Series Rewrite (A Teen Wolf Fanfiction)

I.E.D Part 3

"Stiles, seriously. I can pee on my own," I grumbled, trying to keep him from coming into the girl's bathroom with me.

"Y/N, there are people trying to kill you. For good. Can I at least check the bathroom first?" he asked.

"No," I said firmly, crossing my arms. "I may be a little weak, but I'm not helpless. Go. I'll meet you in class, okay?" Before he could say something else, I walked into the bathroom. I didn't really have to pee, I just needed a breather. It turned out to be a rather quick one because Stiles stuck his head in a minute later and peeked around.

"You ready?"

Since it looked like alone time was the last thing on my list of possible activities for the day, I sighed and nodded, following Stiles out and down the hall.

"Where's Scott?" I asked to make conversation.

"He's talking to Liam with Derek or something." Stiles waved it off like it was no big deal. Or maybe he just didn't care that much. I wouldn't be surprised with how he was acting about Liam lately. Well, you know, 'lately' as in before my deaths.

We sat down in the classroom, and I noticed there were a few more empty seats than normal.

"What about Kira and Malia? Where are they?"

"Trying to get the other codes out of Lydia," he replied, equally as dismissive. Scott walked in and waved to us, sitting on the other side of me like my right-hand guardian.

While Coach dragged on about economics, Stiles distracted himself by pulling out the crime scene photos of every dead person involved in the dead pool. I shook my head at him, frowning at the sight. It wasn't that I couldn't handle it, I definitely could, but all it did was remind me of my parents, so I tried to ignore it.

Coach had a lacrosse stick in his hand, using it as a very large pointer as he tapped people's desks for emphasis. I still had this funny feeling about lacrosse sticks since I was, you know, killed by one, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember the face behind the stick.

I watched Coach slowly walk down our isle, deciding not to tell Stiles that he was coming. Coach finished complaining about our lack of sports funds before smacking the end of the stick on Stiles' desk. Stiles jerked back, letting the photos drop back on the desktop. I smiled with satisfaction. Haha, he got in trouble.

"Stilinski! You know..." Coach leaned down to pick up one of the photos while Stiles pursed his lips, his fingers fumbling uncomfortably with his pencil. "If I could grade you on how profoundly you disturb me, you'd be an A+ student."

I snickered into my palm as Stiles blinked. "Thanks, Coach..."

Coach stood with a sigh. "Put those pictures away." Stiles nodded as Coach tapped Stiles' desk three times with the end of the stick, and as he tried to walk away, Stiles' eyes jerked wide open and he grabbed the stick. "Stilinski!" Coach tried to tug it away, but Stiles pulled it back to him, staring at it.

He yanked off the rubber tip, his eyes glued to the hexagonal shape of the end, the exact same shape of the circles around each of the stab wounds.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Coach grumbled as Stiles refused to let go whenever he pulled on it. Coach continued to jerk at the stick while he looked at the photos of Carrie's stabs, comparing them to the end. "Don't answer that." Coach finally ripped the stick from Stiles' grasp and walked away. Stiles' eyes slid over to me like he was realizing something, almost looking apologetic as well.

"You tried to tell us," he murmured. "It was a lacrosse stick. A lacrosse player..."

"The killer is on the team," Scott said, matching Stiles' foreboding tone.