Blind ✥ HALE

0.3: Myths.

Stiles grips my arm, dragging me as he yells after Scott. "Wait, no! Scott! You're not gonna believe what the animal was!" In a lower and much defeated voice, he mumbles, "It was a wolf."

So I was right. I knew I had heard howling the night Stiles abandoned us in the woods.  A fragment of Stiles' joke from yesterday echoes in my mind, and I feel like I lose my balance as the seriousness of it hits me.

Could it be that those werewolf myths aren't really myths?

Stiles and I sit down on the bench, and I'm once again lost in thought as Coach Finstock barks at the team.

"Let's go! Gather round! Bring it in, come on! Come on!"

Werewolves. That couldn't be possible, right? I mean, I don't wanna rain on Scott's parade, but this is honestly terrifying. I remember the movies I had watched as a kid, and werewolves are no laughing matter. Sure, they have superspeed, superstrength, super... Okay, they have super everything. But I recall a certain movie scene that haunted my dreams for a week. A werewolf ripping a guy apart, then eating him.

Oh my God, am I really comtemplating this? No, there's no way this is for real. Because if werewolves actually exist, then what other fables do?

"Now, get out there and show me what you got!" Coach finalizes, and a whistle is blown as the game starts. I hear a lot of running, shoving, and grunting, and my mind continue to muse. Scott has definitely been different since the bite.

A roar erupts from the crowd, ceasing my thought process. I grip Stiles' jersey and lean towards the field to try to hear better. "What's he doing?"

"He... He just did a front flip," Stiles replies, appalled.

I frown. Scott doesn't know gymnastics! Since he had been diagnosed with severe asthma, he never did any kind of sport or cardio exercise. 

Everyone begins to applaud and cheer, and Stiles groans. "Aaand he just scored."

I tilt my head towards him, trying to stay optimistic. "That's good, right?"

Stiles doesn't answer. Instead, the sharp sound of a whistle forces me to focus on the conversation ahead of us. "McCall! Get over here!" Coach yells. I wince as I hear Scott get closer and Finstock shouts again. "What in God's name was that? This is a lacrosse field. What, are you trying out for the gymnastics team?"

"No, Coach" is Scott's dejected reply.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know... I was just trying to make the shot." My cousin sounds apologetic and even embarrassed, and I can only listen and hope this won't affect his chances to be on the team. Coach Finstock sounds really pissed off.

"Yeah, well, you made the shot. And guess what?" There's a pause before I hear, "You're startin', buddy. You made first line."

I can't help but jump up and begin to cheer for Scott, as does everyone else. My clapping slows when I notice Stiles is still planted on the bench, silent.

"Stiles. What's the matter?" I ask, turning to him.

"I don't know yet," Stiles whispers. A finger taps my arm. "But something's wrong with him."

My earlier ideas come back, and I sigh in agreement. He's right; something is definitely wrong with Scott. Maybe it's an actual disease, although I don't know of any illnesses that make you superhuman.

I plaster on a smile when Scott comes up to us and hugs us both, bouncing around from the adrenline rush and the pent-up energy he has. A giggle slips from my lips when Scott plants a big, noisy kiss on my cheek.