Work Text:
Lydia Martin did it again.
She threw the most talked about party of the year, and all the drama that stemmed from it only helped her infamy as a hostess. Jackson walked around with an ugly black eye, and the grape vine had a way of turning vicious very quickly. Geller had woken two days later, but walked with a limp. He hadn’t been caught in the same hall as certain lacrosse players since The Incident, and no one knew where Duncan ran off to. With Stiles on the bench until his hand healed, the basic consensus was that their team was going to suck this year, except for one bright star.
Scott McCall was newly single, and at the top of the social food chain. There were rumors that he was going to be the next lacrosse captain, and his co-captain was about to get booted from the team entirely. There were rumors that he’d traded out Stiles Stilinski for Lydia Martin, but no one spoke about them near Jackson. He tended to get violent. It was so much easier to paint Jackson as a monster than his replacement.
And as Stiles watched his social life fall apart, he watched his father struggle with another onslaught of mad mountain lion attacks. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t say he knew what he cared for more. None of this was right. Stiles’ biggest mistake was looking for answers. He lost track of time more often than not, coming to school with more bags under his eyes than on his back and twitchier than anyone had ever seen. Jackson tried to talk to him once - to talk. He’d laughed so hard, he nearly fell over. Stiles should have paid more attention. He was going to have another one of those talks.
People went to the back of the bleachers to fuck. Stiles tackled Scott there, after practice, pinning him hard against cold metal beams. He shouldn’t have missed him. He remembered every word he said that wasn’t goodbye but meant the same thing. He knew what Scott looked when he was scared.
"Is this them?" Stiles demanded, soft but no less angry, words rolling offer a bitter snarl. He shoved the newspaper clipping into Scott’s chest. On the front page picture, the bus was clean.
___
Scott raised an eyebrow, letting himself be manhandled against the bleachers like he was humoring Stiles’s rage. It would be easy to throw him off, a single careless gesture could break the human in pieces but he restrained himself. He’d done his best to avoid Stiles, ignoring him during class and trying not to feel the boy’s eyes on him while he was on the lacrosse field. Scott had made his choice, convincing himself that he’d done it for Stiles as if that made it any easier to keep his distance.
He was in so far over his head and there was no one he could hold on to as the entire world fell apart around him. When he looked in the mirror, icy blue eyes would stare back at him and his whole face seemed foreign. The rush of power was too good to give up and even if he didn’t recognize himself anymore, no one at school overlooked the person he was now. They loved him, wanting his attention and cheering his name at lacrosse games, waving signs with his number written across them. His mom was proud of him, Coach would pat him on the back and the yelling would take on almost a fond quality, and for the first time, he didn’t lack for companionship. His friends didn’t like the change, but what good were the outcasts now that everyone at school wanted a piece.
When Lydia Martin whispered about winners in his ear, he was so ready to embrace such a terrible idea, especially when he could see the murder in Jackson’s eyes. It was just the first step. Take everything he had, leave him with nothing and then pay him back in blood. Lydia was beautiful, soft curves and smelling so good, it wasn’t any sort of hardship as long as he didn’t look at Stiles’s face.
With a put-upon sigh, he took the clippings and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Dude, you’re starting to act a little unhinged. If you’re that desperate to make out with me, you didn’t have to go the crazy person with a murder scrapbook route, all you had to do was ask.”
___
Stiles wanted to punch that look off Scott’s face. It was almost funny. Of all the people Stiles thought he wouldn’t be able to deal with, Jackson 2.0 never made the list. Or maybe it was because it was Scott.
"Pull your head out of your ass for a second McCall. It’s a shit look on you." He snapped. Tension straightened his spine, and Stiles couldn’t ignore the way his pulse raced. He knew what this sounded like. Stiles had pages upon pages of information, not all of it legally acquired. They’d found the other half of Laura Hale’s body beneath a purple flower. His Dad had highlighted it as a possible serial killer’s signature, but it was an idea that went nowhere. Stiles’ theories were considerably more outlandish. Aconitum napellus was important in certain lore.
He knew what he sounded like, but now he knew what Scott felt like back then, too. Part of him still wanted to ask what Lydia Martin tasted like.
"Are they hunting you…? Threatening you?" He asked. He should have quit while he was ahead.
___
“Hunting me? Are you serious?” Scott squinted a little, crooked smile pulling at his lips like he was unsure if this was a joke. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but things have been going pretty damn well for me lately. Even Jackson’s backed off, why would anyone be threatening me now?” The smile grew into a smirk, leaning forward to invade Stiles’s personal space to push buttons he didn’t have a right to anymore. No one could threaten him now, he was untouchable in school and out.
The boy shook his head, ghosting his lips across Stiles’s and trying to ignore the way his heart squeezed painfully as he teased. “Aren’t these just some rabid mountain lion or something anyways? Maybe you should leave the animal control stuff to your Dad. If you were going to find a way to get my attention, this is kind of a really weird way to do it. You’ve kinda got this whole crazy obsessed guy living in a room plastered with newspapers vibe going on.”
Scott hesitated, genuine concern flitting across his features as he reached out to close a gentle hand around the other boy’s arm. “Stiles, are you okay?”
___
Stiles smacked Scott’s hand away, only to shove him against the bleachers with a hand to his throat, gripping just so. Scott still fit so well against him. Stiles missed him. He was fucking Lydia Martin in the Coach’s office, but Stiles couldn’t get him out of his head. He hadn’t been okay since that party, and if he just listened the first time around, he might recognize Scott now.
There were newspaper clippings on his wall. There were things the dead bodies had in common, and Stiles had tentatively added Duncan to his wall of conspiracy. He didn’t want Scott to see him like this, but he wanted the chance to see Scott any way he could. Stiles just wanted to take it all back.
"You said there were more," he snarled. He didn’t know why he wasn’t holding Scott. "And Derek Hale. Did they do this?"
They were close enough to kiss. Stiles missed hearing Scott’s laugh. “Did you?”
He couldn’t believe it, but Stiles still asked. If it got Scott to take him seriously, if it got Scott to come back to him, he’d say anything.
___
Eyes widened in shock as Stiles closed a hand around his throat, the fury taking him by surprise. For a moment he forgot he was stronger or how easy it would be to shove the human away, actual fear showing through before the rage swept it away. The alpha said that anger, pain and hate were anchors that could keep his wolf when he felt the beast slipping from his skin.
“More what, Stiles? What the hell are you even talking about? It was a bad joke, you’re taking this way too far. Derek Hale is a creepy stalker, but he’s not some kind animal. Geez dude, you’re taking this way too far.” He rolled his eyes, trying to play it all off as Stiles’s imagination running wild. Werewolves weren’t real.
Scott went ridged at the question, jaw dropping as he tried to find the words to brush off the accusation like Stiles was the crazy one. Instead, Scott jerked the boy forward into a bruising kiss, trying to cover for his obvious stumble. “Do I look like a mountain lion?” He asked in a low voice, an undercurrent of something dangerous sliding through his tone. “I don’t know why you care so much about animal attacks, Stiles, but you should just drop it.”
___
Stiles could feel Scott shift beneath his fingers, strain taught beneath his bones. Then Scott stole his breath away, and Stiles never looked back. He threw his arms around Scott’s shoulders, grinding into him, biting into his soft mouth, trying to claim back everything he lost. He shoved Scott against the pole, pinning him in place, his bad hand still trembling when he held on too tightly. Scott only wanted to get rid of him. Stiles was always bad at taking hints.
"Did they make you do it?" He asked, softly. His heart beat too fast. Scott was hiding something. He couldn’t be a killer. Stiles wouldn’t believe that, but there were too many ways he could get involved. He kissed Scott again, bucking off self-control. It was more careful than Stiles cared to acknowledge, like he wanted to reminded himself how Scott tasted.
Scott still wasn’t answering him. “That night… Friday. It was a full moon. Is that why?”
Stiles didn’t know what answer he expected. He didn’t think he could even ask why they stopped working.
___
Scott quickly lost control of the situation, his arrogant smirk replaced with an eager mouth and grasping hands. He needed to stop, but he never could tell Stiles no. He’d wanted someone to drag him into bad decisions, he should have known better what that meant. This wasn’t what he wanted, this was everything he wanted. He twisted his fingers into Stiles’s jersey, groaning into the other boy’s mouth and forgetting for a moment that this was over and he couldn’t have this anymore.
Stiles kept asking questions and Scott was tongue-tied, flushed and ashamed and flat out terrified. He fought to find that cool uncaring attitude and hide his vulnerabilities that Stiles was always so good at exposing. “Stop…Stiles, you’re taking this joke thing way too far. This is crazy, you know none of it’s real. It’s just an animal.”
His shoulders slouched and his body curved into Stiles, afraid he might actually answer the question. They’d deserved it, every one of them. How could he admit that he’d liked it? His alpha had reassured him and Scott found himself living for the praise. “Don’t ask me things like that. You’re really starting to worry me, you’ve got to let this go.”
___
This was his Scott. All Stiles had to do was back him into a corner to find him, but for the first time, Stiles felt like he could believe him. That was terrifying. He never would have thought that of Cuntsucker McCall, and Stiles was forced to wonder how much he wasn’t being told.
Werewolves. Fucking werewolves.
He pulled Scott closer, arms wrapped a round his neck. He couldn’t tell if Scott was scared, or if he was trying another tactic to push him away. They could have all been animal attacks. Laura Hale. The bus driver. Unger, the man in the woods. The rise of missing persons reports. They could have. No one knew more than Stiles how ridiculous he sounded. Scott could be right. Stiles just couldn’t trust him anymore, but he wanted to, so badly. He wanted to go back to everything they had.
"Why Lydia?" He asked, tired and sad, instead of a thousand other things that could have helped. Like Prove it.
___
The boy gave up, tightening his arms around Stiles’s waist and resting his face in the curve of the human’s neck. He was the one who ended things, he didn’t have a right to feel so much regret. Scott wanted to come clean, if there was anyone he could trust it should be Stiles. It could be him. He’d never let anyone inside before, no one had stuck around long enough but it was all too much now. How could you ever hope to explain something like this?
“Because she wanted me.” Scott said with a sigh as if that explained anything. “She wanted a winner, I don’t like Jackson. I don’t know if she actually likes me at all or if she even cares.” Lydia was using him, but he was doing the exact same thing to her. It felt good being on the top with her holding on to his arm in school and she kept him feeling good in private too. She made him powerful, wanted, stroking his ego along with his cock.
“I’m sorry. You need to let go, Stiles. Just let all of it go, I have places to be.”
___
That hurt more than Stiles had the courage to voice. Scott still held on, and Stiles wanted to crawl out of his own skin if it would make everything stop. He was sorry because he didn’t know why he still held on. He shoved Scott away, taking an unsteady step back. His features crumbled, and Stiles pretended he didn’t know exactly how good it felt to be wrapped in Scott’s arms.
"Congratulations," he sneered. "You’re halfway to being Jackson."
Stiles was better than this. Stiles was a lot better than this. Even during the breakups that hurt, the ones with Caitlin and Heather, he’d had enough sense to stay the fuck away. Scott was just another string to pull. He wasn’t supposed to unravel Stiles.
"Get the fuck out of my face."
Stiles didn’t know exactly what he expected to accomplish, but he knew this wasn’t it.
___
Scott stumbled, leaning back against the bleachers and reaching out by instinct before he stopped himself. He curled his fingers back, muscles in his jaw tight and struggled to keep his racing heart under control. The look of betrayal cut deep but the words hurt worse, no skips or change in the human’s pulse to show the accusation was anything but the truth.
“I’m like Jackson?” It was easier to be angry than admit how deep the barb had gone. “I’m sure you’d appreciate that, Stiles, you’re the one who liked him so much. I’m better than he ever was, you can’t even compare. I’m better on the field, I’m better with Lydia and I can fight my own fucking battles because I’m not a coward like he is.”
The wolf snarled, shoving Stiles back. “You’re the one you came to me and accused me of murder, so fuck you! I don’t want you, stay out of my life. Just leave me alone or you’re the one who’s going to get hurt.”
___
"You’re a Grade A Dick," Stiles snapped, shoving Scott back. He ignored how far he had to cross after that push. He had more important things to worry about. Stiles shoved him again, forcing Scott back as far as he’d go. His hands curled around the front of Scott’s jersey. Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do. "That’s all you are! That wasn’t a fucking joke, and you know it. You fucked up, and I’m the only one who can. Who can… "
It wasn’t just a joke. None of this was a joke. This was a sick mess that Stiles didn’t know how he got into. Jokes didn’t hurt this bad. Caring about someone wasn’t supposed to either.
Anger flooded his senses. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, and ringing in his ears. Stiles wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go back to the way it was, and Scott could just forget about trying to be the best friend he’d lost, and go back to being Scott. Stiles’ Scott.
He really had been expecting that game changer. Werewolves were supposed to be the key to everything. It was so easy to be rebuffed.
___
“Who can what, Stiles? You can’t don’t jack shit, don’t think you have anything to do with this. You don’t know anything about what’s happening, don’t you go running your fucking mouth like you do!” All this pushing was going to get him killed, he didn’t have any part of this mess. Scott had fucked up, but there wasn’t anyone who could help him. He was in this alone.
Scott never learned how to fight, his only experience on the receiving end of people who always seemed to be bigger and meaner than he was. What he did pick up was unfair and dirty, but it helped a boy who wasn’t strong enough to go head to head with his tormentors. The wolf jammed a sharp elbow into Stiles’s ribs, following up with a quick punch that made his hand sting. “Let go!”
He couldn’t do this. Admitting it would make it real, it lived in the twilight part of his brain that kept the blood and memories of violence out of thoughts if he didn’t let himself dwell on it. He could keep going to school, he could keep pretending that everything was normal and he didn’t turn into some vicious monster at night that preened under a killer’s praise. If he didn’t say a word, maybe the whole thing really would turn out to be a dream and he wouldn’t feel like he was losing his mind.
“Is this about Jackson? It is Lydia? Are you just so fucking jealous? It’s over! Stay out of my business or you’re going to get hurt.”
___
Scott was strong. Stiles should have known, but the hit rocked him to his core, and what Scott said knocked the air out of his lungs. It took too long for him to straighten, one arm still wrapped tight around his middle, the traces of a snarl curling his lips. Wounded pride could cause so much damage. Stiles just didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
Don’t freak out.
Stiles still didn’t know better.
"Are you threatening me now? Am I next?" Stiles whispered, but he took a careful step back, and another, and another. He thought about a tired boy in a hospital bed, trying to make himself as small as possible while fighting off everything he’d been afraid of. Stiles hadn’t needed a name then. If he pushed harder, maybe he’d be able to get the names he needed now.
If Scott told him everything, he’d be able to do something. Then they’d be able to fix things. Stiles believed that. He needed to. He didn’t stop believing that they were worth saving, but it hurt to look at Scott. Color spread across Stiles’ belly.
"Fuck you, McCall. Get your head out of your ass."
Talk to me. Come back with me.
Stiles walked away with his head held high, but he didn’t look back. He didn’t know what he might see.