Demons - Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 12: Scott's First Game Part 1

The cold wind nips at my cheeks and tousles my hair as I walk towards the rapidly filling bleachers of the brightly lit lacrosse field. Across opposing, edges of the field are lined with teenage boys in maroon or white jerseys. Some stretching, others jogging and a few throwing a ball between themselves. The loud sound of chattering drifts through the air gradually towards me. The not so faint voice of Coach Finstock drifts across the field, "Greenburg, my grandma moves faster than that. And she's dead."

I make my way towards the boy with the buzzcut on the bench, haphazardly trying to fasten the gloves onto his hands, his knee bouncing rapidly and consistently. I drop down on the bench beside Stiles and gently move his hand out of the way, easily fastening the glove into place for him. He looks up in surprise, his mouth agape.

"You think you'll get to play this time?" I mutter as I take his other hand in mine and fasten the glove for him.

He continues to stare at me, his eyes focused on my jawline where he had noticed the bruising earlier. He reaches his hand up towards my face, his concentration is only broken when Finstock abruptly blew his whistle. Stiles shakes his head subtly and clears his throat. "I doubt it," he mutters as he glances behind me at the Coach who was continuing to berate Greenburg, "I never have before." He looks down at his now gloved hands and plays with the fingers, pulling at the gloves.

I place my hands over his drawing his attention back to me, "You'll get to play, Stiles. Might not be today but I know you will. In the meantime, be thankful you're not Greenburg." I turn slightly to glance at Finstock who is not leaning over the poor boy as he attempts to do a sit-up blowing his whistle as he falls back onto the grass. I nod towards the two, "Better him than you."

A small smile graces his face, "If it gets me out of that then I will continue to warm this bench."

"Only if you save me a spot, too," I say, getting lost in the swirling depths of his caramel coloured eyes. Our gaze is only broken by a slightly aggravated sigh from beside us and the noise of a gym bag being dropped on the bench. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I shake off the feelings blooming in my chest. The boy that caused the disturbance falls onto the bench and places his head in his hands and gently massages his temples as though to soothe a headache.

"You gonna try to convince me not to play?" he mumbles from behind his hands before glancing at the two of us. A lost expression on his face, a pleading look in his eyes.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Stiles replies, awkwardly playing with his fingers again barely glancing at me.

"If I don't play, I lose first line and Allison."

I place my hand on the boy's shoulder in a reassuring gesture, gently squeezing his shoulder pad. "Allison's not going anywhere," I attempt to calm Scotty down, "And it's just one game you really don't need to play."

"I wanna play! I wanna be on the team. I wanna go out with Allison. I want a semi-freaking normal life. Do you get that?" Scott protested, his frustration clear in his voice, I remove my hand from his shoulder. His leg begins to bounce as he clutches his hands in front of him and he looks off across the field.

"I get it. Just try not to worry too much while you're out there, okay? Or get too angry." Stiles looks concerned at his best friend, the outburst unusual for the frustrated teen.

"I got it."

"Or stressed."

"I got it."

"Don't think about Allison in the stands. Or that her father's trying to kill you. Or that Derek's trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone. If a hunter doesn't kill you first –," Stiles begins to ramble before being cut off as I set my hand on the boy's arm in an indication to stop. Scott's anxiety rising as the rant continues. "I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"You'll be fine, Scotty," I attempt to reassure the worried wolf boy on the bench beside me, "You'll play the game and be fine. Allison will still be here afterwards. And we can worry about the rest later. Okay?"

He nods slightly and looks off to the side where the Argent family was crossing the field towards the bleachers. Concern washes over his face as he notices that Allison is accompanied by the man who shot him. I squeeze his knee in an attempt at comfort, "You'll be fine, Scott. I know you can do this. You will play the game, no one will be seriously injured, and you'll get the girl. Right, Stiles?"

I turn to him for confirmation only to be met with an apprehensive look. He responds, his voice slightly higher than usual, "Weeell." I shoot him a hard look and begin to squeeze his arm firmly. "Y-yeah. Sure," Stiles stammers out unconvincingly.

I return my attention to Scott with a bright smile, "See. It'll all be fine."

Scott looks unconvinced but nods in response and absent-mindedly stands and makes his way towards the hunter's daughter, my hand falling in his absence.

Sighing I watch the boy as he walks away and slap Stiles on the unpadded part of his arm. He scooches away and grabs at his arm dramatically. His legs flail a bit as he looks at me with a wounded expression. The action causes me to smile as he gapes at me, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief.

"Don't give me that look. You should be more supportive of him. He's always been there for us," I gently reminded. I attempt to nudge him playfully, but he leans further away, not realizing how close to the edge of the bench he is. In a tornado of flailing limbs, Stiles unceremoniously lands on a heap on the ground, shock painted on his face as a giggle escapes my lips before I can stop it. As I begin to reach a hand out to help the clumsy boy up a demanding voice sounds from behind me.

"Carter! Are you sitting with us?" it wasn't a question; with Lydia it never was. She wore the same haughty expression she always did when I was in the company of (in her eyes) my less socially acceptable friends and Allison stood awkwardly behind her, her arms gently folded to fight off the chill in the air.

I sigh, "Yeah Lyds. I'll be up in a moment, save me a seat." I look at her expectantly and she turns without acknowledging my words as the Great Lydia Martin always will in the presence of those, she deems inferior.

I shoot Stiles an apologetic look as he grasps my hand and hoists himself back to his feet, "I'm sorry, you'll have to warm the bench solo. Lydia will have my head if I ditch her again."

"It's alright."

His eyes shone with sadness as I squeezed the hand I was still holding before letting go and slowly start retreating backwards towards the steps, "Next time."

He nods in response as he returns to the bench, a small smile gracing his features, "I'm holding you to that Lahey."