Teenwolf Fanfiction

Part 4

Stiles was confused. Naturally. He hadn't slept a wink and was just staring at the ceiling, contemplating. He had decided at around two in the morning that he would talk to Danny about what happened on the lacrosse field; what was bothering him now was Scott. Hindsight is a beautiful thing, and our little bundle of sarcasm had finally picked up on his best friend's low mood. Stiles swung his legs over the edge of the bed and propelled himself towards the door, pausing only to grab his keys as he snuck out to his jeep in his pyjamas.

Twenty minutes later he sat outside Scott's house, hands white as they clasped the steering wheel; intuition told him he had somehow hurt Scott's feelings, racking his brain as to when and how. He glanced up to the window for the hundredth time, air whistling through his clenched teeth as he exhaled. He jiggled the handle of the jeep four times and then opened the door, striding across the street and onto the porch. He scaled the lattice with ease – well practised in eluding Melissa's attentions – and jimmied open Scott's bedroom window, slipping silently into the moonlit room. Scott was sat up on the bed watching him, legs crossed as he took in Stile's stunned facial expression; he'd heard the jeep's engine from three blocks away.

'There was a time when you would have slept through that' grumbled Stiles as he perched on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he prepared for the awkward conversation. 'What's wrong?' asked Scott, staring at the anxious form of his friend 'your heart beat is really fast' he cocked his head and Stiles saw worry swamp his features. 'Huh? No it's nothing' Stiles breathed, turning away from the intense gaze. 'Stiles – it's 4 am'. Scott watched as his friend dragged himself off the bed and began to pace in front of him. He tried hard not to check him out, smirking slightly at the pyjamas, taut around the well shaped torso. Stiles rubbed a hand across his face in what Scott instantly recognised as stress. 'Stiles' he urged, trying to catch his eye. The boy turned and gave Scott his full attention, spreading his arms in frustration: 'did I upset you?'

Scott gave him an incredulous look 'are you kidding me?' he asked, a relieved half smile creeping onto his face 'usually when you break into my room in the middle of the night it's because someone's been murdered, or you've figured out the next terrible trial Beacon Hills has in store for us – I thought it was something serious' he chuckled. Stiles gave him a questioning look 'Scott you're my best friend; if you're not happy that is something serious – very serious – especially if it was me'.

He sat back down on the bed 'Stiles you could never hurt me' Scott attempted to look sincere while trying (and failing) to stop grinning 'I'm immune to your ... charms'. Stiles glared at him with a mixture of indignation and fake outrage; Scott lost it and burst out laughing. He had such a soft spot for those unique expressions and his laughter washed away all of the earlier pain; just like it always did. Stiles observed him for a moment longer, taking in the perfect brown complexion, mysterious dark eyes that constantly twinkled with mischief and, of course, the 'kind of uneven' jaw line. He snorted, remembering the old conversation with coach, before joining in with his best friend's infectious laughter.

Scott leaned in, still chuckling, and placed a hand on Stiles' thigh. He was so close that Stiles was bathed in the sweet aroma of Scott's apple scented soap, and it smelled good. He tried not to close his eyes as he breathed in the pleasant fragrance. 'Go and get some sleep' Scott instructed, dropping his hand and moving towards the door. The two walked down the stairs in comfortable silence, absorbed in the well rehearsed act of stepping only on those boards that didn't squeak.

Scott watched the jeep's tail lights disappear around the corner as he stood casually in the street, but his thoughts were racing. He would be lying if he said the only reason he leant in was to get a better read on Stiles' chemical signals, but he didn't need werewolf senses to tell that Stiles was agitated; he definitely had something on his mind. He only hoped that Stiles wasn't about to do something stupid. Especially if it was without him.

Stiles sat on the hood of his jeep, looking out over the lights of Beacon Hills. He needed to clear his head. First Danny, and now Scott? What was wrong with him? He sighed haggardly and reclined against the windscreen, tucking his hands behind his head. The moon shone bright above him, chasing the dark shadows back into the depths of his mind. It was almost full; time again for chains and baseball bats.

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