depressed? i’m the furthest thing from depressed. i mean, just look at what i’ve accomplished. do you see this masterlist? do you think a depressed person could make this ao3 account?? no || sideblog for @pinkcapedcrusader || also add me on nanowrimo and goodreads if you want
It’s you friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:
I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.
There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.
The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.
Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.
I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)
Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.
Summary: the slowest slow-burn in the history of childhood bestfriends to lovers. rewrite of my other teen wolf fic so close!
Wordcount: 2.3k+
Masterlist
Prev. | Part 6
A/N: sorry for dropping off the face of the earth!! work and uni has been killing me but i thought i’d pop in and update (though i haven’t checked the notes on any of the other parts yet, so tags may not be update) 💕 let me know what you think!! i love hearing from you
Good Trouble > McCall Me Maybe
Tuesday, March 7
19:37 PST
Good Trouble: is stiles gonna be at the lacrosse game tonight?
McCall Me Maybe: yeah, we just got here. why?
Good Trouble: we’re talking to him about the lizard thing
McCall Me Maybe: you’re not gonna hurt him, right?
Good Trouble: probably depends on how much he tells us
McCall Me Maybe: erica, come on. you know you can’t hurt him
Good Trouble: because you’ve got a crush on him?
Read @19:41. No response.
---
Scott had played lacrosse ever since he learned how to pronounce the word. It was Rafael’s fault, really, because he thought soccer was too generic for college applications. Melissa had wanted something less violent, but she was outvoted (trying out for the swim team in California? Like that’s never been done before). Besides, Scott liked lacrosse and he’d already dragged Stiles into it. It was too late to change.
Never mind that Scott was asthmatic and you hated lacrosse. You were dragged to practice after practice, only to watch your brother and his idiot best friend sit on the bench at every game.
This match was different from the thousand others, though, because Scott was a werewolf. He dove for the ball, sprinted across the field, and performed very light acrobatics. The athletics were all very impressive, or at least it would have been if you didn’t know what betas could do when they weren’t holding back. Scott wasn’t impressive because of his athleticism though, he was impressive because of his restraint. If Eddie ‘Abomination’ Abramowitz was pummelling Erica like that, she would have clawed his eyes out before the second half.
Yet, Eddie was still standing, still sending Beacon Hills players off the field on gurneys.
“He belong to you?” One of the players pointed to Number 16 getting rolled off the field. Matt, if you remembered right. He was in your history class, always quiet, always scribbling something in his notebook. He snapped a few photos on his camera absentmindedly.
“No, no.” Melissa let out a shaky breath and forced herself to sit still for a second. She curled and uncurled her fingers. “Mine’s still on the field. While I’m here, really wishing he’d stuck with tennis.” Her voice pitched at the end as yet another collision happened on the field.
Matt laughed and began assessing some of the photos he took. He frowned at the screen and scrolled his thumb over one of the controls to zoom in. The intensity that he looked at the screen with was almost uncomfortable.
You shivered slightly and rubbed your hands on your arms. “So are you the yearbook photographer?” you asked, trying to break the sudden ice. “I’ve always wanted to get into photography but I missed the club deadline.” You leaned over to see if you could get a look at his work. He tilted the screen away.
Matt smiled at the screen, just barely. The light made it hard to see anything from where you sat, but it (whatever it was) clearly wasn’t anything on the lacrosse field. “No, I just take pictures of anything that catches my eye,” he said with an easy shrug.
He shot you another smile as he shouldered his equipment. The camera shifted slightly and you could have sworn you saw Allison on the screen. You resisted the urge to shudder as he walked back over to the bench.
Melissa laughed and nudged you lightly. “He seems nice. Maybe you should hang out with him sometime.”
You started answering but fell short when you noticed Boyd running onto the field. It was hard to smile at the sight of him finally having some fun, harder still when you caught the eye of Erica as she simmered in the bleachers a few rows behind you. “Yeah, I’ll keep my eye out for him.” Your answer was a few seconds too late, but Melissa didn’t seem to mind.
With Boyd joining the team, the Cyclones actually started scoring. This lacrosse game wouldn’t have been so bad... if you knew where Stiles was. Boyd was on the field, Isaac was a fugitive, and Erica was on the stands, which left him with Derek. You tried texting Erica about their plan, but she wasn't answering your texts and she had disappeared by the time you looked over your shoulder. And you hadn’t seen Stiles since Coach benched him at the start of the game.
You were just about to excuse yourself to the restroom and go looking for Stiles when the crowd erupted in gasps and groans. Scott was lying on the field, clutching a leg that shouldn’t have been able to bend that way. He’d be okay in a few minutes, if he set the bone in time, but no one else was supposed to know that.
Allison knew, and she was fast, but you were faster. Ignoring each and every protest he had, you helped Scott to his feet. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and you tried to keep his weight off the healing leg.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Scott let out a shaky breath. He was doing his best to stay in control and heal before anyone noticed - it made him endearingly unsteady as he leaned against you. “I’m fine. Really.”
Melissa shoved her way to the front of the crowd. Your heart broke at the worry etched in her forehead. “Fine? I could have sworn I literally heard bone breaking from where I sat.”
“Heard it? I felt it.” Finstock was almost yelling, but he was always yelling so it wasn't as revolutionary coming from him.
“Actually, that might’ve been me,” you said, handing Scott over to Allison. “When Scott got hit, I jumped and kicked the stand pretty hard. It, uh- it made a pretty big noise.”
Scott frowned as he watched you talk, and you wished there was some way to keep him from listening to your heart. He only focused on everyone else again when Allison nudged him. “Seriously, guys, I’m fine,” he told everyone. He set his injured leg down slowly and put some of his weight on it. “See? I’m all good.”
“Well, alright,” Melissa said hesitantly. She looked between you and Scott, giving you her trademarked look of motherly concern. “If you’re sure …”
Scott smiled at her. It was genuine enough that you almost believed him. “I’m sure,” he said. He looked over at you again like he was going to ask to talk to you, but Allison’s grandfather swooped in before he got the chance.
You would have been grateful for the intervention, but Gerard was more dangerous than any of the wolves you'd met - and he invited Scott to dinner. Not even a lie about dinner plans could persuade him; he wanted Scott and Gerard got whatever he wanted. Between his stubbornness and Derek’s plans, it was going to be a long night.
---
McCall Me Maybe > Stiles the Supreme
Tuesday, March 7
23:46 PST
McCall Me Maybe: i didn’t see you after the game. you get home okay?
Stiles the Supreme: yeah sorry about that :/ got way in over my head in some pretty deep water
McCall Me Maybe: ??
McCall Me Maybe: you’re okay though?
Stiles the Supreme: can i get back to you on that?
---
“Hey, testical left and right.” Jackson’s voice cut through the din of econ class. It was bad enough that Isaac was back in school, now Stiles had to deal with another one of Jackson’s delightful little comparisons. “What the hell is a kanima?”
That made him turn around. Stiles’ dignity would have to keep waiting. As Finstock started calling up volunteers, Stiles twisted around to find out what Jackson knew.
Jackson kept whispering about himself incessantly before Stiles could interrogate him. “Paralyzed from the neck down. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
“I’m familiar with the sensation, yes.” The back of Stiles’ neck prickled as he spoke. His fingers started tingling at the memory.
“Wait- why would Derek test you?” Scott asked, oblivious to the frown lines forming on Jackson's otherwise perfect forehead. “Why would he think that it’s you?”
Jackson took a break from glaring at Stiles to answer Scott. “How should I know?”
“Do they think it’s Lydia?” Stiles asked.
“I don’t know.” Jackson barely kept his irritation in check. “All I heard was her name, chemistry, and something about your sister.”
“My sister? Are you sure?” Scott asked at the same time that Stiles asked: “His sister? What were they saying about her?”
Because Finstock hated Stiles specifically, he chose that moment to be a concerned teacher. Or maybe he was just irritated from all the whispering. “Jackson! Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?”
Stiles barely heard the bullshit excuse Jackson came up with; he was too busy thinking about what Derek wanted with you. Or, more importantly, what Isaac Freaking Lahey wanted to do with you.
---
McCall Me Maybe > Hale Yeah Group Chat
Thursday, March 9
15::28, PST
McCall Me Maybe: study group has been moved to my house. jackson, lydia, stiles, and allison - idk where scott is
Good Trouble Reyes: scott’s busy kicking boyd’s ass. we’re on our way though 💕
Just_Boyd: He did not kick my ass
Derek.Hale: Take me off this group chat.
[everyone is typing]
McCall Me Maybe: no
Good Trouble Reyes: no
isaac.lahey: no
Just_Boyd: I’ll delete your whole number. Don’t tempt me
---
As happy as you were to finally be included in one of Scott and Stiles’ schemes, you knew that it was only because they thought Derek was trying to kill you. The fact that they were still lying to you despite the apparent danger you were in lessened some of the guilt you felt about putting Nugget in your mom’s room and leaving your window open for Isaac.
Still, guilt gnawed at your stomach at the thought of what might happen to Lydia. You knew Isaac wouldn’t hurt her, but no one told you what happened to a kanima when it was caught.
Guilt turned into something more volatile when you caught Allison and Stiles whispering by the front door. Stiles’ arms had been swinging chaotically, almost throwing his backpack off his shoulder, when he caught sight of you on the stairs. He cleared his voice awkwardly as he reigned his limbs in and Allison stared at him with a curious, frustrated look in her eye.
“So, anyway, that’s why I think we should, uh, we should take global warming a lot more seriously,” Stiles said awkwardly. He thumbed his nose and shrugged his shoulders wide enough that his backpack actually did slide off his shoulder. “Like, a lot more seriously.” He pulled on the backpack strap, needing two attempts to get it securely on his shoulder.
If you’d learned anything from Derek over the past week, it was how to sucker punch someone with a look. Sometimes, if you give them enough rope, he’d told you, they’ll hang themselves.
“Right,” you said after a significantly extended silence. Shaking your head, you turned to Allison. “So are we studying or are you guys gonna stand in the entryway for a few hours?”
Allison shrugged, biting her thumbnail as she looked at Stiles. Either Scott answered his phone or Stiles just desperately wanted to get away from you because he scuttled down the hall and started whispering angrily into his phone.
“Uh, why don’t you check on Lydia and Jackson?” Allison asked. She turned to you hopefully, turning her thumb before pointing after Stiles. “I just have to talk to Stiles about Chemistry.”
Allison was a good liar, but she still hesitated when it came to you. It was oddly comforting that at least someone didn’t feel right lying to you. “Yeah, sure thing,” you said.
Lydia and Jackson had already slipped away somewhere upstairs to talk about their breakup. There was a hollow feeling in your chest as you went up after them, something about Lydia - bubbly, tiny Lydia - just didn’t connect with the monster that your friends were looking for. Lydia was your friend, for better or worse, and you couldn’t imagine her hurting anyone. Did Lydia even know that she was killing people?
The sight of your closed bedroom window caught your attention. Isaac was inside the house somewhere, and it wouldn’t be long until this was all over.
It was over quicker than you expected: you walked straight into Lydia. A very wide-eyed, shaky Lydia.
You held onto Lydia’s arms to steady her. “Woah, Lyd, are you okay?” Her eyes were as red-rimmed as the leather jacket that clung to her shoulders.
Lydia shook her head, barely beginning to muster out an answer when Allison popped her head around the corner of the stairs. “I need you guys to hold tight in your room, okay? Don’t come out until I say so.”
You started arguing, but it was useless. Allison was already halfway down the stairs and Lydia was dragging you into your room. Her movements were too disjointed to be those of Lydia Martin, Beacon Hills socialite. They were the skittish movements of Lydia Martin, the girl who hid in the woods for a three-day weekend.
“Do you know what’s going on down there?” she whispered frantically. Lydia peered out of your blinds, craning her neck to see down the street.
“No idea.” It felt wrong to lie to her, especially after all your complaining about being lied to, but it wasn’t technically a lie. You knew who was down there and what they were fighting about, but you had no idea what was happening downstairs. You just hoped they would all be okay.
You reached for Lydia’s hand and tried to bring her closer to you. “Hey, Lyd, get away from-”
Lydia shrieked as the kanima looked in your window. Monstrous wasn't the right word for it; the scales formed impenetrable armor over hard muscles, the tail dripped paralytic mire over every surface it touched, and the eyes glowed bright yellow over devilish slits. The kanima wasn’t just deadly - it was venomous.
[ID: a cartoon with the heading “it is October 15!” A green humanoid robot is strolling along, gesturing in greeting with their right hand. Robot: “Sometimes the progress you’re looking for isn’t visible at first … that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening!”]
Summary: the slowest slow-burn in the history of childhood bestfriends to lovers. rewrite of my other teen wolf fic so close!
Wordcount: 4.6k+
Masterlist
Prev. | Part 5
A/N: this one’s a little longer than usual! hope you like it 💕
There was something to be said about getting stronger - feeling as every muscle fiber was torn apart in the hopes of growing, reaching beyond comfort zones to find new limits, trying and failing over and over again. It was exhilarating. It was monotonous. It was aches in muscles that had been asleep for months - maybe years. It was cracking joints and clumsy mistakes.
But most of all, getting stronger was keeping secrets.
Covering bruises, making up excuses for long absences, hiding the tiredness in your bones. It should have been harder to hide from Scott, but he’d been busy keeping secrets of his own lately.
In the few days since joining the Hale pack, the four of you had managed to break, bruise, and sprain just about every part of your bodies. It wasn’t a problem for those of you with accelerated healing, but that was an ability that you didn’t have. No, what you had was your humanity, spite, an ice pack, a heating pad, a cat curled in your lap, and half a pint of ice cream.
After about an hour of your pity party, Scott called. Every time he snuck up on you out of the blue like that, you thought he’d figured you out, but he never did. Instead, he always called to cancel plans or ask if you needed a ride somewhere. Sometimes he'd stick his head in your room to tell you that dinner was ready, but he never asked about the conveniently unnamed friends you were meeting.
Before you could even say hello, Scott was talking. “Something happened to Stiles. I’m driving past our house now on my way to get him, do you want me to pick you up?”
“Yeah, definitely.” Nugget wasn’t too happy about it, but you were already scooping him up and moving him to another spot, ignoring his complaints and the aches in your muscles as you did. There shouldn’t have been anything that could happen to Stiles - the pack was taking the night off and he was supposed to be getting his Jeep fixed tonight. “What happened to him?”
Nugget meowed irritably over the sound of Scott’s voice. “I don’t know, exactly. Things are … complicated,” Scott admitted. His voice was so uncertain, yet so vulnerable that you hesitated to tie your shoes. If he was finally going to open up to you, you wanted to be paying attention. “Uh, hold on,” he mumbled.
The indicator clicked through the speakers before the phone scraped to the side and clattered into one of the footwells. Scott yelled that he was pulling into your street, but you could barely hear anything over the rattling of the door. Any big revelations would have to wait.
When you got into the passenger seat of the car, Scott was on the phone with someone else. He mouthed that it was Stiles but squirmed to keep the phone out of your reach when you tried to grab it. “Yeah, Armor Tire. I know the place.” He shifted to hold the phone between his shoulder and ear as he turned into the street again. “We’ll be there in like ten minutes … We? Oh, I thought you might want … well, we’ve already left … Okay. See you soon.”
Scott sighed and set his phone in the cupholder, mumbling an apology before laughing at the sight of your pajamas. They weren't particularly embarrassing - an old set from Melissa that happened to be your most comfortable pants and a tank top - but you supposed he'd been expecting something else.
“What? You made it sound like he was dead in a ditch.” You reached over the armrest to grab one of his hoodies from the plethora of crap in the backseat. “If I knew he was just stuck at the tire place, I would have changed,” you said defensively as you stuffed your arms into the faded red sleeves so you could pull it around yourself.
Scott did his best to stop laughing, but he still had a stupid grin on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d already gotten into bed. It’s like nine o’clock.”
“It’s a Monday and- you know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at Scott’s phone as it lit up next to you. Allison's name flashed across the screen. “What were you doing anyway? I thought you got off work at five.”
“Uh, yeah.” Scott frowned slightly as he changed lanes, looking determinedly at his mirrors instead of looking over at you. You tried to keep your heart rate steady as you waited for him to respond. “I was running drills for lacrosse. Stiles and I made first line this semester.”
“Yeah, I heard,” you said, letting out a breath as you turned to look out the window. The full moon was in a few days. Derek was going to have to chain up Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, but he didn't want you there. It made you wonder what did Scott do on those nights; did he ‘run drills for lacrosse’ or was he more in control?
The light of the moon was dimmed by the flashing ambulance lights. Your heart lurched as Scott pulled into the parking lot, craning his head to look for Stiles while weaving through the police cruisers. He had to pay attention to the road when he almost rear-ended a parked car, and that’s when you found Stiles.
Leg bouncing on the back step of the ambulance, bags under his eyes, fingertips fidgeting with the ends of the shock blanket over his shoulders. Stiles. You almost didn’t notice Noah next to him until you spotted his warped reflection in the shock blanket. Deep lines etched into his forehead and he put an uncertain hand on Stiles' shoulder, saying something you were too human to hear.
Until the moment that Stiles caught your eye and his face fell in that clumsy, surprised way of his (lips parted to form a perfect, lower-case ‘o’, eyes just too wide to be played off as casual, with a big ellipses thought bubble over his head), you didn’t realize just how worried you’d been about him. You may have befriended the three scariest things in Beacon Hills, but that didn’t mean Stiles was safe from the lesser evils or that you didn't worry about him.
As far as you could see, Stiles wasn’t hurt, but that didn’t stop you from scanning every visible part of him for bandaged wounds or broken bones. With all your focus on making sure that he was okay, you didn’t realize how much speed you’d picked up until it was too late.
Stiles had an easy smile on his face as he stood up, one side of his mouth tugged just a little higher than the other. “Hey, did Scott tell you- Jesus Christ!”
Despite scraping up the only unscathed skin on your palms, you couldn’t help but laugh. The absurdity and humanness of it all - of Stiles - was almost overwhelming. You’d spent so long away from him that sometimes it was hard to remember how real he was. The feel of his old flannel under your fingertips was unfamiliar, yet the sound of his complaining was more familiar than you’d realized.
Stiles sucked in a breath as he stretched out one arm to help you up and the other hand to feel the back of his head. “I think you did more damage than whatever killed the mechanic.” He pulled you into a seated position with that crooked smile on his face, tracing circles on your forearm with his thumb.
Your laughter dried up. “Something killed the mechanic?” You moved closer to him, moving his head so you could check his neck for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, didn’t Scott…” Stiles trailed off as he looked over your head to find Scott in the crowd. He looked away from Scott so quickly that he almost made the two of you fall over again. When you turned to look over your shoulder, he pulled you so close that you lost your breath. “I’m fine. Really. Didn’t see anything.”
You could almost feel his heart beating through the thin black t-shirt he had on. “Are you sure? Because you’re acting pretty weird.”
“Really? Weird how?” Stiles asked, stumbling over his words too much for anyone to believe he didn’t know exactly how weird he was acting. He pulled back to get some air, accidentally shoving his phone closer to you from where it had clattered across the pavement.
“Weird-” You leaned in and put a hand over his phone. Tucking it into the sleeve of your hoodie, you dialed your own number as discretely as you could “-like you’re hiding something.”
Stiles choked out a laugh and scrambled to his feet. “Me? Hiding something? I couldn’t- From you?” You accepted the call on your phone while he took a deep breath and shook his head. “I gotta find Scott.”
“You dropped your phone.” You handed it back to him with the screen locked. Your stomach twisted nervously when he smiled and took back his phone. He even thanked you.
It felt wrong to lie to Stiles, to listen in on their conversation while they pretended to check out some invisible scratch on the back bumper. Maybe if they hadn’t lied to you first or included you in the conversation, things would have been different.
---
McCall Me Maybe > isaac.lahey
Monday, 6 March
20:28, PST
McCall Me Maybe: stiles was almost killed by something tonight. i don’t know much but i’ll come by before school tomorrow, okay?
isaac.lahey: you know you could just ditch school. it’s not like we’re gonna tell anyone
McCall Me Maybe: isaac daniel lahey, are you trying to peer pressure me into ditching school? that’s a slippery slope, you know. next thing you’re gonna ask me to join your gang of wayward teenagers … oh wait
---
There wasn’t anything Stiles wouldn’t do for Scott. Chain him up on a full moon? Been there. Forgiven him for kissing his childhood crush? Done that. Lied repeatedly and committed several minor infractions of the law in order to keep his secret? Designed, printed, and worn the t-shirt. In probably the shittiest test of loyalty yet, he was avoiding you.
Intentionally, because he couldn’t keep a secret from you. (It took every ounce of self-control he had (which, admittedly, was not a lot) to not spill his guts to you on the tarmac in the middle of a crime scene last night.) Unintentionally, because Stiles was the lucky person chosen to be Scott and Allison’s secret messenger.
Their secret couldn’t have been that subtle, Stiles thought as weaved between a pack of freshmen to deliver Scott’s message. He was running up and down the campus, dodging students and cars and hyperventilating so that the muscles between his ribs ached. To top off the physical pain, Stiles also took psychic damage every time he heard the words ‘because I love you.’ Any minute now, he was going to throw up and it wasn’t going to be because of the impromptu half-marathon he was running.
He almost tripped over you when he came down the stairs in the quad - something he’s sure you wouldn’t have let him live down. Even while Allison was talking, Stiles was charting a new path back to Scott that miraculously wouldn’t involve you or get him stuck behind all the slow walkers.
Stiles didn’t get to test his theoretically perfect plan. By the time Allison was finally finished talking, you were standing in the middle of the stairs to block his path. Stiles made his way over, somewhere between a run, a limp, and a grimace.
“Hey, you do something different with your hair?” His voice grated against his ears, loud and stilted. “It looks, like, really shiny,” his voice dropped to a mumble as he stopped in front of you. “You got any water?”
You shrugged, clearly amused by his bodily pain as you picked up the water bottle that was next to your bookbag. He reached out for it and you pulled the bottle away from him. “Only if you sit with me for five minutes.”
Stiles shook his head, forcing himself to breathe deeply. “I can’t. I’m just …” he waved his hand towards Allison’s spot beneath the tree and then towards the hulking school building behind you. He reached for the water again and you pulled further out of his reach again. “Scott and Allison …” he took another deep breath, hunching over. “God, I hate running.”
Mercifully, you nudged his shoulder with the water bottle. “You’re on the lacrosse team,” you started slowly, watching as he stood up and chugged what was left of your water, “Isn’t it kind of your job to run?”
Stiles scrunched up his face, not stopping until he’d drained every drop of water from your bottle. “Yeah, but I never said I was any good at it,” he said when he finally came up for air.
You rolled your eyes and leaned against the stair railing. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Are you doing okay after last night?”
No, Stiles wasn’t doing okay. He didn’t know if he’d ever be doing okay again after that scaly monstrosity nearly killed him, but he was a good friend. And he'd promised Scott that he wouldn’t tell you anything.
“Look, I-” Stiles sighed, tilting his head as he looked everywhere but in your eyes. He handed your bottle back to you. “There’s so much I wanna tell you that I can’t get into right now because I’ve really gotta do this for Scott but … I’m fine, okay? Promise.”
Promise. He was going to choke on all his promises one day.
Your hand covered Stiles’ as you took back the water bottle. It was cold, like it almost always was, but your knuckles were bruised. Tiny, almost imperceptible - like the cuts that matched. “Okay.” You smiled at him but you still seemed disappointed. “Whatever you say, Stiles.”
Stiles cursed himself for leaving you on the stairs like that. When he looked over his shoulder near the school doors, you’d slung your backpack over your shoulder. You were heading over to the parking lot. The parking lot where Erica and Boyd were sitting.
The road to hell was paved with promises and disappointment.
And werewolves.
Lots and lots of werewolves.
---
Melissa McCall > Scott437
Tuesday, 7 March
12:03, PST
Melissa McCall: I got some time off tonight for your game! Promise me that I’m not going to regret this and you’re not going to get hurt?
Scott437: I promise that you won’t be bored
Melissa McCall: Honey, I haven’t been bored in nearly seventeen years - you’re driving me CRAZY
---
“And you’re sure it didn’t have wings?” Derek asked. His voice was as calm as unaffected as if he’d asked you if you’d done your homework. He leaned back ever so slightly to avoid your sloppy punch.
“Yes! No. I don’t…” You sighed and dropped your arms. They tingled, distrustful of the sudden rest you’d gifted them after half an hour of torture. “Look, I told you everything I heard last night. If you want more information, you’re gonna have to talk to Stiles.”
Derek took a deep, disapproving breath. You couldn’t tell if he disapproved of having to talk to Stiles or the fact that you needed another break. “Straighten your wrist when you punch. It’s going to snap if you don’t … that is, if you ever actually land a hit.”
He turned around, clearly done with your conversation. You weren’t as useful as Derek had hoped, especially since you were as stubborn as your brother, and now he was treating you the same way Scott and Stiles did: he took you out and played with you when he wanted something, and then he put you back on the shelf when he was done.
Without thinking, you lunged for him. Derek didn’t turn to look at you, he just grabbed the arm that you had hoped to hit him with and pulled you forward. Your feet were off the ground in an instant, but the rest of you came tumbling down just as quickly. The concrete scraped the skin on your shoulder as you skidded to a stop.
Ignoring your heavy breathing and groaning, Derek said, “Use your opponent’s momentum against them. You need to fight smarter to survive, not harder.”
He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t move until you repeated his words. “Fight smarter,” you mumbled as you pushed yourself into a cross-legged position. He smiled (or at least, what passed for a smile when it came to Derek Hale), but didn’t help you up.
You glared at the back of his head as he disappeared, putting a hand on your shoulder. As if your entire body didn’t already hurt, now you had a throbbing and bleeding arm to add to the list.
At least nothing was broken, you thought as you tugged at the wraps around your hands. It wasn’t much in the way of protection, but every bit of padding helped when you were getting your ass kicked.
“You okay?” Isaac set the first aid kit down next to you before sitting down. He looked more anxious than you’d seen him since he turned, bottom lip a little cracked from where he’d been chewing it. Even as you looked at it, the tiny imperfection was healing.
He put your hand in his and began unwrapping it as he waited for you to say something. “I think I’ll live,” you told him quietly.
“If it helps any,” Isaac looked up at you with a small smile that made your heart somersault. He uncurled your hand as the wrapping fell away, “He’s been really hard on us, too. Says we’re too predictable.”
“Yeah?” Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, but there wasn’t any other way it could be when someone was being as gentle with you as Isaac was.
He took your other hand in his and started unwrapping it. “Yeah. I mean, just this morning he broke my arm. So I think you’re doing pretty-”
“He broke your arm?” All the gentleness disappeared. Derek knew better than anyone what Isaac had been through - well, other than you. “But he knows- I’m gonna kill him.”
Isaac laughed. It echoed off the walls of the dingy, abandoned train station, full and unbelievably at ease. He let go of your hand to roll up his sleeve and show you the perfect, unmarked skin. “It’s okay. I healed.”
Again, your voice was too quiet. Too anxious as you moved closer to him. “Isaac, it’s not okay.”
His easiness faltered, giving way to something far too vulnerable. Sadness. “I know,” he said, looking down at your scraped-up shoulder. “Can I clean that for you?”
The irony of Isaac patching up your wounds after almost a decade of you doing the same for him did not go unnoticed, but it did go unsaid. You nodded and moved ever so slightly so he could get a better look at it.
“It’s not that bad,” you lied as Isaac looked for a disinfectant in the first aid kit. Your shoulder was covered in dirt, but the cuts weren’t that deep. The rubbing alcohol would hurt more than the scrapes did.
Isaac didn’t answer at first, but he did give you a look that let you know that lying to a werewolf wasn’t the best idea. “How are things with Scott and Stiles?”
You shrugged and looked away. “I knew things would be different when I came home, but they … don’t trust me anymore. He didn’t even want to tell me about Allison, and Stiles … son of a bitch!” You hissed as Isaac wiped the rubbing alcohol over your cuts.
Still, it was a pain you’d take instead of talking about Stiles.
Isaac laughed and you shoved him lightly. When he went back to cleaning up your arm, you said, “It’s just different. That’s all.”
“Give ‘em some time,” Isaac said, wrapping an unnecessary bandage over your shoulder. His hands weren’t calloused anymore, but they were warm. “They’re trying to protect you from all this the best they can, but they don’t know how.”
The light caught on the hair around his face at this angle, forming a perfect, curly halo around him. “Yeah? And you do?” you asked.
Isaac laughed quietly, looking up from his bandage to meet your eye. “Maybe I do.” Your heart did another backflip, and you knew he heard it because he smiled again. “You okay?” he asked quietly, reaching a hand up to move some hair out of your face.
“More than okay.”
Isaac kept his hand on your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to turn away, but you didn’t know if that was what you wanted. A part of you wanted to be here, just you and Isaac, in a world without all the secrets. A smaller part of you wondered if you would be here with Isaac if there weren’t any secrets, or if you’d be with someone else.
All you knew for sure was that Isaac was warm, and impossibly gentle, and he made you smile.
When he kissed you, he stole all the air from your lungs. For one moment, you were safe and he wasn’t a werewolf. You leaned into his touch and for a moment, there wasn’t anything else in the world.
Isaac pulled away first, with an uncertain but sweet smile on his face. “That was …”
“I have to go,” you rushed out before he could find the word that would undoubtedly shatter your heart. Isaac blinked, pulling his hand away and straightening up.
“Uh, yeah, you’re right.” He exhaled shakily, looking down at the hand that used to be on your cheek. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no. That’s not what I-” You reached for his hand and forced yourself to stop just before you could touch him. You flexed your hand before curling your fingers in. “Not because … not because of that.”
Isaac looked up at you but the uncertainty replaced all his sweetness. “Are you sure?”
You took another deep breath and climbed to your feet. It felt somehow wrong to stand while Isaac was still on the ground. “Scott’s got a lacrosse game and my mom thinks I’m waiting at the house. I’ve gotta shower and change before we go and-” you stopped collecting your things and looked at him as he stood up. You smiled at him. “I’ll call you?”
Still uncertain, still hopeful. Isaac smiled at you again and your stomach tied in knots. “Sure. Have fun at the game.”
---
Melissa McCall > Stiles The Supreme
Tuesday, 7 March
17:03, PST
Melissa McCall: Hey, honey. I hate to do this to you before your big game but I can’t get a hold of Scott and I’m running late.
Stiles The Supreme: no worries! need me to pick up the little rascals and make sure everyone gets to the game before coach loses it?
Melissa McCall: You can take my car since the Jeep’s in the shop <3
---
All you could think about as you got ready for Scott’s lacrosse game was Isaac.
Isaac was your best friend, but he was a werewolf. A werewolf who fought against your brother, who was hunted by the Argents, and who was wanted by the county for murdering his father. And yet, when he kissed you - even with all the reasons not to - you leaned in. Your lips still burned at the thought.
When the high of the kiss came down, all you could think about was the way you left him. He didn't deserve to be as sad as that. Despite your best efforts, you’d left Isaac heartbroken and alone. It couldn’t have been okay for you to kiss him if it hurt him … right?
“Jesus, how long does it take to do your hair?”
Stiles stumbled down the hall with his left hand covering his eyes. Just as he was about to walk into your room, he walked into the doorframe and swore. He ripped his hand away from his eyes and hit it against the other side of the frame, causing even more swearing. It didn’t help that Nugget was scurrying around his feet for attention.
Laughter replaced your momentary shock. It was hard not to laugh when Stiles was mumbling swear words and biting on his injured index finger, harder still to focus on why he was in your house instead of at his game.
“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Stiles asked, scooping Nugget up and shaking him slightly as he walked over to where you sat on your bed. “That points to a real sadistic streak, you know that? You McCalls all think you’ve got everybody fooled with those dimples, but I see you. Laughing at my pain.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing at him. “You’ve gotta admit that it is pretty funny.” You reached over and took his hand in yours to get him to stop fidgeting with his finger. It would bleed if he didn't leave it alone. “I mean, could you imagine if you walked into the desk, too?”
“Ha-ha. Hilarious,” Stiles said in a flat, monotone voice. He rolled your eyes when you laughed again, but his lips still curved upwards as he looked down at Nugget clambering over his legs to get attention. “So, do you have to feed this thing or are you ready to go?”
“That depends where you’re taking me.” Stiles’ hand twitched in yours and you forced yourself to let go of him, flexing your hands before picking Nugget up and scratching under his chin.
Stiles lifted his hand and swiped his thumb across his nose. He always did that when he got nervous. “Your, uh, your mom asked me to take you to the game. I think she feels bad about the Jeep being impounded. My dad’s gonna pick her up from the hospital.”
“Right, I forgot about the Jeep.” You sighed and looked down at Nugget instead of looking at Stiles. He was too real for you not to feel guilty when you looked at him. “How are you, really, after that?”
“I’m fine.” Stiles answered too quickly and he knew it. He sighed. “I can’t really … things are unbelievably-”
“Complicated. I know.” You looked over at the boxes and shook your head before leaning closer. “But isn’t there some way that we could talk - just for five minutes - like we used to? Before … before I left, before things got so complicated. Just you and me.”
“You and me,” Stiles repeated slowly. His voice was soft, and your heart stuttered when he caught your eye. It wasn't a nervous stutter like when you were Isaac, it was different. Excited. “How would we even do that?”
You shrugged, trying to make sense of what was in your head. You didn't know how to go back to normal with Stiles, or if there ever was normal with Stiles. “We get in the car, you ask me about the drive with Rafael, I pretend to be interested in lacrosse. You tell me about your summer working at that coffee shop in the city. Maybe we take a wrong turn, and get there a little late?”
“My sense of direction is pretty crap at night,” Stiles admitted. He stood up, a mischievous smile on his face as he held a hand out to you.
You took Stiles’ hand in yours without another thought.
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