Stiles walked into his room, his arms wrapped around his torso, trying and failing to ignore the
burning feeling just under the surface of his skin. He pulled his lacrosse jersey off, tossing it on
the floor haphazardly, rooting through his drawers for some soft pj's.
He pulled the soft fabric over his bruised and beaten skin, hissing at the sensation. He sat on
his bed with a huff. He could hear his dad walking up to his door on the phone, talking to
someone about him being missing.”Yeah, I'm not finding any clues here. Listen, if he - if he
shows up at the hospital - okay, thanks. Oh, come on, Stiles. Where the hell are you?"
He stood up, walking towards his dad with a hand outstretched. “Right here. It's okay. Dad, it's
okay.“ His dad looked up at his face and concern and anger replaced any expression that was
there before. He walked up to Stiles, taking his face in his hands. “Who did it?” He asked,
holding back his rage enough to ensure he didn’t hurt his son more.
“It's okay. It was just a couple kids from the other team. You know, they were really pissed about
losing and I was - I was mouthing off, you know. The next thing I know -” Stiles tried to shrug it
off, like it was nothing to get worked up over, but that clearly wasn’t the right move. His dad’s
jaw clenched, and his fingers twitched against Stiles’ cheeks.
“I want descriptions.” He ordered in his don’t argue with me voice. Stiles backed off, putting his
hands up in a placating gesture “Look, dad, come on. It's not even that bad.”
The sheriff already had his phone back out, googling the number. “I - I'm calling that school. I'm
calling them and I'll personally go down there, and I'm gonna pistol - whip these little bastards!”
His dad all but growled.
Stiles placed his hands gently over his dads, urging him to stop. “Dad! I just - I said I was okay.”
His voice broke as he pleaded with his dad.
“God.” His dad sighed, pulling him in for a comforting hug. Stiles hugged him back gently,
resting his head on his dad's shoulder.
After a moment Stiles pulled out of the hug, making an excuse about being tired from the game,
really just wanting to be alone.
“If you need anything, call me, I’ll be at the station all night.” His dad squeezed his shoulder
lightly in what would have been a comforting gesture, causing Stiles to wince slightly at the
pressure.
After his dad left he tried to go to sleep, but he couldn't, as hard as he tried he couldn't.
Everything ached, and the sheets grazed his sensitive bruised skin uncomfortably.
He tossed and turned for almost an hour before giving up with a groan. He reached for his
phone, checking his messages, noticing no number next to Scott's name.
"Zero texts from Scott, okay ouch." He scrolled down to his one message, Derek (contact name
sour-wolf). 'Pack meeting tomorrow at 7, my loft, don't be late.' "Way to make a guy feel special,
sour-wolf."
He looks at the top of his phone screen, checking the time. 6:40, he was going to be late.
He scrambled out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pj's. He ran clumsily down the stairs
and out the door, ignoring the sharp pains shooting through him, and he got into Roscoe, giving
the hood of the car a loving pat before taking off.