All day, Stiles managed to block out the werewolf nonsense and his little stroll through the woods. It was working and he was starting to convince himself that he was just being ridiculous.

After classes, but before lacrosse practice, Stiles went back home because he forgot his lacrosse gear. He was in his room getting changed when he heard his dad come in.

"Up here dad!" He called from his room

Noah went up to his son's room and couldn't help but smile when he saw him in his uniform, "You ready for tryouts?"

Stiles told him that morning that he and Scott both had a decent chance of making first line this season and he couldn't be any prouder. Well, until his boys could win the championship that is.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna be late if I don't leave soon. See you there?"

Noah noticed the hopeful gleam in his son's eyes, he felt terrible that he would have to break it, "I would son but we're swamped at the station. With the dead body in the woods and the missing half, we haven't really got much time to spare."

Stiles was disappointed that his dad wouldn't be there but he reminded himself that it wasn't a real game, so he pushed down his sadness and turned his attention to the second half of what his dad said.

"Find anything yet?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

His dad then remembered something his deputy told him the morning after they went looking for the other half of the dead body.

"Stiles, where were you when we went looking for the dead body?"

"I was sleeping dad. Right here. On my bed." Yeah, Stiles was not a very good liar.

"That right?" Noah knew his son was out there, he was just wondering how long Stiles would play innocent.

"Yup. Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. But my deputy did find this flashlight in the woods and it looked a lot like the one you have."

Stiles had to try extremely hard not to show any outward sign of guilt. He had completely forgotten about his flashlight!

"Well it's not mine dad."

"It had the words S.S. Mischief on the side."

He could have denied it some more, but he couldn't do it. S.S. Mischief was the name he used to put on almost all his things. It reminded him of his mom and his dad knew it.

"You've been listening in on my phone calls again, haven't you?" Noah sighed. This was what he got for having a smart son.

"What? No." At his dad's look Stiles relented and said, "Well not the boring ones."

Noah sighed again, at times like these he wished more than ever that Claudia was here to help him deal with their frustratingly smart son. He was pretty sure though that his wife would just smile at him and tell him it was his turn to be frustrated dealing with Stilinski men.

"What have I told you about eavesdropping?"

"That it doesn't count if it's over the phone?" Stiles winced at the damnably obvious lie. He seriously needed to get better at that if he was going to have any chance of keeping this whole werewolf thing a secret.

"Don't make me take out your phone privileges son." Noah said fully aware that if he did, Stiles would figure out a way to talk to Scott even if it meant using carrier pigeons. "Does Melissa know you and Scott were out there?"

The first rule of rule breaking was to never get caught. Since it was obviously too late for that, he would have to prioritize the second rule: never rat out on your co-conspirators.

"Scott wasn't with me that night." Stiles said, trying his best to sound convincing, "He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for practice the next day. Obviously it worked cause he's doing really good."

"Stiles what ha —"

"Really can't stay long dad or Coach will have my head." He slipped past his dad and out the bedroom door before the older man could ask him more about the night the body was found.

Noah, being used to Stiles', umm Stilesness, let the conversation slide for now as he watched his son walk out of his room.

Stiles just started his car when he heard his dad's phone ring.

"Sheriff we've got the results from the forensics lab in LA." He could hear whoever his dad was talking to on the phone and though normally he would have questioned it, right now he was just curious about the lab results.

"What is it?" His dad asked

"The fibre analysis identified the unknown hair as a wolf."

Just that one word made Stiles' world start spinning and his head flood with all that he had tried to suppress since being bitten by the beast in the woods. The heightened senses, enhanced reflexes, vanishing scar, and the sleep walking incident that morning. Even the glowing red eyes that he saw when he was bit that he has tried to ignore.

Before he knew it, he was at the school and running full sprint to the lacrosse field. All the players were already on the field and it looked like he was just in time for Coach to finish his pep talk.

"Stilinski!" Coach yelled, "You're late!"

"I know Coach but can you just give me a sec I need to talk to Scott."

"McCall's already on the field where you should be. Get your ass on the field!"

"But Coach, can you just..." Stiles tried but Coach Finstock just blew his whistle and Stiles was left with no choice.

He'd play the first elimination then leave. Maybe getting a little workout will help him clear his head.

Stiles played like his life depended on it. He was fast and agile. Each time someone passed him the ball, he scored a goal. Each time someone blocked him, he was able to sidestep them easily no matter how many they were and how fast he was going. He dominated the field like it was nothing. No one, not even Jackson Whitmore could steal the ball from him or keep him from making a shot. Some of the people in the bleachers joked that he played like he was possessed by a demon. An aspiring philosopher commented that he treated the goal as if it were his life's goal and the opposing team as the obstacles he had to overcome in order to reach that goal. But all of them knew that the boy making those amazing shots is not the same boy who dropped his beaker on the first day of freshman year and incurred the wrath of Adrian Harris.

After scoring a particularly tricky goal, Coach blew his whistle and called him over.

"Stilinski! What do you call that?" Coach practically screamed, "This is a lacrosse field. What, are you trying out for the gymnastics team?"

"No?" Stiles asked unsure of the right answer

"What the hell was that?"

"Well I thought I was winning Coach."

"Yeah?" Coach asked, "Well guess what? You're starting buddy."

Stiles stared wide eyed at the crazy haired Coach. He didn't know what to do.

"You made first line."

The crowd cheered for him and he couldn't help the smile on his face. He made first line!

This was great! This was...

He looked down at his hands and his smile was replaced by a look of pure shock and confusion. He made first line?

If there was one thing he needed to prove to him that werewolves were real, and that he was quite possibly one, it was this. Because he knew that under no circumstances, Adderall or no Adderall, would he have been able to make first line before he got bit. He was unathletic, uncoordinated, unfocused, and frankly he wasn't even sure how he made it on the team in the first place.

Taking off his gloves, he told Coach and Scott that he was beginning to get light headed and wanted to go home. Coach made no objections not wanting his surprise star player to pass out before he even played a game. But Scott looked at him curiously, he was worried about him but Stiles just patted his shoulder and told him he was fine. That he was just gonna sleep it off.

After Stiles left, Scott was approached by Jackson.

"Still think nothing's wrong with your friend?"

Scott didn't answer because he wasn't sureanymore.

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AN: On a side note, does anyone know the ship name for the Scott/Jackson bromance?