𝗦𝗛𝗘'𝗦 𝗧𝗢𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨
chapter  eleven

       Under the light of an almost full moon, Scott followed Stiles down a dark path through the woods, the night air crisp and filled with tension. "Can you at least tell me what we're doing out here?" Scott asked, his curiosity piqued amidst the shadows that seemed to swirl around them.

      "When your best friend gets dumped—" Stiles started, but Scott interrupted, irritation creeping into his voice.

         "I didn't get dumped. We're taking a break."

         Stiles brushed off Scott's protest, continuing with a determined grin, "When your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they're taking a break..." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

          "You get your best friend drunk." Stiles held up the bottle, his excitement palpable, but when he set it down on a rock, Scott noticed it was already half empty. The night had slipped away from them, long enough for Stiles to have consumed most of it. They gathered around a steel trash can with a fire blazing inside, the warmth of the flames battling the coolness of the night.

            "Dude, she's one girl. There are plenty more girls in the sea—" Stiles continued, his bravado unwavering.

             "Fish in the sea," Scott corrected him, trying to keep the mood light despite the turmoil churning inside.

            "What? Why are you talking about fish? I'm talking about girls. Especially ones with blonde hair, dark brown eyes, five foot five..."

       "Like Celeste?" Scott shot back, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

             "Exactly! How did you know I was talking about... What was I talking about?" Stiles trailed off, looking at Scott with a mix of confusion and concern. "You don't look happy. Drink."

        "I don't want anymore." Scott shook his head, his gaze fixed on the flickering fire, lost in his thoughts.

         "You're not drunk?" Stiles asked, genuinely puzzled.

      "I'm not anything," Scott replied, the weight of his emotions evident in his tone.

         "Maybe it's like not needing your inhaler anymore. Maybe you can't get drunk." Stiles mused, his mind wandering. "Am I drunk?"

         "You're wasted," Scott replied flatly.

           "Yeaaahhh," Stiles grinned, extending his hand for a fist bump, but received nothing in return. His enthusiasm wavered. "Dude, I know it feels bad. But you gotta remember. As much as being broken up hurts... being alone is even worse. Wait a minute. That didn't come out right. I need another drink."

         As he reached for the bottle again, a hand shot out and snatched it away. Stiles stepped back in surprise, his eyes widening as he faced two twenty-somethings who had emerged from the darkness.

         "Well, look at the little bitches getting their drink on," Reddick sneered, a blend of muscle and menace, while his friend Unger laughed with a sinister tittering.

          "Give it back," Scott said, his voice steady and low, gaze locked on Reddick.

        "What's that, little man?" Reddick mocked, leaning closer.

              "I want the bottle," Scott asserted, refusing to back down.

         "Scott, let's just go," Stiles urged, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

            But Scott remained eerily calm. "You brought me here to get me drunk, Stiles. I'm not drunk yet."

         Reddick's bravado faltered slightly, the atmosphere shifting as he took a shot from the bottle, the liquid disappearing down his throat. But when he lowered it, Scott's calm demeanor seemed to intensify, and he stood, deliberate and unyielding.

          "Give me the bottle," he repeated, his eyes now glowing a sickly yellow.

       Reddick hesitated, fear creeping into his features as he met Scott's fierce gaze. Slowly, he held the bottle out, his hands trembling slightly.

         Stiles glanced at Scott's right hand, and his heart dropped as he noticed the claws extending, ready to lash out. "Scott."

                       Without warning, Scott lunged forward, snatching the bottle of Jack from Reddick's grip before pivoting sharply. He hurled the bottle through the air with all his might, the glass shattering against a tree with a deafening crash, sending shards flying into the night. The fire crackled in response, illuminating Scott's face, now set in a fierce expression, while Stiles stood frozen, caught between shock and admiration for his friend's fierce loyalty and the danger that now loomed in the darkened woods.

          The morning light filtered through Celeste's curtains, casting soft rays across her room. She lay in bed, cocooned in her blankets, groaning as the events of the previous day played back in her mind like a broken record. The tension at school, the fear, and the adrenaline seemed to linger in the air even now. After a few more moments of reluctant contemplation, she finally decided to push herself out of bed.

      Dragging herself into the bathroom, Celeste splashed cold water on her face to shake off the remnants of sleep. She brushed her teeth with a mechanical rhythm, her thoughts still wandering. Once she finished, she turned to her makeup routine, applying just enough to feel put together without overdoing it. A light dusting of foundation, a swipe of mascara, and a hint of gloss were all she needed to feel like herself again. She brushed her hair, letting it fall in loose waves, and put on her favorite outfit: blue jeans that hugged her figure comfortably, a simple white T-shirt, and a cozy black cardigan. She slipped on her white sneakers, knowing Lydia would probably have something to say about her choice, but comfort was a priority today.

          Celeste grabbed her bag, sliding her notebook inside along with a couple of pens. The familiar weight of the bag felt reassuring as she made her way downstairs. The house was quiet, a sure sign that her parents had already left for work. She peered out of the window and spotted Lydia's car pulling up to the curb, relief washing over her. Celeste hurried outside, the cool morning air greeting her as she stepped onto the driveway.

        "Hey!" Celeste called out, sliding into the passenger seat as Lydia rolled down the window, her perfectly styled hair cascading over her shoulder.

         "Finally! I thought you were going to make me late," Lydia teased, shooting Celeste a playful smirk.

        "Sorry, I just needed a minute," Celeste replied, her tone lightening as she settled into the seat. "Thanks for always picking me up. You're like my personal chauffeur."

        "Someone has to keep you on schedule," Lydia said, rolling her eyes dramatically.

       "True," Celeste agreed, laughing.

         "Just remember: we're fabulous, and they can't touch us."

          Celeste couldn't help but smile at Lydia's unwavering confidence. "Thanks, I appreciate it.''

         "Same here. Just focus on looking cute, and we'll power through. I'm thinking of wearing that new dress I got—"

      "The one you said was totally 'vintage chic'?" Celeste interjected, raising an eyebrow.

      "Exactly! " Lydia said with a grin as she pulled away from the curb. "But you might need to step up your game in the fashion department. I mean, jeans and sneakers? Really?"

       Celeste laughed, shaking her head. "Hey, comfort over style today. But I promise to bring my A-game tomorrow."

     "Deal! Just don't let the boys distract you. We've got to show them who's really in charge," Lydia replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they drove off.

     As Allison walked alongside Lydia and Celeste, the hallway buzzed with whispers and hushed conversations. The echoes of the events from the other night loomed large over the student body, creating an undercurrent of tension. "It's just weird. Everyone's talking about what happened the other night. And nobody knows it was us," she said, glancing at her friends.

        "Thank you, protection of minors," Lydia shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm, but the unease in her voice was evident.

        Allison sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "Lydia... Celeste, do you think I made the wrong decision?"

        "About that jacket with that shirt? Absolutely," Lydia quipped, her eyes rolling dramatically.

              "No, you know what I mean," Allison replied, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice.

         "Hello, Scott locked us in a classroom and left us for dead," Lydia continued, her tone shifting to one of seriousness. "He's lucky we're not pressing charges or making him pay our therapy bills."

         Allison glanced sideways at Celeste, who had been quietly listening, her brow furrowed in thought. "Honestly, I'm just glad we're all okay. It could have been so much worse, you know? But I get where you're coming from, Allie. It's hard to shake that feeling of betrayal."

       "Your parents talking about sending you to see someone too?" Allison asked, shifting the focus back to Lydia.

       "Sweetheart, I've had a psychiatrist since I was six," Lydia said with a shrug, rifling through her bag as they walked. "It's part of my charm."

       Celeste chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "At this point, we could probably start a support group with how much drama we've been through lately."

              "Here," Lydia suddenly said, pulling out a small prescription bottle. "Try this. Start with half a pill." She dropped it into Allison's hand, leaving her staring at the bottle in confusion.

      As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Celeste turned to Allison and Lydia with a reluctant smile. "Well, I guess this is where we part ways for now," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll catch up with you guys later, okay? I've got history, and you know how he gets if we're even a minute late." Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and apprehension, and she felt a pang of longing as she watched her friends prepare to head to their own classes.

            "Just promise you'll text me if anything weird happens," Lydia replied, raising an eyebrow as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. Celeste nodded, giving them both a quick hug before turning towards the history classroom. As she walked away, she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease of the past few days. "See you guys later!" she called back over her shoulder, her heart a little lighter knowing that, despite the chaos surrounding them, her friends were there to lean on whenever she needed them.

              Celeste stood confidently in front of the class, her vibrant energy illuminating the room as she engaged her peers with a lively presentation about the Salem witch trials. "So, to give you all a bit of context, the Salem witch trials were more than just a series of accusations; they were a societal frenzy fueled by fear and paranoia," she explained, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She gestured animatedly to the slides behind her, depicting images of the infamous trials and the historical figures involved. Isaac stood beside her, his posture slightly hunched as he glanced at the notes in his hands, nervously fidgeting with the edges of the paper.

           "Um, yes," Isaac interjected softly, his voice almost drowned out by Celeste's enthusiasm. "It's important to remember that many innocent people were accused and faced severe consequences." He swallowed hard, trying to maintain eye contact with the class, but his gaze kept drifting to the floor. Celeste shot him an encouraging smile, clearly relishing the way they balanced each other out—her boldness complementing his shyness. As they wrapped up the presentation, she thanked the class for their attention and stepped back, proud of their teamwork and how they brought different strengths to their project.

          As the bell rang and the students began to pack up, Celeste approached Isaac, her expression warm and genuine. "Hey, I just wanted to say it was really fun working with you on this project," she said, her voice bright and friendly. Isaac looked up, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Thanks, Celeste. I, um, I enjoyed it too," he replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual bashfulness. Celeste nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie as they exchanged glances. "Bye!" she called out cheerfully as she walked towards the door, leaving Isaac standing there with a newfound sense of confidence and a lingering smile on his face.

            Stiles stepped into the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and soap enveloping him as he entered. The sound of running water echoed off the tiled walls, amplifying the urgency of the situation. The ring of anxiety in his chest grew louder as he spotted the remnants of Scott's clothes strewn across the floor, his jacket and shirt carelessly tossed aside. Stiles' heart raced as he moved deeper into the room, drawn by the sound of the shower and an unsettling feeling that something was off. It wasn't just the sound of the water; it was the way it masked Scott's breathing—rough, erratic, and filled with distress.

           As he reached the shower, Stiles found Scott hunched beneath the water, visibly struggling. The water cascaded down his back, but it was clear that the cold spray wasn't enough to cool the internal chaos. Scott's troubled eyes met Stiles', and the weight of his friend's panic settled heavily in the air between them. "Stiles, I can't..." Scott gasped, the words laced with desperation. Stiles felt a rush of concern surge through him, igniting his instinct to help. He quickly dropped Scott's bag to the floor and rifled through it, searching for the inhaler he knew was inside. When he found it, he turned back to Scott, who had managed to crawl away from the relentless stream of water, leaning against the cold tile wall.

                "Use this," Stiles urged, holding out the inhaler, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. Scott hesitated for a moment, confusion etched across his features, before he took it. "Do it," Stiles insisted, and after a shaky breath, Scott inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, the tension in his body began to ease, the fog of panic lifting ever so slightly. "I... I was having an asthma attack?" Scott murmured, his voice still strained. "No, you were having a panic attack," Stiles replied, the gravity of the situation settling in. "But thinking you were having an asthma attack stopped the panic attack." Scott nodded, the realization hitting him like a wave. The memory of the heartbreak felt as fresh as the water streaming down his body. "I can't stop thinking about her," he admitted, the pain in his voice unmistakable.

               "Yeah, it's called heartbreak," Stiles said, attempting to lighten the moment despite the heaviness that hung in the air. "There are like two billion songs written about it." Scott chuckled weakly, but the smile faded as he continued to process his emotions. The conversation shifted, and Stiles quickly pieced together the night's events. "It's got to be the full moon. So we lock you in your room later like we planned," Stiles suggested, hoping to regain some sense of control. "That way the Alpha, who is your boss, can't get to you either." Scott shot him a look, the frustration evident in his eyes. "He's not the Alpha. And I think we need to do more than lock me in my room."

                   "Wait, what? You mean because if you get out, you could get caught by hunters?" Stiles replied, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No. Because if I get out... I think I might kill someone." The weight of Scott's admission hung in the air, a stark reminder of the danger lurking just beneath the surface of their lives. Stiles felt a chill creep up his spine as he registered the truth in Scott's words. They were at a crossroads, and the stakes had never been higher.

          The whistle blast echoed through the locker room as Coach's voice cut through the chatter of players changing for practice. "All right, listen up," he announced, drawing everyone's attention. Jackson glanced across the room, spotting Stiles and Scott. Scott looked strangely withdrawn, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. Coach continued, "Due to the recent pink eye outbreak—thank you, Greenberg—the following players have made First Line on a probationary basis. Emphasis on probationary."

            Stiles stepped forward, his eyes lighting up with hope as he waited to hear his name. "Rodriguez, Taylor, and..." Coach squinted down at his clipboard, muttering in frustration, "What is that? An S?" Stiles nodded eagerly, his fists clenched in anticipation. "No," Coach decided, "It's definitely a B. Yeah, that's a B." Stiles's hope deflated—only to be resurrected moments later when Coach said, "Bilinski!" 

           Stiles erupted with a triumphant shout, only to be brought back to reality as Coach barked, "Bilinski, shut up." Stiles straightened up. "Yes, sir!"

              Coach wasn't finished. "One more thing. From here on out, we're switching to Co-Captains. Congrats, McCall." The room went silent. Jackson's expression turned to one of shock and disbelief. Coach clarified, "This is about combining strengths—your unit and McCall's unit—into one big unit." Teammates clapped Scott on the back, and Scott gave a small, bewildered smile, looking over to find Stiles beaming at him.

         As the team headed out to the field, Stiles slung an arm around Scott. "Can you believe this? You're Captain. I'm First Line. I'm First freaking Line!" Stiles was practically vibrating with excitement, but Scott barely reacted. "What's the point?" Scott muttered, "It's just a stupid title." Stiles tried to brush it off. "Are you not freaking out? I'm freaking out!" But Scott just shook his head, his face clouded with worry.

           Stiles's curiosity got the better of him. "Hey, since your senses are all heightened with the full moon, can you, you know... pick up on stuff like... desire?" Scott raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, desire?" Stiles blurted, "I mean, you know, sexual desire." Scott stared at him, realizing where this was headed. 

         "You mean from Celeste?" Stiles shrugged sheepishly, "Yeah, from Celeste to me. I need to know if I even have a chance here, man." Scott sighed, "Why don't you just ask her?"

          With Scott reluctantly agreeing, he made his way over to Lydia, who was sitting with Celeste on the bleachers. Taking Lydia aside, he quietly asked, "Lydia, can I talk to you for a second?" She led him under the bleachers, expecting a conversation about the recent drama. 

         But Scott's simple, pained question caught her off guard. "Does Allison still like me?" Lydia hesitated, disappointment flickering in her eyes. "She'll always like you. As friends. Just friends." Scott felt the sting, gripping the underside of the bleachers to steady himself.

           Seeing his disappointment, Lydia softened. "Scott, she made a big mistake. You locked us in there to protect us. When someone risks their life for you, you should be grateful."

          Her words hung in the air as she stepped closer, letting her hand brush against his chest. Scott's expression darkened as she whispered, "I have so much gratitude, I'm not sure how to express all of it." Their lips met in a heated kiss, her fingers raking down his chest as he pulled her closer, an edge to his touch that was just shy of menacing.

         Meanwhile, Stiles was practically chewing through his lacrosse stick as he waited. When Scott finally returned, Stiles rushed up. 

             "So? What happened? Did you ask her? Did she say anything about me?" Scott's gaze remained distant, a strange darkness shadowing his face. "Yeah," he replied without emotion, "She's totally into you." Stiles grinned, oblivious to the ominous shift in his best friend's demeanor as they joined the practice.

       Coach blew the whistle sharply, sending the first offensive player charging into the drill. Scott and Stiles stood in line, Stiles glancing anxiously at his friend. Scott gripped his stick, gloves twisting around it in a way that made Stiles uneasy.

           "You okay, dude?" Stiles whispered, his voice low enough to avoid drawing attention. Scott didn't answer, just stared ahead, his body tense.

        Stiles kept talking, hoping to distract him. "I know we had good news and all, but there's only, like, seven hours left till the full moon—"

                Before he could finish, the whistle blew again. Scott's turn. He moved forward with an intensity that surprised Stiles, catching the ball from Coach and driving forward, his stick twisting tightly to keep the ball in close. Just as he picked up speed, two players slammed into him with a force that sent him sprawling onto the ground. His stick clattered away, and Coach just laughed. "I guess some people don't appreciate your new status, McCall."

         As Scott lay there, Stiles worriedly peered out from behind the lineup, but before anyone could step forward to take the next turn, Scott shot back up to his feet, executing a flawless kip up that left the players around him staring. Without a word, Scott snatched his stick, bared his teeth under his helmet, and stepped right back to the head of the line.

          Coach grinned. "That's the spirit, McCall! Earn it!" He tossed the ball to the ground, and Scott lunged forward. With a renewed aggression, he crashed into the two long-stick defenders like a battering ram, tearing through their defenses as if they were nothing.

          Danny, playing goalie, stepped forward to block him, but Scott twisted with unexpected strength, shoving his elbow into Danny's helmet and sending him flying. Danny hit the ground hard, the front of his helmet cracking as blood began to trickle from his nose. Coach blew his whistle frantically as the players rushed forward. Jackson elbowed his way to Danny's side, alarmed.

       Over on the bleachers, Lydia bolted up, her eyes wide. "Was that Danny?" she gasped.

           Celeste looked on, equally shocked. "Yeah, looks like it," she said, already heading down with Lydia onto the field. They hurried toward the growing crowd, where Stiles was trying to pull Scott back from the scene.

          "What the hell's wrong with you?" Stiles whispered fiercely. "You just took Danny down."

       Scott shrugged, a dark edge to his smile. "So what? He's twice my size."

             "Everyone likes Danny!" Stiles hissed. "Which means everyone's going to hate you if you keep this up."

            Scott's gaze darkened. "I don't care," he muttered, his expression defiant. He glanced back toward Danny, catching sight of the blood streaming from his nose, and an odd, twisted smile flickered across his face. Stiles stared at him, unsettled.

        "What?" Scott asked, shrugging Stiles off as he turned to head back toward the school.

          As the crowd around Danny grew, Lydia and Celeste finally reached Jackson's side. Lydia looked at Danny, concerned. "Is he okay?" she asked.

        Celeste glanced at Jackson, who nodded. "Looks like he just has a bloody—" he started, then froze, his eyes fixed on Lydia.

        "What?" Lydia asked, noticing his stare.

          Jackson gestured. "Your lipstick."

         Lydia pulled out her compact, checking her reflection to see the slight smear of lipstick. "Oh. Wonder how that happened," she murmured, rubbing the smear off with her thumb. Jackson watched her, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

                Celeste rolled her eyes, giving Lydia a nudge on the shoulder. "Lyds? Seriously?" she said. Lydia just shrugged, flashing her a sly smile.