The Bite

7: Co-Captain

Stiles' routine was disrupted at the end of the last class of the day. Mr. Harris, of course. He had held Stiles back for not paying attention despite Stiles average A in the class. Stiles had bounced his leg in irritation but knew that if he spoke he'd be held back longer. He was already running late for lacrosse.

He had sped out of the room, sprinting to the locker room the second Harris had dismissed him. The school was quite at this time after school, everyone had either gone home or to their extra-curriculars. There was little to no chattering in the locker room, most of the team already out on the field.

Stiles groaned at the thought of facing coach.

He pushed the door open and froze at what he heard.

"- you're not gonna tell me about Stilinski, huh? In that case, why don't you just go back to where you came from, you little Mexican freak." Jackson's voice sneered, full of loathing.

Stiles saw an inhaler on the floor, crumpled, obviously crushed or stepped on. He stormed around the corner to see Jackson pinning Scott against a row of lockers. Scott was breathing heavy, not having an asthma attack but being close to one.

Stiles began to shake in rage. Jackson barely had the chance to notice him before Stiles had flung him across the room. His claws were out and he quickly hid them by balling his hands into fists. He stalked towards Jackson, his eyes burning yellow.

"What do you think you're doing?" Stiles growled out, his voice a lot lower than normal.

Jackson stared at him, terrified. He scrambled back to push himself up against the lockers.

"I always knew you were a freak, Stilinski." Jackson's insult wasn't as threatening when Stiles could hear his heart pounding.

Scott began to wheeze from behind him, clutching his chest. He crawled over to his inhaler but it was broken beyond repair.

"There's an inhaler in my bag, Scotty." Stiles tried to make his voice less threatening. He didn't turn around in fear of Scott seeing his eyes.

He waited until he heard the zip and then Scott's deep inhale before lunging at the team captain. He pinned him down much like he had been doing to Scott. His fists began to fly, pummelling into Jacksons face. He felt a deep satisfaction at the snapping in Jacksons nose.

"Stiles! Stiles, he's unconscious! Stiles!" Scott yelled, now having his breath back. He watched in horror as his friend continued to assault Jacksons limp body.

Stiles suddenly dropped him to the ground. He closed his eyes and tried to control his anger, to regulate his breathing. His senses were filled with Scott as he moved closer.

"Stiles, are you alright?" Scott asked, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

When Stiles turned around his eyes were back to their natural honey colour. "Am I alright? Scott." Stiles looked at him in shock. "Scott, are you alright?"

Scott just looked down at his crushed inhaler and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright." His heart jumped. He was lying.

Stiles wrapped him in his arms and held him close. "Is this... Has he done this before?"

Scott took a moment before nodding his head from where it was buried in Stiles' shoulder.

"It's okay though. He's not the first and he's not going to be the last to say things like that." Scott tried to shrug it off with a small smile.

Stiles shook his head. "The next time someone says- someone does anything. Anything. You tell me." Stiles cupped Scott's face, looking him dead in the eye.

Scott held his breath, glancing back at Jackson, and nodded. "I will."

"Now, you ready for some lacrosse?"

Scott smiled widely at the topic change and nodded. "You need to get dressed. Coach is going to kill us." Scott groaned. Stiles grimaced at the reminder.

"Hold on, I'll be quick." Stiles said pointlessly, Scott was already sitting down on the bench, no thoughts of leaving Stiles behind.

Stiles quickly tugged off his shirt and dug around in his bag for his jersey.

"Woah," Scott's eyes widened, raking over Stiles' torso. "Since when?"

Stiles just grinned cheekily and shrugged, pulling his jersey over his head.

"Impressed, McCall?"

"Very." Scott nodded in approval, throwing Stiles his stick when he was fully padded up and ready.

They made their way out onto the field. Immediately Finstock blew his whistle in their faces, and looked at them angrily.

"Stilinski, McCane, you're late. Not what I expect from the new co-captain, Stilinski."

Stiles' jaw dropped. "Coach. C-Co-captain?"

"Is that a problem with you?"

"No! No, not at all."

"Then get out on the field! And ten suicide runs after practice for your tardiness." Coach reprimanded, blowing his whistle again.

Stiles looked at Scott, his eyes wide in delight. Scott grinned back and clapped him on the back. "Hell yeah!"

The whistle blew again.

"Where the hell is Jackson?!"