Demons - Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 9: Scotty's Second Chance

The boy's locker room smelled like old gym socks and a teenage boy who hasn't showered in 37 days. The only people occupying the room were Scott, Stiles and me. The rest of the team was already out on the field for practice. Scott's shedding his clothes whilst lost in thought. Stiles over excitedly fires questions his direction. I lay on a bench examining the chipped red nail polish, only half paying attention to the boy's girl troubles.

"Did you apologize to Allison?" Stiles asks, swinging around the corner towards Scott, as he looks blankly into his locker.

"Yeah."

"Is she giving you a second chance or- "

"Yeah," his voice is strained, as though he was in pain. This grabs my attention, I sit up and swing my legs so I'm facing the boys.

Stiles turns to grab his stick and helmet, "Yeah! All right. So, everything's good."

"No."

"What's wrong, Scotty? I thought you'd be over the moon," I stand and approach the lost boy, concerned about what could be bothering him so much.

"Remember – The hunters?" he directs his words towards Stiles. "Her dad is one of 'em."

"Wait. What hunters? What happened last night after you left?" worry for my wolfy friend clouds my thoughts. But, I am ignored by the two boys. One frantically muttering about how he had been shot with a crossbow the previous night.

The muttering ends when Scott, yells out in frustration, "Yes! Her father! Oh my God." His breathing picks up as panic sets in. Who wouldn't panic when they find out the girl they're dating's father wants nothing more than to erase them from existence?

Placing my hands gently on either side of his face I force him to look me in the eyes, "Scott. It's going to be ok. Yeah? He didn't recognise you, did he?" I say in a low soothing voice. The same voice I use to comfort Isaac when he's spent the night in the freezer.

"No. N-no. I don't think so," he stumbles over his words as he tries to calm his breathing. I open my mouth to reassure the panicking boy.

"Does she know about him?" Stiles butts in. I hit him when the teenage werewolf's breathing increases once again.

"Not helping," I spit through gritted teeth, as Scotty begins to mutter.

"Oh yeah. I don't know. What if she does? This is gonna kill me, man."

"Okay, just focus on lacrosse. Okay, here." Gathering up Scott's lacrosse gear Stiles gently pushes me out of the way and shoves them into the arms of the inconsolable boy, "Take this, and focus on lacrosse for now, okay? That's all you gotta do, yeah?"

Scotty nods as Stiles slaps him on the shoulder.

"Well, it looks like you've got this under control," I back away making a circular gesture with my arms, "I'll be on the bleachers." I back up towards the door into the hall, but make a sharp turn before passing through the frame towards my brothers' locker.

He was sporting a split lip and some light bruising along his jawline. When I had returned last night, he had been curled up on our bed, hugging a pillow. He had gotten a B+ on an English assignment.

I gently place my hand on his shoulder from behind as he sits on a bench tying his shoes and he just about jumps out of his skin. He swings his arm out in defence, lashing out in fear, I easily dodge the attack after years of practice. Sitting down beside him I put my arm around him as his body tremors slightly.

"You gonna be ok to play, Izzy," I murmur into his ear, as he shakes off the scare and finishes lacing up his shoes.

He sighs, grabbing his gloves, crosse and helmet, "I'll live. It's not like I can stop playing." His white practice jersey still stained green and brown from the last practice. He had said he was going to wash them last night. "I've gotta go. Coach will be mad if I'm late again, I'll see you after practice. Try not to get in too much trouble."

He leaves me there running off down the hallway. He's always is a lot quieter after some time in the freezer. If only I had been there last night instead of at that stupid party.

Exhaling I stand and make my way to the field to show support to all my boys, both on the team and warming the bench. And to avoid going home for a little while longer. Anything to justify avoiding that place a little longer. I would voluntarily spend time with Harris to avoid that place.

Fewer people occupy the bleachers than the first day of school, but the determined redhead was there, as she always was, in support of her boyfriend. Approaching her, she fixes me with a blank look. Emotionless. The look she gives to people she deems unworthy of her attention or who have displeased her, like the Red Queen of Beacon Hills High.

"I didn't see you at the party," she says flatly, her voice hard and mean. The persona she has built up for the world to see shielding the warm person I know she is.

"I was there, Lyd," I defend softly, my hands clasped together, I avert my gaze. The cold look deep in her eyes makes me uncomfortable and causes a sharp pain in my heart. "Something came up and I got a ride with Allison."

Raising a perfect eyebrow and leaning back in her seat, clearly not believing me, "Allison said she got a ride home with some guy that knows Scott."

"A guy that I don't know. A guy Allison doesn't know," I iterate firmly, "I wasn't about to let her go god knows where with a guy who could have done god knows what to her. I was not about to hear about another body in the woods because some guy said he knew Scott." Anger combined with fear beginning to rise in my chest.

Lydia's face softens and relaxes her posture, "Well you missed a good party ... again. You promised you'd be at this one." Her voice whined a little, disappointment blended with understanding clear in her voice.

Taking a seat beside her I lightly cross my arms, "If I recall correctly, I said I would see what my dad said."

Lydia waves her hand, dismissing my statement. "Next time, I'm coming to your house and dragging you to my party," she states, unknowing of how that prospect made my blood pressure rise and my breath to catch in my throat, "You're 16, Carter, not 60. Live a little." She nudges my arm jokingly, a smile spread across her face.

"Oh, haha. I'll ..." my sentence was cut short by some commotion on the field. Coach and the rest of the team rush over to a figure, lying on the ground whilst another figure hunches over nearby. Worry rushes through me. Who is it that's gotten hurt? Is it Isaac? Scott? It can't be Stiles his jersey is red because he didn't make first line.

Lydia gasps beside me, able to see the number on the jersey of the injured party. She breathes out, "Jackson," and takes off faster than I've ever seen her, usually too concerned about scuffing her brand-new designer shoes for haste.

The utterance makes my heart stop and I take after her, only vaguely aware of the pair of players running hastily off the field.