Battlefield pt 2
Author's Note: To Fizz Wizz: Thanks! Don't worry, I'm trying to write these and get them up ASAP. To bad angel: yes, I hate him too, but his character has amazing room for creativity. I hadn't considered letting her play, but you gave me a really good idea, so yeah, she is going to play! To Marine and Blossom: Thanks!
Battlefield part 2
"You heard the man! Asses on the field!" Coach hollered, and the team cheered, raising their sticks in the air.
"Coach!" Scott yelled, darting through his team-mates to grab Finstock's arm. "Are you benching me?"
"It's not my decision," Finstock told him, starting to turn away.
"But I have to play," my brother protested.
"McCall, you're failing three classes. Academics come first," Coach told him, seemingly quoting someone who'd berated him for letting Scott stay on the team.
"Coach, you don't get it, you have to let me play," Scott insisted, realizing what Gerard had just done.
"McCall, no not tonight. Tonight you're on the bench," Coach sighed unhappily. "Tonight, your sister plays," he added, glancing at me. His ribbon made it pretty clear that he was not happy with the fact that he had to bench his star.
Then his words registered. "Wait, I'm allowed to play?" I gasped.
"Managers are considered part of the team and can be used in a game if too many people get hurt. So you need to dress and get your ass out there," he snapped, smirking at my shock. He threw a set of small, unused pads at me, along with the small uniform the team had received by mistake one year. I fumbled with everything, and Scott dragged me into the showers to help me change. When I stepped out of the showers, he yanked my jersey over my head and handed me cleats, a helmet, and the small cross he kept in his locker for me. Using the mirror over the sink, I hurriedly braided my hair back into a low ponytail and ran after him.
Blue-gray loathing flared in my head and I reached for Derek's ribbon when I realized it wasn't directed at Peter. It was self-loathing. Gazing at Derek's large, muscular, but young pixie, I didn't speak as I raced across the field. Instead I sent the strongest pulse of love and trust that I could. I felt my elder brother recognize what I was doing and turn away from Peter, stepping over him to return to his books.
"What do we do?" I asked Scott from where I sat on the end of the bench. I still had the books, since there was a bench full of people, including Greenburg, who could go in before me.
"I don't know. Did you see Mom?" he replied.
"She's here," I told him sadly, for once wishing she'd had to work instead of taking the night off to come to the game.
"Your dad coming?" my brother asked Stiles.
"Yeah, he's already here," Stiles replied, looking over his shoulder to where the Sheriff sat with Melissa on the bleachers.
"You seen Allison?" Scott was rubbing his hands together, nerves making him fidgety.
"No, you seen Lydia?" Stiles was just as nervous, though he wasn't rambling the way I expected him to.
"Not yet," my brother sighed, looking around the field.
"You know what's going on?" number 24 asked, his voice deceiving an attitude of calmness.
"Not yet," 11 replied, blowing out a deep breath and I glanced down at my jersey. I was number three.
"It's going to be bad, isn't it? I mean, like people screaming, running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming kind of bad," Stiles asked, looking at his best friend.
"Looks like it," Scott admitted sadly.
"Scott, the other night, seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt, you know, while I'm just lying there and I can't even move…I just want to help, you know, but I can't do the things that you can do. I can't," the human told him, his brown eyes pools of pain, worry, and sadness.
"It's okay," the werewolf assured him, and I leaned around Scott to place my hand on Stiles' knee.
"We're losing, dude," Stiles sighed, shaking his head.
"The hell are you talking about?" Coach demanded, startling all three of us into turning around. "Game hasn't even started. Now put your helmet on and get out there, you're in for Greenburg."
"What? What happened to Greenburg," Stiles asked, shocked.
"What happened to Greenburg?" Finstock laughed. "He sucks. You suck…slightly less," he explained, making hand scales to emphasize his point.
"I'm playing? On the field? With the team?" Stiles questioned, shock and disbelief clear on his face.
"Yes, unless you'd rather play with yourself," Coach replied, shaking his head in disbelief at Stiles.
"I already did that today, twice," Stiles told him, distracted. I sighed and dropped my head onto the books in my lap, laughing, as Scott bit his lip.
"Get the hell out there!" Coach barked, and Stiles scrambled up from the bench. He managed to whack Scott with his stick and I just laughed, grinning after him.
"Scott. Can you hear me?" Gerard's voice echoed in my ears, and I stiffened as Scott looked around. "Ah, you can. Good. Then listen closely because the game is about to get interesting," the hunter told him, and between our legs, I grabbed Scott's hand. The scoreboard came in at the end of the field, and I looked around, looking for Jackson's jersey. "Let's put a real clock on this game, Scott. I'll give you until the last thirty seconds. When that scoreboard clock begins counting down from 30, if you haven't given me Derek, then Jackson is gonna kill someone."
"Don't listen to him, Scott," I murmured, tightening my hold on his hand as Jackson looked up from where he stood ready to face off.
"So tell me, Scott, who's gonna die tonight? Should it be your mother, who so bravely came out to support you? Or the sheriff, your best friend's father? Or how about the pretty little redhead who managed to survive the bite of an Alpha? Or maybe one of these innocent teenagers with their whole life ahead of them? Or should I do everyone a favor and kill that ridiculous coach? It's up to you, Scott. But you are going to help me take Derek down," Gerard asked, and Scott squeezed my hand like it was the only thing keeping him seated on the bench. "Because if you don't I'll have Jackson rip someone's head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood," Gerard threatened.
"Scott, Scotty, look at me," I begged, pressing my other hand to his heaving shoulders. The whistle blew to start the game and I jumped, pleading, "Scott, please." Then we had to watch as out teammates got killed. Stiles was slammed to the ground, hit in the face, and even dropped the ball.
When the whistle blew for a time out, Scott and I got to our feet. Coach grabbed the back of our jerseys so he could yank us back down onto the bench and snapped, "Sit down, McCall."
"But, Coach, we're dying out there," Scott protested.
"Oh, I'm aware of that," Finstock replied, then ordered, "Now sit."
I looked around as a tall, curly haired form sat next to me, fully dressed in his uniform. "You came to help," Scott realized, turning to face the other Beta.
"I came to win," Isaac told him, smirking deviously. Then he leaned around Scott and me to see Gerard standing by the edge of the field. When the old hunter saw the three of us staring at him, his eyes narrowed, and I had to fight back a smirk.
Then I leaned back, hiding a wince as pain shot through my upper thigh. Erica's ribbon flared, and I grabbed it, looking up from the arrow in my leg to see Allison standing over me. Erica/I stared up the shaft of the arrow aimed at us, and I gasped, ripping free of Erica's ribbon. Scrambling for Boyd's ribbon, I saw that he stood at the tree line, ready to spring into action. With a gentle push, I sent him a pulse of courage and loyalty, already knowing how much he really cared about the blonde she-wolf.
Isaac glanced down at me, worry darkening his eyes, then asked Scott, and "You got a plan yet?
"No, right now it's pretty much just keep Jackson from killing anyone," my brother replied, watching the field.
"Well, that might be easier if you're actually in the game," Isaac hissed, leaning across me to speak quietly to Scott. "We have to make it so Coach has no choice but to play you," the taller Beta told him, watching Coach around Scott.
"How do we do that? He's got a bench full of guys he can use before he ever puts me on the field," Scott replied, and I looked down the bench at the three kids sitting by Coach. Then Scott got an idea, and his eyes lit up. "Can you do it without putting anyone in the hospital?" he asked Isaac softly.
"I can try," the younger Beta promised, and I passed him my helmet. As he walked by Jackson's face off, I felt him grin deviously and raised my hand over my mouth to hide my laugh. There was only a minute left before half-time, and Isaac managed to take out two kids before half time.
"Lahey!" Coach shouted, royally pissed off. I leaned forward on the bench, hoping Coach would see us and put Scott in, but no. "Ramirez! You're in." When the next kid went down, Coach shrugged and said, "Murphy, you're in." I felt ad for the freshman, but we needed Scott on the field to counteract Jackson if something happened. After several more hits, Coach yelled, "Lahey! Seriously, what the hell is your problem?" Isaac shrugged, and Coach threw me a helmet. I blinked at Scott in fear, then pulled the helmet over my braid. "Let's see if you're as good as your brother, huh, sweetheart," he said and I darted out onto the field even as Boyd's pain and Erica's fear washed over me.
"One more," I whispered to Isaac as I passed him, taking the face off when Jackson nodded to me. Worried, and knowing he wasn't himself, I crouched, waiting for the whistle as I felt Isaac behind me. The sharp whistle shot through my ears and I flicked my wrist, sending the ball across the grass in Isaac's direction as my opponent slammed into me. Instead of fighting I let him knock me over and rolled backwards to my feet as he face-planted. But when I stood, Isaac didn't.
Scott ran out onto the field as medics set up a stretcher and I watched Jackson walk off with a smug smile. Gerard had made him put me in the face off so he could take out Isaac. "It's not broken, but I can't move it," Isaac told Scott as my brother crouched over him. "I think Jackson nicked me 'cause I can feel it spreading," the tall Beta explained as they took him away.
"You want to play chess, Scott? Then you better be willing to sacrifice your own pawns," Gerard said, though I kept my back to him to watch Isaac as he was carried away.
"McCall," Coach said, slamming a helmet and cross into Scott's arms. "Either you're in or we forfeit," Finstock told him, shoving me back onto the field.
I didn't get far before Melissa grabbed Scott's arm. "Hey, something's happening, isn't it? Something more than a lacrosse game?" she asked quietly.
"You should go," Scott told her, and I turned back around to move closer.
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Mom assured him. Then she insisted, "And everything that I said before, forget it. All of it. Okay? If you can do something to help, then you do it. You have to." She nodded at me, including me in that order, and I nodded.
"I will," we promised, then turned back to the field together. "Take the face off. Keep the ball away from Jackson," Scott ordered me, and I nodded again as he pulled on his helmet. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Scott nod to Stiles, who then looked at me. It was my job to get Scott the ball, so I did.
But I couldn't do anything when he was slammed to the ground. As his head his the grass, I felt Boyd fall, dazed with pain and hands covered in blood. The guy that had knocked Scott down went for Stiles next, seeing an easy obstacle in his way to the goal. Stiles went down hard on his back, and somewhere in the woods, Erica collapsed, her head falling on her arm.
"Don't you know what you're really bargaining for, Scott?" Gerard asked as we picked ourselves up. "Haven't you guessed what the real offer on the table is? It's Allison," the hunter told him, and I cursed softly. Gerard was playing with him, killing Scott's determination to fight back. "It's always been Allison," Principle Argent stated, then promised, "you give me Derek, and I'll let you have Allison."
One look at the still counting clock made Scott scramble up, and I groaned as I noticed the score. Were we going to lose every fight? Then fear and dread made my head jerk up and I felt my eyes flare purple under my helmet. "Isaac," I gasped, and I knew Scott heard me when he whipped around and then bolted for the locker room.
"This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime," Gerard sighed, holding up the broad sword he used to cut the Omega in half.
Dread and horror stopped me short, and my face off opponent plowed me over with ease. 'Hang in there, Isaac. Scott's coming,' I thought, and Isaac dragged himself to his feet.
"McCall! Where's McCall?" Coach shouted, grabbing my face mask. I shook my head, though I knew perfectly well.
The next face off ended with me sprawled on my back as the giant bulldozed into my chest. Groaning, I rolled over, coughing as my lungs re-expanded and watched the guys search the field for the ball. When I saw the ball sitting at Stiles' feet, I blinked, then snapped at his ribbon, "Pick it up and run you idiot!"
The dark green jerseys gave chase when Stiles took off, and Danny came out of the goal to haul me to my feet. I could hear Stiles screaming as he ran for the other goal and beside me, Danny sighed, "Oh no." Stiles hesitated in front of the goal, looking between the net and the stampede coming his way.
"Stilinski! Shoot it!" Coach yelled. "Shoot the ball! Shoot it, you idiot!"
"Shoot it!" Lydia cried from the bleachers, and Stiles flung the ball into the goal. Danny and I cheered from the other end of the field as the stands erupted with Beacon Hills fans' cheers.
"I scored a goal?" Stiles asked, bewildered, then realized, "I scored a goal!" He threw his arms up in the air and yelled, "I scored a goal!"
Laughing, I ran up to him, whacked him over the head with my stick and challenged, "Let's see if you can do it again, Stilinski."
"You're on, Pixie Dust!" he crowed, and I took my place at the next face off. I decided to take a page out of Scott's book and flashed my eyes purple just before the whistle. While my opponent reeled in shock and confusion, I lunged for the ball, ducked out of the way and passed it neatly to Stiles. Then I watched as he ran, spun, and scored to tie the game. I wasn't sure who was cheering louder, Lydia or the Sheriff. "One more time, Tinkerbelle!" he challenged, and I grinned up at him.
Another successful pass to Stiles was easy when faced with a pale, nervous kid in the face off. But as I passed the ball off, realization pulsed down Derek's ribbon, and Lydia's face flashed behind my eyes. By the time I could see again, red jerseys were crowding around Stiles, leaping and cheering. But I was clawing the helmet from my head and twisting Derek's ribbon until I could see through his eyes.
'Peter stood before me, arms caging me in where they were braced on the railing. "Your best ally has always been anger, Derek, but what you lack most is heart. That's why you've always known that you need Ami and Scott more than anyone. And even someone as burned out and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple power of human love," he said.' Blue-gray denial. I had a heart, even if Ami was the only one to see it.
I looked up when Scott pushed his way back through the crowd, then felt Jackson behind me. He dropped his gloves on the grass, letting his claws flick out as his eyes filled with yellow. My own eyes shifted to purple as I tensed for a fight, but the blare of the clock horn and an arm thrown around my neck made me duck my head.
"We did it," Coach realized, then cheered, "We won!"
"Yeah!" Stiles cheered, and I yanked my helmet off so I could really see.
"Nothing happened. Nothing," Scott observed, slightly shocked, and then the lights went out.
Stiles was yanked away from me, but my attention was caught by the sharp, agonizing pain in my stomach. As Jackson's ribbon flared in pain then faded, blackness covered even my wolf eyes. The last thing I managed to do was scream as I realized Jackson wasn't going to kill any of us. He had killed himself.
"Scott! Scott, where are you? Scott!" Melissa was terrified as she searched the panicking crowd for her son.
"Mom, mom, mom, mom." Scott didn't realize he was using his nose to find her, but he did it anyway. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured him, holding his forearms like an anchor. "But somebody is hurt. Somebody is down on the field," she added, and they looked to see a still form at the feet of the lacrosse players.
The lights came back on one by one as Coach charged across the field. "Get out of the way! Move. Back off! Move," he ordered, shoving players aside until he could stare down at Jackson's body.
"Jackson? What's happened to Jackson? Jackson! Jackson! Jackson, what's happening?" Lydia was near hyperventilating as she shoved her way into the circle to stand over the boy she loved.
"Can we get a medic over here? We're gonna need a medic!" Coach yelled as Melissa knelt beside Jackson, Scott and Isaac just behind her.
The nurse pressed her ear to Jackson's chest, then told Coach, "He's not breathing. No pulse."
"Nothing?" Finstock asked, horrified.
"Nothing," Melissa replied, then yanked up the bottom of his jersey. She revealed deep, bloody stab wounds and horror washed over her.
"Oh. Oh, my God. There's blood. There's blood," Lydia gasped
"Look," Scott saw the blood on Jackson's fingertips, right where his claws should have been.
"He did it to himself," Isaac realized.
Melissa looked up and saw Lydia sanding there, then ordered, "Get down here." When Lydia didn't move Melissa snapped, "Get down here and hold his head." Lydia sank to her knees, lifting Jackson's head into her lap as she was instructed, "Tilt it up."
Sheriff Stilinski pushed his way into the circle, looking around, but he couldn't see the two players he was looking for. "Where's my son? Where's Ami?" he asked softly, turning this way and that. "Where's Stiles? Scott where are they?" he demanded, raising his voice until the other players looked around. "Where the hell is my son?"
If you watch the episode while reading this or have seen it recently, remember when the lights go out and there's a scream? That's what I'm using as Ami.