Teen Wolf fic: All Right
All Right
Scott and Stiles | 900 words | PG | coda for 2x12
a/n: Thank you to nanoochka for the beta read.
Summary: Out on the lacrosse field, it was easier for Stiles to stop thinking.
Even if Scott was being Mister Cheating McCheaterpants, using small bursts of super-speed to block Stiles's shots at the goal, Stiles found himself more quiet inside than he had been in days, weeks, maybe months. He adjusted his grip on the lacrosse stick, trying to remember all the little things Coach had told them about placing his feet, about turning towards the goal, about where his hands should be to get maximum power. It was easier to stop thinking with the soft grass beneath his sneakers and the stillness on the field, only him and Scott with the woods behind them, the repetition of the drills. He wasn't thinking about Dad maybe getting hurt, or about body bags, the impact of Gerard Argent's fists, or Lydia's tear-streaked face.
On the next shot Stiles took, the ball hit Scott in the leg and bounced into the goal. Maybe Scott let it happen, maybe not, but Stiles wasn't going to think about that right now. He let out a whoop, lifting his stick in the air.
"Lucky," Scott said.
"It's called skill." Stiles lowered the stick and bounced in place a few times before he squared his feet, reaching for another ball. "Had enough? You getting tired?"
"What do you think?" Scott grinned, showing more than his human teeth, which always freaked Stiles out a little, but was also kind of cool, truth be told.
Stiles jumped his weight from one foot to the other, holding the stick low, cradling the ball in the string pocket. He noticed how Scott watched him, braced for the next onslaught. Yeah, an onslaught, because Stiles was just that awesome that he hadn't scored once in the past hour he and Scott had been out here. Okay, so Scott was cheating, but he wasn't using that much of his powers. Stiles remembered his Dad talking about the game, how he'd sounded the way he did when he talked about his favorite pro players, except he'd been talking about Stiles, which was kind of mind-boggling.
He thought of the fall of darkness as the floodlights shut off, the rough hands grabbing him, shoving him down into the dirt.
"You all right?" Scott straightened, peering harder at Stiles. The light was beginning to fade, a breeze scurrying up out of nowhere, sighing through the trees.
Stiles blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
But Scott just stood there. He said, "You didn't cut your face, did you," a flat statement.
"C'mon, let's just practice."
"Stiles--"
"Shut up and guard the net."
"Okay," Scott said cautiously, stepping back. He swiped the back of his arm across his nose, restless as Stiles for a moment, before settling into the ready position, jaw gone tight.
Instead of getting another ball, Stiles hesitated. No way Scott was all right, even though he kept saying he was on the drive over here, going on about how Allison had been through some traumatic stuff and obviously needed room, no worries. Despite the freaky shit, there was something steady about Scott, always had been. It wasn't as if Stiles expected Scott to break apart without warning, but there was something heavier about him, eyes a little sadder, more guarded--which had started not long after Scott got bitten.
"You sure you--" Scott started.
"Let it go," Stiles muttered, giving his stick a few practice swings, the net brushing the grass.
There was no point telling Scott what Gerard had done--it was over, Stiles was good, his face healed. Stiles didn't want to be Lois Lane--and he figured he was probably the Lois Lane in this situation. Or, okay, maybe if anything he was the Jimmy Olsen. Allison would be the Lois Lane, really, except Allison could hit a target with her bow and arrow at fifty paces blindfolded and she had all those sharp knives. Allison was kind of like a superhero herself, and more than a little scary.
"Hey," Stiles said, swishing the stick back and forth again, "maybe no cheating with the wolfie stuff this time?"
"Hm." Scott put his fingers to his chin, all mock-serious.
"Scott--" It wasn't whining, Stiles was not whining, it's just that Scott looked way too amused. Stiles understood, despite the strange scariness of it, why Scott enjoyed that force inside of him, it had to be a rush.
Weaving around to maintain balance, Stiles tried to balance his lacrosse stick vertically, net up in the air, the base resting on his fingers. Coach wouldn't approve of this non-regulation use of equipment, but Coach wasn't there to see it.
"Okay, yeah, I admit, it's sort of fun--" There was that grin again, but then it melted away. "That's not why I'm cheating, though."
The stick wobbled and fell. Stiles bent over to pick it up. "Oh?"
"You have to work harder when I use the wolf powers--it's more difficult to get stuff by me, right? So it's…to help with practice. Y'know." Scott kicked at the grass with the toe of his sneaker and grinned, not the danger grin or the teasing grin this time, but the one that was the most Scott. "You scored a lot of goals in that game."
Stiles busied himself picking up the stick and a ball, his chest warm.
The breeze returned, rippling the grass. Scott's eyes went gold. Stiles braced his feet, drawing the stick back to shoot. He opened his mouth, and finally let himself inhale.
~end
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/423489.html. Feel free to comment at either post.
Scott and Stiles | 900 words | PG | coda for 2x12
a/n: Thank you to nanoochka for the beta read.
Summary: Out on the lacrosse field, it was easier for Stiles to stop thinking.
Even if Scott was being Mister Cheating McCheaterpants, using small bursts of super-speed to block Stiles's shots at the goal, Stiles found himself more quiet inside than he had been in days, weeks, maybe months. He adjusted his grip on the lacrosse stick, trying to remember all the little things Coach had told them about placing his feet, about turning towards the goal, about where his hands should be to get maximum power. It was easier to stop thinking with the soft grass beneath his sneakers and the stillness on the field, only him and Scott with the woods behind them, the repetition of the drills. He wasn't thinking about Dad maybe getting hurt, or about body bags, the impact of Gerard Argent's fists, or Lydia's tear-streaked face.
On the next shot Stiles took, the ball hit Scott in the leg and bounced into the goal. Maybe Scott let it happen, maybe not, but Stiles wasn't going to think about that right now. He let out a whoop, lifting his stick in the air.
"Lucky," Scott said.
"It's called skill." Stiles lowered the stick and bounced in place a few times before he squared his feet, reaching for another ball. "Had enough? You getting tired?"
"What do you think?" Scott grinned, showing more than his human teeth, which always freaked Stiles out a little, but was also kind of cool, truth be told.
Stiles jumped his weight from one foot to the other, holding the stick low, cradling the ball in the string pocket. He noticed how Scott watched him, braced for the next onslaught. Yeah, an onslaught, because Stiles was just that awesome that he hadn't scored once in the past hour he and Scott had been out here. Okay, so Scott was cheating, but he wasn't using that much of his powers. Stiles remembered his Dad talking about the game, how he'd sounded the way he did when he talked about his favorite pro players, except he'd been talking about Stiles, which was kind of mind-boggling.
He thought of the fall of darkness as the floodlights shut off, the rough hands grabbing him, shoving him down into the dirt.
"You all right?" Scott straightened, peering harder at Stiles. The light was beginning to fade, a breeze scurrying up out of nowhere, sighing through the trees.
Stiles blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
But Scott just stood there. He said, "You didn't cut your face, did you," a flat statement.
"C'mon, let's just practice."
"Stiles--"
"Shut up and guard the net."
"Okay," Scott said cautiously, stepping back. He swiped the back of his arm across his nose, restless as Stiles for a moment, before settling into the ready position, jaw gone tight.
Instead of getting another ball, Stiles hesitated. No way Scott was all right, even though he kept saying he was on the drive over here, going on about how Allison had been through some traumatic stuff and obviously needed room, no worries. Despite the freaky shit, there was something steady about Scott, always had been. It wasn't as if Stiles expected Scott to break apart without warning, but there was something heavier about him, eyes a little sadder, more guarded--which had started not long after Scott got bitten.
"You sure you--" Scott started.
"Let it go," Stiles muttered, giving his stick a few practice swings, the net brushing the grass.
There was no point telling Scott what Gerard had done--it was over, Stiles was good, his face healed. Stiles didn't want to be Lois Lane--and he figured he was probably the Lois Lane in this situation. Or, okay, maybe if anything he was the Jimmy Olsen. Allison would be the Lois Lane, really, except Allison could hit a target with her bow and arrow at fifty paces blindfolded and she had all those sharp knives. Allison was kind of like a superhero herself, and more than a little scary.
"Hey," Stiles said, swishing the stick back and forth again, "maybe no cheating with the wolfie stuff this time?"
"Hm." Scott put his fingers to his chin, all mock-serious.
"Scott--" It wasn't whining, Stiles was not whining, it's just that Scott looked way too amused. Stiles understood, despite the strange scariness of it, why Scott enjoyed that force inside of him, it had to be a rush.
Weaving around to maintain balance, Stiles tried to balance his lacrosse stick vertically, net up in the air, the base resting on his fingers. Coach wouldn't approve of this non-regulation use of equipment, but Coach wasn't there to see it.
"Okay, yeah, I admit, it's sort of fun--" There was that grin again, but then it melted away. "That's not why I'm cheating, though."
The stick wobbled and fell. Stiles bent over to pick it up. "Oh?"
"You have to work harder when I use the wolf powers--it's more difficult to get stuff by me, right? So it's…to help with practice. Y'know." Scott kicked at the grass with the toe of his sneaker and grinned, not the danger grin or the teasing grin this time, but the one that was the most Scott. "You scored a lot of goals in that game."
Stiles busied himself picking up the stick and a ball, his chest warm.
The breeze returned, rippling the grass. Scott's eyes went gold. Stiles braced his feet, drawing the stick back to shoot. He opened his mouth, and finally let himself inhale.
~end
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/423489.html. Feel free to comment at either post.