Stiles yawned next to Scott as they drove to school. Fucking yawned. As if this might be any other day where he had simply stayed up too late finishing homework he had been ignoring for days instead of sleeping. As if Scott wasn't losing his goddamn mind next to him, wondering what they were about to walk into now that their closest friends knew his biggest secret.

Scott wanted to throw up.

Stiles would kill him, though. This was his Roscoe. And Roscoe didn't get defiled without some sort of consequences, and Scott didn't really think he could stomach cleaning it up anyway. Add in the fact that Stiles was likely the only friend he had left, and it's not like Scott could afford to do anything to piss him off.

The real problem was the fact that they hadn't spent as long discussing everything that had happened as Scott would have liked before they'd gone their separate ways for the weekend. And he hadn't been brave enough to text any of them. Not even Stiles. Or respond to any of their messages. Basically, Scott had been a big ole coward and now he was going to pay the price for it by wanting to crawl into a hole and die instead of walking the halls of his high school ever again.

But, hey, no one had called him out for any of his behavior—or lack thereof—so that was something. Instead, they had let him simmer in his anxiety, allowing Peter and Derek to handle the delicate situation of introducing Lydia, Jackson, and Allison to a whole new supernatural world.

As they found a parking spot, Scott's hand hovered near the handle, shaking slightly. He had no idea if he could actually do this. He wasn't sure he was ready to see that look on Allison's face that was a unique mixture of fear and awe. Because he knew it was inevitable that she would see him differently. Hell, she was probably going to break up with him. And he couldn't exactly blame her. No one wanted to date a werewolf.

"Come on, dude," Stiles coaxed from the other side of the Jeep, likely sensing his apprehension. "We're gonna be late. And it's Finstock's class, so I'd rather not get yelled at this early." He stretched and motioned for Scott to join him. "Messes with my overall very calm and mild-mannered vibe, you know?"

Scott couldn't help the scoff and the smirk that escaped him next, but when he didn't move, Stiles came over to the door.

"Seriously, what's going on?"

Scott sighed heavily. "I don't want to go in there."

"What? Why not? Did you not do your homework?"

"We had homework?" he squeaked, shaking his head. "No. That's, uh... that's not it. It's just... you know. They know."

Stiles looked up at the building and then back to Scott, shrugging his shoulders. "Right. And..."

"I can't stop imagining them with, like, pitchforks or the cops showing up to arrest me." He squared his shoulders, getting out of the Jeep finally, pulling his backpack with him. "You heard Jackson before everything went down on Friday. He thought I killed those people."

Stiles threw his arm across Scott's shoulders and steered him toward the door, whispering low enough that only Scott could hear, even as everyone streamed past them. "I'm pretty sure no one does the pitchfork thing anymore. That's from Gilgamesh or whatever." Scott's eyebrows furrowed, but Stiles continued. "Second, Jackson does not think you killed anybody. If he really did, do you think he would've just told my dad that story we came up with before they showed up? No, he would've blabbed. Right?"

"What's Gilgamesh?"

"Never mind. Point is, they're our friends, Scott. No one is going to hunt you down or kill you."

Scott gave him a look, trying to get him to understand that's exactly what was happening with the rogue hunters and rogue werewolf wandering around town. And just like all the other times, Stiles understood without him having to utter a word.

"Well, not at school. It's daytime," he said, motioning to the clear, blue sky. "Haven't you seen a scary movie? Nothing bad happens during the day."

Scott rolled his eyes as they reached the threshold to the first set of double doors. "What if that thing is still in here?"

"You're in luck, actually. You're a big, tough werewolf. You can handle this, man."

Stiles yawned once more, hiked his backpack strap higher on his shoulder, and trudged up another set of stairs that led to their lockers, walking as slow as he dared while he waited patiently for Scott to catch up. The same Scott who was now crouched behind Stiles in an effort to be basically invisible, which was laughable. Stiles wasn't short, but he was so much leaner than Scott. Now that he was a werewolf, Scott's frame was even bulkier.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Way to be awkward," Stiles hissed. "Seriously, come on. Everyone's staring."

Scott sighed again and hung his head, looking down at his feet and refusing to even glance anywhere else as they made their way through the hallway, swallowing hard to fight the bile rising rapidly.

Fuck. He couldn't do this. The edges of his vision were closing in rapidly, pulsing an angry red. Stiles reached out and patted him on the shoulder again as they rounded a corner, and then another hand grabbed his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

And everything else disappeared with that one touch.

"Hey, you," Allison said, beaming up at him.

Of course it was Allison. It was always Allison that managed to pull him back down to Earth when he thought, for even a second, he might float away.

"He—hey."

"So, I was thinking for lunch we could stay here because Jackson drives like a lunatic," she began to ramble, talking wildly with her free hand, "and I always get car sick. And then I'm not hungry by the time we get to Arby's or Wendy's or wherever Lydia wants to go. But I am, like, thirty minutes after lunch is over. But then it's too late, you know. Is that okay? I know the cafeteria isn't usually where the seniors hang out—since we're allowed to leave campus—but if Stiles isn't taking us, I'd rather stay. And Stiles is always studying during lunch."

"Okay, first of all, missy, I don't always stay to study. Lately, I'm researching weird shit for your boyfriend and his Alpha."

"Uh-oh," Lydia piped up from Scott's other side, joining their conversation seamlessly. "You got him started. He said 'first of all'."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at her and she returned the sentiment as he turned the lock expertly, popping the door open in the next second.

"You okay?" Jackson asked.

"Huh?"

"He's worried you guys hate him now," Stiles threw in absentmindedly as he grabbed the books he needed.

"Why would we hate you?" Lydia asked.

Scott shrugged, but inside he was back to losing his fucking mind. And then Isaac was joining them and they were all back to chatting happily, as if nothing bizarre or strange had happened at all. As if finding out that he and Isaac were werewolves was just another part of the normal high school experience. They weren't yelling. They weren't cringing away as he came close, trying to politely excuse themselves from being in the presence of a wretched beast. Nope, they were just bullshitting like they did every morning, but had added in another layer and were now discussing the supernatural in a totally effortless fashion.

Like it was normal. Like he was normal.

"You do realize that you totally saved us, right? You and Isaac. I know Stiles would've been crushed by that lunch table for sure," Lydia offered.

Stiles nodded in agreement before waving his hand dismissively when Scott got even more confused because he most assuredly had not received that little bit of information before just now.

"I mean, it's a little like cheating, but it's fine," Jackson chimed in. "Just happy no one is trying to gaslight me anymore."

"Sorry about that, by the way," Stiles returned.

"I get it," Jackson said. "It's a secret. It's not like you can confirm it for everybody that gets close to the truth. Beacon Hills would look like a goddamn movie set or something in a day."

"I literally said the same thing." Stiles scoffed and put his hands on his hips. "We should've just told them," he said, turning to Scott indignantly. "I probably wouldn't have wanted to punch you in the face when you were so convinced it wasn't the whole werewolf thing if I'd had someone to talk to, you know?"

"You didn't believe it?" Allison asked, obviously baffled by this revelation. "You were turning into a werewolf and you thought nothing was happening?"

"Not nothing," Scott contradicted, mumbling the words to himself more than her. "Just not a werewolf."

"I'm just glad you're not on drugs," Lydia interjected. "Your mom would have killed you."

"But... but you're just okay with it? You don't want to break up?"

Allison laughed. "No." But then her face fell. "Why? Do you?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Oh, good. That's good," she said, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "I mean, I don't think we need to run and tell Gerard, but yeah, I'm fine."

"Gerard?"

"I don't exactly trust him after the whole Kate thing. And he keeps alluding to the whole werewolf hunter thing in his usual not-so-subtle ways, so it's making me nervous. I don't want him to accidentally find out that I know. He'll end up convincing my dad to send me away somehow."

"He knows, though."

"But he doesn't know I know," Allison clarified.

"Do you really think your parents would go for that?" Stiles asked.

"I have no idea, but I don't want to find out."

Allison gave his hand another squeeze and leaned over to kiss his cheek as the others began to chat amongst themselves again. And then he was blushing so hard he could feel the heat all the way to the tip of his ears. Not embarrassing at all. But none of them breathed a word of it as Lydia and Jackson rounded on Stiles.

"Okay, so what the fuck was that thing the other night and how the hell did it kill Mr. Harrris?" Jackson insisted. "Derek and Peter said they had no idea, but I know your neurotic ass was up all weekend finding out, so spill, Stilinski."

"Well, Google is your friend now, Jackson. Have fun with that," Stiles teased.

"Oh, come on, Stiles," Lydia cooed. "You know you're dying to tell us all that useless shit you've got stored up in that big brain of yours."

"Aww, you think it's big, Lydia?" Stiles said, bending over and whispering in her ear while never breaking eye contact with Jackson. "Is it bigger than your boyfriend's?"

Jackson shoved him playfully, causing them both to laugh. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"What the fuck was that thing?" Jackson repeated.

"Not a werewolf."

"No shit."

"I think it's the spirit of someone who was sent to the internment camp our school was built on, like I was trying to tell you guys on Friday before I was so rudely interrupted."

"That's... dark," Lydia commented.

"Yeah, well, welcome to America. Land of opportunities and a million little white lies told by the government. Heavy on the white. You know, so we all sleep better at night."

The laughter and lighthearted bickering continued as they allowed themselves to be swept away with the throng of students now making their way to classes with only minutes to spare, back to their normal routine.

Normal.

Something Scott wasn't familiar with anymore. But something he could get used to again if it involved Allison knowing all the sordid little details of his life and being able to be honest with her and not having her run away screaming.

Because maybe, just this once, Scott McCall got to win.