When my last period finally ended I headed towards the field on campus to watch the tryouts. I only stopped to get myself a bottle of water and sneak into the teacher's lounge to get Coach a coffee. The locks at this school were almost too easy to pick.

The bleachers weren't as full as they usually were during normal practices since this was only tryouts, but there was a decent crowd that came to witness everything. Malia and Kira were seated together near the bottom. Malia focused on a textbook in her lap while Kira fiddled with Scott's spare lacrosse stick. He was wise and kept an extra one around on the off chance his strength would get out of hand and he'd break his main one. 

I scan the expanse of the field, spotting Scott and Stiles. They were in the middle of some warm-ups but waved when I got closer. Scott greets me with a smile, while a panting Stiles trails a few feet behind him. 

"You look disgusting," I tell him bluntly when he's done waddling over to us. 

Stiles leans on Scott's shoulder heavily, squinting at me through the sweat that pours down his face. He's covered in it, appearing as though he stepped out of the shower with all of his clothes on. He hates my comment, but he's also too tired to say anything back. 

I offer him the water in my hands and his eyes widen. He rips the plastic from my grasp greedily, as if he's reached an oasis in a desert, and quickly uncaps the bottle to pour half of the contents into his mouth and the rest on his face. The bottle is emptied in less than two seconds. 

Stiles hands the plastic back to me without any shame. 

"I hate you." I glare at him. 

Having some energy returned to him, Stiles holds his arms open wide and approaches me. He knows I'm not one for physical touch, so he often does this, taunting me with fake hugs. I quickly put an end to his antics as I reach into my jacket, as if moving to grab a dagger. 

Stiles stumbles behind Scott for cover and the Alpha simply laughs. 

"I'll be over there with Kira and Malia," I say, smirking triumphantly. "Try not to die, Stiles," I add before walking away toward the bleachers. 

Before heading toward the aforementioned girls, I make one last stop to Coach. He glares over my shoulder at the pair of best friends I've left behind. When I reach his side, I turn to see why and find Scott standing over Stiles who lies on the grass. Scott has one of his legs in hand and bends it toward his upper body, helping to stretch him out. 

They looked like absolute idiots.

"They're idiots." Coach voices my thoughts. I hum in agreement as I hand him his foam cup filled with coffee. He perks up as he accepts it, taking the lid off to deeply inhale the liquid contents, bringing a smile to my face.

I always felt a softness toward Coach Finstock. 

When I first came to the high school, I didn't go to many classes, but because I had to keep a close eye on Scott and Stiles, I often found myself on the lacrosse field. This brought me closer to the man beside me. He was brash, loud, and verbally abused most of the students here. He was practically my hero. 

After he took an arrow to the chest, I always found little ways to make his day better. Coach could be odd, but at the end of the day he always had the best of intentions, and that needed to be preserved. 

Coach lets out a satisfied sigh after gulping down a healthy portion of brew. 

"This is why you're my favorite, Knight." 

I only chuckle in response before walking away, finally joining Kira and Malia. 

"Really, Jac? Bribery?" Kira jokes, referring to my gift for Coach. I had done it out of the goodness of my heart, but if it also left him to be a little less gruff with Scott and Stiles, that couldn't hurt. 

I sit on the row below her and Malia, placing my helmet and backpack next to me. "Let's be honest, Stiles needs all the help he can get." 

Kira winces sympathetically, silently agreeing. Even Malia nods along at the mention of her klutz of a boyfriend.

Malia focuses on her textbook while Kira and I watch the tryouts unfold. I spot Scott and Stiles returning to the center of the field now that their burst of yoga had wrapped, but find my eyes drifting away from them when I notice Stiles scowling. I follow his line of sight, searching for who was on the receiving end of such a look. 

Everyone else who came to tryouts lays in the grass. They're all trying to recuperate after the drills they had to endure by either laying on their backs to catch their breath or dry heaving. All except one. 

Liam is in the middle of the scattered sweaty bodies doing push-ups. He stares off into space with fierce determination, his form not faltering for a second as he does one after another. Stiles continues to glare at the freshman, probably debating whether or not to kick his hands out from under him. 

"He's been showing off the whole time." Kira says when she notices me watching Liam. Her words aren't hateful, it was impossible for Kira to feel such an emotion, but there is some annoyance in her tone. 

Scott and Stiles being upstaged didn't make me thrilled either. They'd been through more than enough last semester. They lost more than enough last semester. They didn't need to lose lacrosse too, as stupid as it sounded. 

As if he could hear me thinking of him, Scott glances our way. 

His frown lifts into a soft smile as he waves toward us. Kira returns the gesture eagerly, but the moment Scott looks away, her entire body deflates. 

I furrow my brows, an unspoken way of asking her what was wrong. Kira waves her hand, attempting to brush the topic of conversation under the rug. Unfortunately for her, Malia doesn't care about that. 

"She reeks of anxiety. Has the whole day." The coyote states. Kira gives her a similar look to the one Stiles had given her in the hallway earlier. A look of betrayal. I let out a minor laugh at the kitsune's expense. Stiles would be glad to hear karma avenged him. 

"Kira, what's going on?" I ask after my amusement dies down. 

She gives me a sideways glance, debating on whether or not to speak. She ultimately makes up her mind, letting out a hefty sigh. 

"Scott and I, we sort of had this thing happen, but it wasn't much of a thing. Now I'm starting to think it was never anything at all." 

Kira's words are incredibly vague, but I can piece together the root of her problems easily once she mentions Scott. 

For the past couple of months, they've been in a relationship limbo. Even though they created their connection after Scott and Allison broke up, Kira still wanted to give him time to grieve after losing his first love. But that meant it was on Scott to make the next move, and as much as I cared for the McCall boy, he was as dull as a rusted blade. 

"What do you want it to be?" Malia cuts in, more interested in this topic than the fractions she had to study. 

Kira looks out across the field at Scott, a frown darkening her face. 

"More," She mutters, her whole heart coming out of her chest with one word.

Seeing Kira like this always made me uneasy. Anytime she didn't wear a smile felt wrong. I don't hesitate to attempt to comfort her, despite the fact that my mind keeps pushing a singular thought down my throat: I used to have conversations like this with Allison. 

"Kira, unfortunately, you chose the biggest idiot to have a crush on," I quip, earning a breathy laugh in response. Neither of us comments on the fact that she doesn't deny any aspect of my words. 

"Scott just needs time to piece it all together, but don't worry. I know he wants to be with you, too." I say in a gentler voice, doing my best to ease her worries. Kira nods gratefully, a bit of that tension she held fading, a sign that I had done my job correctly. 

Our attention returns to the field, watching as tryouts continue. 

Malia occasionally glances up, but most of her focus is on attempting to study. It's obvious she's struggling from how tightly she grips the pages. In truth, she probably won't be able to grasp any of this without Stiles. She always did her best work with him at her side. 

His patience with her was something else. It always had a way of making the impossible become possible when it came to Malia. I admired that about him. In spite of everything Malia had gone through, and the fact that she would never be normal because of it, Stiles never seemed bothered. The same could be said for Malia when it came to Stiles and all he had experienced. 

Their relationship was something deeper than what most people had. It was a partnership. They both understood that no matter what either of them went through, they would always be there for each other. 

A part of me wondered what that would be like, to know someone who could see everything in my soul but not think any less of me. The rest of me knew that could never happen. The pack tried their best, but I knew there was something in all of them that wanted to talk to me about my past. What I did, the lives I took. No one could ignore the blood that was permanently stained on my hands.

And I couldn't blame them for it. 

"Oh, god," Kira murmurs, regaining my sole focus. 

She stares ahead, her dark eyes filled with worry. I follow her line of sight to see the players on the field lining up directly across a single goal. Stiles stands at the front of the group, struggling to pick up one of the balls off the ground with his crosse. 

Everyone laughs at him, only making Stiles' sweaty face heat up more. 

"You got this, Stiles," I whisper under my breath. This was one measly goal. He could do it. He's done it a million times before with Scott when they practice. He could prove himself to everyone who doubted him, here and now. 

Stiles finally gathers a ball in his net. He revs up momentarily before hurtling it toward the goal. The goalie, a stocky sophomore, prepares himself to dive for it if need be. Though, that effort would be unnecessary, as Stiles perfectly delivers the ball into the goalie's own crosse net. 

There's a collective pause on the field, everyone wondering if that just actually happened. 

I had faced dozens of supernatural creatures in various parts of the world before, all of them gruesome and horrifying freaks of nature, but none could make me as unsettled as Stiles Stilinski and his curse of providing everyone around him with secondhand embarrassment. 

"This isn't gonna be good." I wince, watching as Liam takes Stiles' place in line. 

His movements border on flawless as he prepares to shoot. He's clearly skilled, and when he finally launches the ball toward the goal and easily scores, everyone cheers. Even Coach. The sight of him being proud of some random freshman he just met only serves to rub dirt into the wound that was Scott and Stiles' high school lacrosse careers.

The other students behind Liam begin to take their turns. Most of them score, which makes Stiles' failure even more embarrassing. 

Soon, Scott gets to the front of the line. 

He seems hesitant but attempts to fake assurance in his rigid posture. When he picks up the ball, he instantly takes the shot. He probably did it as a way to avoid psyching himself out, but it was a failed attempt, as he misses the goal entirely. 

I find myself unable to watch any longer. 

"Let me know when it's over," I tell Kira as I close my eyes and lean back, resting my upper body against the row of benches she and Malia sat on. It was mildly uncomfortable, but after a lifetime of sleeping on motel mattresses and cots, I adjusted easily. 

Despite not paying attention, I can still hear the crowd's reaction to everything that happens. Based on their sympathetic inhales that sync up with Kira's occasional groans, I rightly assume we were witnessing an endless cycle of Scott and Stiles being beyond mediocre, and Liam laying them out flat. 

The only time I do open my eyes is when I feel something roughly collide with my knee. I sit up to find a stray ball laying at my feet. I search for the culprit and see Stiles smiling sheepishly at me from the front of the shooting line, his gloved hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. 

"Goal's that way, genius!" I shout after grabbing the ball. 

I throw it back in his direction, hitting him directly below the waist. He has to bend over to compose himself, his high-pitched gasp echoing across the field. 

People around us laughed and I almost felt bad for embarrassing Stiles considering Coach was openly cackling and pointing in his direction, but Malia laughing behind me too made me feel less terrible about it since she was his girlfriend after all.

Behind Stiles, Scott gives me a scolding look. His disappointment makes me shrink in my seat. 

Tryouts continue, but time doesn't change anything. Scott and Stiles fail over and over again while everyone else makes impressive shots. I pass the time by trying to remember whether or not they've always been this terrible.

"I thought the captain was supposed to be the best player on the team," Kira says as Scott misses yet another goal. "Or at least good?" 

"Maybe he was just better as a co-captain," I mutter in response, hoping Scott wouldn't hear either of us. 

Eventually, Coach calls for a break. 

It's good timing on his part, as Scott and Stiles needed to bandage the wounds their egos have sustained. The two of them separate themselves from the rest of the group, stomping off to the edge of the field. 

When I see Scott toss his gloves onto the ground, I know I need to check on him. 

"I'll be back." I dismiss myself from Kira and Malia, heading in the direction of the two juniors. 

On my way toward them, I pass the group of other students who were trying out for the team. They were all crowded around the player benches, chatting or rehydrating. I didn't look their way, until I hear one of them call out to me. 

I turn, finding a boy with bright blond hair. I openly glare at him as he made a few snide comments to Stiles earlier, and has worn an unnecessarily cocky grin this entire time. I was tempted to knock that smug look right off his face now that it was directed at me. 

"Tell McCall, I'm really sorry he won't be captain this year," He says in a friendly tone, as if his words weren't that of a snake. 

Some of the others around us laugh. The only ones who don't are returning players, all of them aware that I didn't play those types of games when it came to Scott and Stiles. I was allowed to berate them, no one else. 

I start to laugh along with the boy, approaching him. 

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" I ask casually. 

He grinned at me. "Garrett."

I smiled back, sickly sweet. "Okay, Garrett, bend over and shove that lacrosse stick up your ass."

His smile quickly dies, only making mine widen. The others who had been silent before laugh now, only adding to Garrett's obvious anger. To see him so peeved brought me indescribable satisfaction. 

When I turn away from him, still wanting to speak with Scott and Stiles before the break ends, I catch Liam's eyes. He was seated at the edge of the bench and was currently using the net of his crosse to hide the laugh that threatened to leave him. He gives me an appreciative nod as I pass, surprising me. 

I assumed he and Garrett were friends from the way they interacted on the field, but his not glaring at me for my words showed they were probably closer to acquaintances than anything. I'm surprised at how relieved I feel over that fact. 

The closer I get to Scott and Stiles, the more I can hear them bickering with each other like an old married couple. I swear I hear Stiles use the word "tushy", and that only makes me regret deciding to come over. 

"Are you two trying to be the worst players or something?" I say when I get close enough for them to hear me. 

Scott sighs and stares up at the cloudy sky, as if praying for help from whatever higher power believed in. I feel bad for adding to his frustration, but it was a valid question. Stiles, on the other hand, looks at me with a guilty expression. 

"Sorry about the leg," He winces, referencing his bad aim. 

"Yeah, sorry for yelling at you. Shouldn't have done that." I mirror his apology genuinely. 

Scott seems pleased with our exchange, but he and Stiles continue to pout. Not sure what else to do, I press a kiss to the center of my palm and reach out to lightly smack the back of Stiles' head. His frown disappears, replaced with a confused laugh at the sudden action. 

"What was that for?" He asks. 

"Good luck," I reply as if it should be obvious. 

I do the same to Scott, smacking his shoulder, earning an amused crooked grin. Their smiles only grow from there, their light returning for the time being.  

I wasn't a physically affectionate person, but that's how I knew offering a touch would do more to lift their spirits than any words could.

"Thanks," Scott says. 

"Just try not to embarrass me and your girlfriends anymore, okay?" I smile at them, tilting my head toward Kira and Malia. 

Stiles gives me a quick scowl but his eyes reveal he's not upset. Scott, however, averts his eyes from embarrassment at the title I referred to the kitsune under. 

Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of the break. He calls the scattered students over to the benches, so Scott and Stiles grab their gear to head over. I follow behind them, making Coach stare at me through his typically hardened eyes. 

"Knight, unless you're trying out, get back to the slums." He throws his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the bleachers. 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his volume and do as he asks, though before completely stepping away, I stop at Coach's side, my back to the team. 

"You know, Coach, I think some two-on-ones would be a good idea," I suggest to him in a low voice, a devil on his shoulder. "Scott and Stiles are your veteran defenders. Maybe you should put them in against the new guys." 

Two-on-ones would be a walk in the park for the boys. Scott's strength was a force to be reckoned with, and even though he could be a mess of limbs on occasion, Stiles' lanky stature gave him an incredible advantage. 

Coach pauses, internally contemplating. 

"Not a bad idea." His attention goes to Scott and Stiles. "McCall, Stilinski, grab the long sticks, you two are covering the goal for two-on-ones. Go!"

I flinch as he yells directly beside my ear, but find relief in the fact that he took heed of my advice. 

The boys rush to do as instructed, not wanting to tempt Coach Finstock's temper. They change out their sticks before slipping on their gloves and helmets while the other students line up for the next drill. 

I make the last-minute decision not to sit back down and actually stand near Coach, eager to see how this would turn out. He didn't seem to mind, but that was mostly because he wasn't paying attention to anything as he shined his whistle, readying it for the upcoming rounds. 

Garrett takes the front of the line, smirking at Scott and Stiles. He makes sure they're focused on him before turning to me, winking in my direction. I openly cringe at him, confused why he thought that was something sane to do. 

He slips on his helmet after, leering at the boys from behind the bars of his helmet. Stiles looks irritated at his actions while Scott's expression is unreadable as he observes Garrett closely. 

The three of them are still until Coach blows his whistle.

Garrett bolts onto the field, a ball in his net. He uses speedy footwork in an attempt to dodge the boys, but that means his focus on his hands has lessened. 

Stiles slams his stick onto Garrett's, making the blond falter in his grip and become slightly off-balanced. There might have been a chance for him to recover, but as Scott charges forward to body-check him immediately after, sending him flying into the dirt, those chances drop down to zero. 

The small crowd begins to cheer, all of them amazed by the sudden shift in energy. The boys grin at the praise, and I can tell the momentum of this moment will only spur them on. 

Scott's eyes find mine, and from behind his helmet, he winks just as Garrett had. A proud laugh leaves me as I applaud him and Stiles with everyone else. 

"Was that legal?" One of the players asks Coach, probably referring to the excessive force Scott displayed. 

Coach snorts. "Who cares? This is tryouts." 

"That's my boys!" He promptly declared, clapping along with everyone else. "Those two are like sons to me." He adds, only making me laugh more. 

Coach makes the others prepare for the next round. This time, the guy at the front of the line actually appears hesitant, almost intimidated. Despite that, he still takes off when Coach blows the whistle. 

He barely makes it ten feet before Scott and Stiles both sprint at him, the impact of colliding bodies causing him to slip into the grass lamely. 

I place my fingers into my mouth, letting out a loud whistle over the sound of applause to egg them on. Scott and Stiles give each other a quick head bump to celebrate, and though Stiles comes away from it dizzy, their triumphant attitude never dwindles. 

The rounds go on and on, each new student being planted onto their butts against Scott and Stiles. Coach cheers for them, bragging to the other players about how that was the way it was supposed to be done. 

Though, that energy can't last forever. 

When Liam takes the field, tension grows in the air. He doesn't cower away like the others. He looks Scott and Stiles straight in their eyes, his sharp jaw set. He waits for Coach to give him his cue before bolting toward the boys. 

Stiles goes for him first, striking high. Liam uses his shorter height usefully and crouches under the hit, but since Stiles was still swinging, this makes him tumble to the ground. Hoping to recoup, Scott also swings at Liam, but Liam's too quick. He ducks under Scott's extended arm, twists his crosse around his body to maneuver it into a proper shooting position, then delivers the ball into the goal without a single misstep. 

My mouth hangs open slightly in shock because Liam not only just outplayed a captain, but an Alpha werewolf. 

People shout and hurrah for him, only adding insult to injury. Liam looks up at the crowd in the bleachers, wallowing in the praise. His gaze travels to me soon after. I expected him to send a gloating smirk my way but he doesn't, he simply smiles. 

I don't return it and scowl instead. It makes him lower his eyes and his smile fade. He doesn't look back at me, and I hate how guilty I feel for it. 

"That was luck!" An enraged voice exclaims from behind me. 

Everyone turns to the source, finding Malia standing in her seat, glaring at Coach and Liam. 

"Do-over!" She adds, cupping her hands on the side of her mouth to increase her volume. Someone should have told her she was loud enough already. 

"Sweetheart, this is practice, there ain't any do-overs," Coach deadpanned. He dismisses Malia's outburst, but when she speaks again, it's clear this is far from over. 

"Ten bucks on Scott and Stiles." 

Coach's eyes widened. "Deal." 

Malia grins, satisfied. Scott and Stiles don't share in her victory, and neither do I. It was rare for us to have more than a few minutes of luck every once and a while, and I had a feeling our clock had already run its course. 

"Get back in there, Liam," Coach demands. 

He does as he's told, though his posture isn't as confident as it was before. Scott and Stiles reposition themselves as well, the three boys waiting for their cue. 

When Coach finally does blow the whistle, Liam takes off. 

Stiles goes to strike him from above again. He keeps his feet firmly planted in the soil but that does nothing to change the outcome. Liam simply fakes him out and side-steps the attack. 

It's an impressive move, but it doesn't pan out as well as Liam had probably hoped it would. 

Once he passes Stiles, he has to deal with Scott. The Alpha is on him instantaneously. Liam can't slow down so he and Scott are bound to collide. Scott crouches to meet Liam's height and allows the shorter boy to run into him. That wouldn't have been a problem if they called it after impact, but Scott doesn't. 

He uses the newly provided leverage and hauls Liam over his shoulder. 

When Liam hits the ground, the telltale sound of bone snapping fills my ears. He lets out shrieks of pain, signaling yet another addition to our endless list of problems. 

~

||| A/N |||

More problems = more plot ;)

vote and/or comment if ya want <3