at him. There's a big, vindictive red F scrawled across the top, and Stiles knows that Scott is officially failing 11th grade Chemistry.
"Don't worry. We'll totally pull your grades up," Stiles says. "We just have to do a lot of practice problems and make sure we understand the homework."
Scott finally turns to look at him, and Stiles is surprised to see that he looks angry.
"Stiles, stop acting like you're anywhere close to failing. Stop pretending like these 'study sessions' are anything more than a pity session where you try to make yourself feel good, like you're not just trying to make to make up for everything you put me through in the last year. I don't need your help, Stiles."
Scott turns and walks down the hallway, and Stiles is surprised to feel tears well up in his eyes.
He wonders what happened, and how he's going to fix this.
"How'd school go today, son?" Stiles' dad asks him when he wanders into the kitchen to find an after-school snack. His dad is working the night shift the night shift tonight, and probably just woke up.
Stiles shrugs as he picks up a banana from the counter. "Okay, I guess."
"Just okay?" his dad asks. "It wasn't awesome, or great, or really bad? Just okay?"
Stiles focuses on unpeeling his banana. "It wasn't really that good," he says.
"Why not?" his dad asks.
Stiles doesn't really know how to tell him what happened. He's been best friends with Scott forever. "I got into a fight," he finally settles on saying.
"Not a physical fight, I hope," says his dad.
He shakes his head. "Not a physical fight," he agrees. He hesitates before saying, "It was with Scott."
"With Scott?" his dad sounds surprised, for good reason. They've never really had a fight before.
Stiles nods his head. "I don't know what happened exactly. I think he was mad about failing his chemistry quiz, and he maybe just took it out on me?"
"That doesn't really sound like him," his dad says. "You and Melissa mentioned that he's been having some trouble academically, but he isn't really the type to get into a fight about it. Especially not with you."
Stiles just nods. He feels the tears starting again, and doesn't think he can talk without crying right now.
"What happened?" he asks.
Stiles takes a few deep breaths. His dad doesn't pressure him, just stands there patiently until Stiles feels ready to talk.
"We had a chemistry quiz yesterday," he begins. "I did okay, but Harris was a dick and took off lots of points for some stupid mistakes I made. But Scott, like, completely failed. He was just barely passing before, and now he's failing. The class, not just the quiz."
"That's not really good," his dad says.
"No shit," Stiles says, and then looks away. "Sorry. Language. I know."
"Let's suspend that rule for a bit," his dad says. "What happened after the quiz?"
"I offered to help Scott, like do homework problems with him and study together and whatever. Like we did last year, when he was failing History. And like we do for almost every other class."
"He's not in danger of failing anything else, is he?"
Stiles shakes his head. "Not right now. But he's not so good at school to begin with, and he hasn't really had as much time to study as he really needs to pass. And I haven't really had as much time to help him."
"Stiles. Whatever happened, it doesn't sound like it was your fault. You weren't provoking him, were you?"
He shakes his head. "No! Of course not. I would never make fun of him or anything. I just want him to do better."
"Then it wasn't your fault," his dad says firmly. "You are not responsible for his grades. It's nice that you want to help him, but Scott's grades are not your responsibility, okay?"
And Stiles knows that. But it's fucking hard to believe that when he's spent the last ten years literally doing everything he can to help Scott do well. And the one time he doesn't stay on top of Scott's grades, Scott failed, and he lashed out at him.
"Yeah, I know," he mutters. "But Scott's really pissed at me. He kinda blew up at me after I offered to help him study."
"I can't say I know why Scott got upset," his dad says, "but I wouldn't be surprised if it was because he's scared of failing. It's been a tough year, for both him and you. This probably isn't the only class he's failing, and he's probably worried about having to go to summer school. He's scared and upset, and you were a convenient target, so he lashed out at you. I doubt he meant it, or wanted to hurt you."
Stiles nodded. "I guess so," he said. He wanted to believe it, that Scott didn't really mean to hurt him, but wasn't really sure he did.
When he wakes up in the morning, Stiles sees that there's a bunch of texts and messages from Scott. He deletes all of them.
He walks into Chemistry the next morning, and notices out of the corner of his eye that Scott's already sitting in his seat. He doesn't look at him after that, doesn't want to rehash yesterday's fight.
Harris's class is boring as fuck, just like it always is. Harris seems to only know how to talk in a condescending monotone, and he enjoys making the math more complicated than it actually is. Stiles knows he'll just teach the material to himself tonight from the textbook. He's not really sure why he bothers to come to class most days. He spends the class doodling, werewolves and dragons and vampires coming alive in the margins of the pages.
Several pages later, the bell finally rings. Stiles gets up and begins collecting his things. Notebook, pens, laptop all go back into his backpack. When he turns around, Scott's standing next to him.
"Hey, Stiles, can I talk to you?" Scott asks. He looks earnest and desperate.
Stiles shrugs. "I've got to go to Calculus now." Scott's still taking Algebra. "If you want to talk, meet me in the library during lunch," he says as he walks away. He doesn't think he can have this conversation right now, in front of all of their peers.
He leaves Scott staring stupidly at his back as he walks away without waiting for a reply.
It's lunchtime, and Stiles is sitting by himself in the library, fucking around on his phone while he picks at his lunch. He wonders if Scott's going to come. Stiles knows that he handled Scott's request badly this morning. He wouldn't be surprised if Scott was so pissed at him that he doesn't even bother to show up.
He sees Scott walking up the aisle towards him. Stiles' stomach lurches, and he's sure that Scott hears his heart skip a beat. He puts down his phone, and does his best to calm himself.
There's nothing to be afraid of, he tells himself. Scott's been your best friend for forever. You're totally going to make up and everything's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.
Scott finally gets to Stiles' table. He stands there awkwardly for a bit.
"Can we, like, talk?" Scott asks.
Stiles shrugs his shoulders. "Sure."
Scott takes the seat next to Stiles, but doesn't look at him.
Stiles decides he isn't speaking first. He's pretty sure that Scott's in the wrong here, and he wants to see what Scott will say.
They sit in oppressively awkward silence for a bit, and then Scott says, with an eager expression on his face, "Look, Stiles, I didn't mean to say what I did yesterday. I was mad about failing, and it isn't fair for me to take it out on you. I don't blame you if you're mad at me -"
"Yeah, I'm kinda mad at you," Stiles cuts in. "But I'm also confused. What you said yesterday, where the fuck did that come from?" Immediately, he wishes he hadn't said that. He's trying to make up with Scott, not make him angrier.
Scott's expression falls. "Yeah, what I said yesterday wasn't cool."
"It wasn't," Stiles agrees.
"I kinda freaked out, I guess," Scott says. "I'm, like, officially failing Chemistry now. I'm going to have to go to summer school if I don't pull my grades up, and, and, I'm not sure I can," he finishes in a mumble.
"You will," Stiles says immediately. "I'll help you."
Idiot, Stiles thinks. That's exactly what got you into trouble yesterday.
"Unless you don't want the help," he adds.
"I do want help," Scott says. "I really, really do. There's no way I'm passing without you."
Stiles breathes a sigh of relief then. He and Scott, they're good. Scott's still his best friend, and they didn't completely fuck this up.
"And I'll help you," Stiles repeats. "You're going to pass. It'll be like History last year. You'll be fine by the end of the semester."
Scott looks relieved too. "Dude, you're awesome. I was kinda scared that you would be really mad with me, and wouldn't help me, or, like, wouldn't forgive me for what I said yesterday. I knew it was a mistake the second I said it."
"Yeah, it wasn't really like you. What happened?" Stiles asks. Did you mean what you said? he doesn't ask.
Scott looks down at the table, and then back at Stiles. "Like I said, I kinda freaked. I really, really don't want to go to summer school, and-and I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to get into college."
"Because of your grades from the last couple of years?"
"Yeah," Scott says. "I'm not good at this school shit, not like you. You get straight A's without really trying, it seems, and it takes me forever to scrape by, and the whole werewolf thing hasn't really been helping. You're going to be able to get in anywhere, and get a ton of scholarships, and I'm, well, I'm going to be lucky if I actually manage to graduate from high school."
"You're going to," Stiles repeats. "Cuz I'm going to help. And yeah, UCLA or UC Berkeley are probably lost causes," he pauses to see how Scott's taking this. He's nodding in agreement, so Stiles continues, "But other state schools are definitely possibilities. And even if you don't get into any four year schools right away, you can go to Beacon Hills Community College and transfer. Anyone can get in there, even complete morons. And you're definitely not stupid. You might not get into the best school, but your entire future education won't be fucked just because you're failing Chem right now. There's still time to get your grades up, and we're going to do it.
"With your help," Scott says. "There's, like, no way I can do it without you."
"True," Stiles says. "But you're better at a lot of other things than me. With your freaky werewolf shit, you're, like, insanely good at lacrosse. Maybe we can get you in on an athletic scholarship somewhere. This," Stiles gestures at himself, "is never going to be good at lacrosse. I have to keep my grades up. It's my only chance. But with you, an athletic scholarship is a real possibility." His mind's already spinning. He's going to have to research athletic scholarships tonight, and see what he has to do to get Scott considered for one. "So you'll be fine."
"I hope so," Scott says.
"I know so," Stiles says. Scott's already got his usual everything-is-totally-awesome grin back on his face, so Stiles knows he's back to himself.
"Did you mean what you said?" Stiles blurts out. He doesn't mean to ask, since they've already made up and everything. He doesn't want to make things awkward again. But he has to know. And now Scott's looking all worried again. Scott's really bad at keeping his emotions to himself. But then, Scott's been handling the last few months better than Stiles himself has, excepting yesterday's incident, so maybe Scott's method is better.
"No," Scott says, shaking his head. "I really, really didn't mean that. I was just upset and angry at myself, and kinda annoyed that you always do better than me without nearly as much effort. So I said something stupid. Like ten seconds later, I knew I made a huge mistake. I really fucked up."
"You don't blame me for Alison," Stiles says hesitantly, watching Scott's face carefully.
"No! Alison was completely not your fault. Dude, you were, like, possessed. How could it be your fault?"
Stupid Scott with his stupid facial expressions. Stiles knows that Scott completely, utterly, believes every single word he says. He doesn't know what he did to have such a great best friend, one who trusts in him so much more than he trusts himself.
"You're, like, the best friend that I have, and I know you so well that I said something that I knew would make you upset, even though I completely didn't mean it. Do you forgive me?" Scott asks in a small voice. "I understand if you're still mad, because -"
"Of course I forgive you," Stiles interrupts. "We're best friends, and we always forgive each other." Scott looks relieved, and Stiles knows they're good. He continues on to more mundane, less touchy-feely subjects. "And best friends help each other pass Harris' stupid quizzes. What do you think of this study plan?" He decides that they've done enough of this emotion-sharing shit for the day. They're best friends. They were able to work this out, and if anything else happens, they'll be able to work that out too.