Teenwolf Fanfiction

Part 10

'Hey Honey how'd it go?' called Melissa as Scott came in, pushing the front door shut over his shoulder and slinging his kit down in the hall. 'We won!' he stuck a sweaty but triumphant face around the door frame, having not had time to shower before he ducked out of the locker room, avoiding anything inappropriate that Coach might have tried to say in the passions of victory. 'That's great sweetie!' she said, turning towards Scott as she dried the last dish 'sorry I had to eat without you – I have a late shift tonight – but there's lasagne in the oven and I love you'. She pressed a kiss to Scott's forehead as she reached around him to get her coat. 'Love you too Mum!' he called after her as made her way down the path to her car. Scott shut the door and huffed; another evening with just him and his maths homework.

Scott ate with the vigour of a teenage boy (I could have said werewolf, but let's be honest, nothing eats quite like a teenage boy) and before long he was upstairs doing his maths homework. Trying to do his maths homework. Ok; staring out of the window, wondering what he could do to save his pack. Again. He glanced over at his phone. Sighing, he stood and scooped it up, unlocking it quickly and hitting speed dial. It was answered on the third ring. 'Yes you can come over, yes I am alone, no it is not an imposition, I've already started and to be honest I'm surprised it's taken you this long – could it be possible that the true alpha slipping?'. Scott smirked at the classic sarcasm that never failed to put him at ease 'I'm on my way now – got anything yet?'. Stiles huffed, which Scott took as a no. 'I'll be there in ten minutes'; 'great, I'll order pizza' and before Scott could protest, he hung up. Scott shook his head at his phone, slung his jacket over his shoulder and grabbed his helmet.

Stiles opened the door before he had a chance to knock, and Scott shot him a questioning look. Styles shrugged 'hey I might not be a werewolf but even I can hear your bike coming'. Scott followed him up the stairs and flopped on the bed as Stiles stood tensely in front of the board, one arm crossed over his chest, the other gesturing as he explained the sparse information he had managed to gather. They sighed in unison; Erica and Boyd were their only current source; how do you stop an enemy you know nothing about?

By the time that Stiles had exhausted himself trying to figure out something – anything – and had joined Scott on the bed, two hours had passed. Scott suddenly remembered he hadn't showered after the game. 'Hey Stiles?' the other boy grunted 'can I use your shower? I didn't get a chance to clean up after the match'. Stiles let his arm slide off his face before he rolled up and to his feet, waving in the general direction of the bathroom 'yeah sure'; he grabbed a slice of the abandoned pizza, gnawing on it as he surveyed the board once again, not appearing to register that it was cold. Scott glanced at his friend on the way out of the room, worried as always at how Stiles constantly took it upon himself to figure out what was going on.

Stiles chewed thoughtfully on the pizza he had ordered hours before as his gaze swept keenly over the board. Where, what, when. Where, what, when. He barely noticed Scott shooting him a concerned glance as he left, but that was fine; he didn't need pity, he needed answers. He hadn't even noticed how deep in thought he was until he heard the shower shut off, and realised he'd been staring at the wall for twenty minutes. 'Hey Stiles?' a body appeared in the doorway, holding only a rather small hand towel to cover his dignity, 'do you, um, have any bigger towels?'.

Stiles blinked a couple of times. He was definitely not looking at the beads of water that escaped the thick black hair and ran down that muscled torso, nor was he even thinking about how short that towel was, and he certainly wasn't imaging what was underneath it, either. He mentally slapped himself. He was straight ... he thought ... maybe. He managed to pick his gaping jaw off the floor long enough to stammer that they kept spare towels in the cupboard at the end of the hall. Scott left the room and Stiles screwed his fists into his eyes. Scott must have noticed that! He thought; yeah sometimes the guy is a little slow but that was so, so obvious! He needed to get a handle on himself because this was getting out of control.

Stiles had just managed to wrestle an outward perception of calm onto his face when Scott came back, this time using the offending towel to scrub at his hair, his body clothed. 'Thanks I needed that – think of anything else while I was gone?' he asked lazily, all tension having melted away from him in the hot shower. Stiles followed the line of Scott's gesturing hand, glad for an escape from his thoughts; thoughts that he should not absolutely not be having about his best friend. 'No, but I will' he replied, his words a lot more confident than the conviction with which he uttered them.

Scott yawned as Stiles started gathering the pieces of paper strewn across the bed from earlier. 'I think we both need some decent sleep' he mumbled, helping his friend with the mess. Stiles nodded deftly in agreement, the bed looking terribly comfy right at that moment, 'are you going to be ok riding home?' he queried. 'Yeah sure – werewolf, remember?' came the haggard reply.

Stiles watched from the window as Scott drove off – making sure that he actually was ok to ride – before he slumped on the bed. Werewolves or not, he still worried about his friends. He was exhausted, and had far too much to figure out, between the life threatening situation and rapidly developing personal issues. He had just started to drift off when a thought occurred to him; Scott spent half of his life in this house, and after multiple late night hangouts and week-long sleepovers, he definitely knew where the Stilinski's kept their spare towels – so why had he appeared to Stiles covered only by one so small? Stiles wasn't quite sure whether to classify this as intriguing or disturbing, but sleep already had a tight grasp on him, dragging him away from consciousness.

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