The Fox and The Hound
It’s a Saturday morning when the doorbell rings about ten times in a row, sending a wave of frustration through Scott. He almost trips down the stairs on his way to open the door and isn't surprised to see Stiles.
He is stunned however when Stiles bolts away, scurrying behind a tree in the front yard, pupils turning into dots. Confused, Scott looks down and discovers the cause. With a laugh, he squats to pet the tiny dog at his feet, picking her up, and bursting into laughter when Stiles narrows his eyes - as if the dog is an actual threat to either of them.
“What the hell is that?”
“My new dog,” Scott laughs, tickling the pup behind it’s silky ears. “Roxy.”
“Did you conveniently forget to mention her?”
“You come to my house unannounced all the time, Stiles, it’s not my fault. Besides, I didn’t know you were such a scaredy cat.”
“I’m not! It’s just that dogs are - you don’t know what they’re going to do!”
“Will you just get in here?”
Stiles cautiously moves closer to the front door, eyes never leaving the dog whose tail is wagging, thumping against Scott’s arm. As soon as he’s near the door, he presses himself to the house, as far from Scott and the dog as he can before sliding inside. In a flash, Scott shoves the dog up to him and Stiles yells, darting up the stairs, leaving Scott howling with laughter.
“I’m so holding this against you!”
“I hate you!”
Scott shuts the door and lets Roxy down, watching her scurry straight upstairs after Stiles. Her feet pitter patter against the carpet and as the sound disappears, Stiles shouts and breaks the silence from the second floor.
“Was that squeal yours or my dog's?” Scott teases, coming into the bedroom, amused at the sight before him.
Stiles is on Scott’s bed, a pillow out as a shield and Roxy is hopping up and down on the floor, desperately trying to get to him. She whines because she's barely able to reach the bed but keeps trying anyways. It's too cute.
“Here you go, girl, get him,” Scott encourages, picking the pup up and putting her right in front of Stiles. She races forward, straight into his lap, and he freezes up at the sudden weight, jaw slack.
“Get it away, Scott!”
“She’s harmless.”
“Except for the fangs and claws - right?!”
Scott rolls his eyes and sits next to Stiles, having a mini tug-of-war with him to get the pillow so he can toss it out of reach. The pillow plops down on the floor and he takes Stiles’ hand, glancing at him curiously.
“Your favorite movie is Fox and the Hound, dude. I thought you loved dogs.”
“What? Liking dogs has nothing to do with why that's my-”
“She’s not going to bite you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Trust me.”
“It’s not you that I don’t trust - it’s that little vicious animal.”
“Then she’ll bite us both,” Scott assures, dragging Stiles' hand to hover Roxy's back before pressing it down, resting their joined hands on top of it. Her head jerks up, bright eyes gleaming, and Stiles stiffens immediately.
The dog is pawing at Stiles' stomach, tail flopping around in her excitement. He side-eyes Scott helplessly and Roxy makes a cute sound, yipping.
“She likes when you scratch here,” Scott distracts, leading Stiles’ hand to the underside of the dog’s face, at the soft part of her neck.
"Oh, okay, right at her teeth - yeah, sure, this is-"
Roxy turns her head suddenly and is about to clamp her jaw on Stiles' hand but Scott moves it out of the way, seeing the fright wash over him.
"You said she wouldn't-"
"She's a puppy, she gnaws on stuff. Watch."
Scott doesn't let go of Stiles' hand, because honestly he just doesn't want to. He likes knowing that Stiles is trusting him and letting him lead the way, letting him show that he's got him. So, with his other hand, Scott puts it out to Roxy and she chews on it happily, like her life depends on it.
"It doesn't hurt or anything. She couldn't hurt me if she wanted to, her muscles aren't that strong."
"Yeah, for now," Stiles mumbles, curling his fingers into Scott's instinctively.
Scott takes his hand away from Roxy and uses the one occupied by Stiles' to go for her neck again. She makes another noise in her chest and tries to climb higher on Stiles' knee, slipping around.
When Stiles’ palm brushes the fur there, he relaxes and Scott lets go of his hand, sitting back. It’s kind of funny to watch Stiles, who is much bigger than Roxy, pet her so anxiously - as if he thinks she’s going to eat his face off the second he stops.
The puppy nuzzles against his stomach, enjoying the massage, her tiny eyelids closing as she curls into a ball on his legs.
“Hm, well,” Stiles finally speaks, clearing his throat, not having anything else to add, avoiding the way Scott is staring.
“See? I was right.”
“Yeah,” Stiles snorts, “First time for everything, I guess.”
“Oh, shut up.”
It’s already Spring time, meaning final exams and projects on top of a pile of end of the year activities to do before the summer comes. When Scott’s mom comes in his room that night to give him money for a yearbook, he takes it reluctantly. He doesn’t care about having a yearbook or taking a class photo or doing any of that really.
“Hey, don’t have regrets, don’t miss out on life,” his mom lectures, aware of his silent protest. She then says some other things and touches his face, asking if he’s okay. He nods hazily, wanting to just go to bed already. Her voice is almost far away but he’s barely able to listen and when she’s gone, he lies down.
The school year is almost over, meaning in less than a couple months, Scott and Stiles would be high school freshman. It keeps Scott awake at night sometimes. Imagining growing up and growing apart, leading lives away from each other.
These days are never ending for Scott, the time he has with Stiles now. What if going to high school changes that?
What if they don’t see each other much next year? Everything changes in high school, doesn’t it? Maybe both of them will meet new people or devote time to doing other things that don’t include each other. It’s a scary thought.
Scott is so sleepy but he can’t get comfortable and his body can't cool down and he’s sweating through his shirt. Moving around only make it worse and more than once he contemplates waking his mom up to tell her the air condition is broken.
Time on the alarm clock flies by, stressing him out even more. He tosses and turns, wishing he could calm down and rest but his body doesn’t let him.
Outside, the birds are waking up and the sun is rising, sending light into his room. The morning came so fast, he thinks it's unreal. He shuts his eyes, so dizzy and drained from lack of sleep, unable to move.
Behind his eyelids are lights and shadows that blur and blend into each other. Soon colors spark and become vivid and he sees himself with Stiles, arguing or fighting, ignoring each other, turning their backs. He watches himself go to high school, losing Stiles, becoming lonelier and lonelier as days go by. There's tears and blood stains and pain and an awful mixtures of sights and scents he can't pick out but it's mortifying.
It’s like getting punched in the gut when he finally wakes up, in the middle of what might as well be a heatwave circling the room. There's a scream hidden in the back of his throat but it doesn’t come out and Scott is afraid and paranoid, tingling from the nightmares.
Before he can completely wind down, someone barges into his room.
“Scott?! You okay?!” Stiles shouts, dropping his backpack on the floor and rushing to Scott’s side.
Scott blinks at him, still in shock over his bad dreams.
“You missed school!” Stiles bursts, grabbing Scott’s desk before he falls over in his hysteria.
“Wait - what? I missed school?”
“Yeah!” Stiles emphasizes, his arms out wide. “It’s like three o’clock, Scott. Why are you still in bed?”
“Where’s my mom?” Scott mutters, rubbing at his aching head, his throat dry as sand.
“Your voice sounds off,” Stiles observes, leaning into Scott’s personal space, “Are you sick?”
“How should I know?” Scott sighs, still tired even though apparently he’s been sleeping all day. At the same time his head is back on the pillow, Stiles’ hand flies to his forehead but instinctively retracts, his face screwing up.
“You’re burning up.”
Scott grabs his flip phone from his desk and calls his mom in a daze. When one of the RN's pick up, he asks for Melissa and starts talking as soon as she’s on the line.
“Mom, I’m so sorry, I missed school. I don’t know why I didn’t wake up or maybe I fell back asleep but - I’m not sure what-”
“Scott, calm down,” Melissa soothes, still in nurse mode, “You had a fever last night, before bed, remember? I figured you wouldn’t go to school today. You should rest before it gets worse.”
“What? I have a fever?”
“Oh, honey,” Melissa murmurs. She sounds almost sad. “You need to start taking care of yourself. You’re so worried about everybody else that you can’t even tell you’re not feeling well. I’ll call the school so lay back down. Get something to eat and drink too, got it?”
Scott touches his face and feels how hot it is. He nods but realizes his mom can’t see him so he says, “Okay. Thanks, mom.”
“No problem, sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight.”
They hang up and Scott collapses back down into his pillow, almost forgetting he’s not alone.
“How do you not notice that you’re sick, Scott?” Stiles asks, glaring. “That’s a new oblivious - even for you.”
“I don’t know,” Scott answers, hugging his pillow tightly. “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess.”
“You weren’t paying atten-” Stiles swallows the words and begins a new set, “Your mom is right. Start looking after yourself.”
“I’m trying.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say.”
It sounds so harsh that Scott turns over and squints up at Stiles who's eyes are at the window.
“Stiles? Why are you so mad?”
“Because you’re so - freaking - ugh - you just-”
He doesn't finish.
It’s awkwardly tense and quiet, Scott waiting and Stiles avoiding eye contact. After another long minute, Stiles decides to go to the door so Scott sits up apprehensively, worried and helpless.
He watches Stiles leave the room and at first Scott thinks he left for good - not even bothering to take his backpack with him - but it’s not too long that he comes back with a bowl of soup and a cup of ice water.
A tinge of guilt rises in Scott’s stomach as Stiles silently hands over the food, clearly still angry. Scott takes it and eats the soup, placing the empty container on the desk when it's all down while Stiles is boring holes into the floor with his eyes, making it a point not to look at Scott. The second Scott finishes drinking the water, he can see the tension in Stiles’ limbs lessen.
“I’m really sorry, Stiles.”
“You’re actually saying that to me, right now?” Stiles scoffs, linking his fingers together, tapping his foot over and over. Scott watches the subtle movements and he crosses his legs and arms, leaning forward.
“I’m serious.”
Scott understands why this is such a big deal. He knows that being sick and not noticing and having a fever and not caring - are a huge deal for Stiles. Scott can’t get sick. He can’t go to the ER. He can’t have a fever. He can’t be in the hospital. He can't miss school. He can't get sick.
He can’t leave Stiles.
“No, it’s not your fault,” Stiles finally breaks out, untangling his fingers, eyes on the ceiling, “Don’t do that. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
He falls backwards, turning his head, corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for passing out like that. You better get better.”
“Better get better?” Scott grins. Stiles makes a sound of annoyance.
“You know what I mean. Don’t fight me on this.”
The sun outside is starting to set, creating a serene orange in the room. It’s enough for Scott to want to go back to sleep. If that’s even possible. He gets back under the covers, careful not to bump Stiles’ with his legs, and settles.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Scott says, “You’re actually apologizing for once so I don’t wanna ruin it.”
When Stiles cranes his neck to halfheartedly grimace at him, Scott laughs.
“First time for everything, huh, Stiles?”
“Oh, shut up.”
In Scott’s preschool years, his dad declared that he would build a tree house for Scott. And shockingly - he did. It’s probably the only gift his dad ever gave him - even if it's purpose was more about proving a point to Melissa that a man is the one who builds things in this house - it was still a nice hideout for Scott and Stiles on the weekends.
“Aren’t we getting too old for this?” Scott asks, following Stiles up the rope ladder, wincing at the frayed hay scratching his skin up.
“Don’t ever say that to me again,” Stiles shoots at him once he’s climbed the top, rolling into the tree house. He reaches out to pull Scott inside too. “Ever.”
There are dusty books laying around and old toys that neither of them have bothered to take to the trash yet. At least it was somehow staying free from cobwebs and roaches.
“We’re thirteen years old, Scott. Besides, age shouldn’t stop us from doing whatever the hell we want.”
“Like playing baseball in the street and accidentally smashing Miss Denise's’ window?” Scott questions, wiping his hands off against his jacket.
“It was one time!”
They pull out an old board game and throw the dice around, making up their own rules because they forgot how to play and lost the handbook. The wooden walls around them are solid, letting hardly any light in, and there’s not a whole lot of room to move around. Neither of them can stand up anymore without bumping their head on the roof.
But still, it feels like less of a jail cell than most places. Because here is where the two have spent most of their freedom. Most of the carefree days.
On their fourth game - Stiles is still shouting because he never runs out of energy - it's then that Scott accidentally brings up what’s been on his mind.
“Are you ready to go to high school?”
Stiles is quiet and throws the dice out, both of them keeping their eyes on it until it lands on it’s side, in the middle of six and one.
“I guess so - maybe - not really?”
It’s music to Scott’s ears - a breath of fresh air - the best thing Stiles could have said. He’s worried too. He’s not all that prepared either.
“I mean, who knows,” Stiles shrugs, “It’s not gonna be much different, really.”
“Yeah, it will,” Scott disagrees, “It’s gonna be a whole new world - a whole new place we never knew.”
“Are you quoting Aladdin?” Stiles laughs, chucking the dice at Scott's chest.
Scott laughs too and they don’t really know why they find it so funny but they’re both just kind of giggling and slowly the laughter dies out of them and Stiles is pushing the dice back and forth, uninterested in the game, and Scott is leaned back on his palms, watching a bird fly up to the makeshift window of the tree house.
“Maybe it’s good - change for the better,” Scott offers, wanting to convince himself as much as Stiles. It doesn’t show through in his tone. He's afraid of admitting all these fears about what's in store for them.
Maybe if he says something hopeful out loud, it will come true.
Stiles flicks the dice and doesn't look up, but his voice is stern.
“Or it’s not. Probably - most definitely not. Nothing has to change.”
The conversation drops and they continue with the game as if it didn’t happen. But Scott notices the little twitch in Stiles’ fingers as he tries to keep control of himself, probably over thinking the future just like Scott now.
It isn’t until the sun has set and they’re heading back down the rope to the house that Scott hears Stiles mumbling to himself from behind, with his head low and his hands fisted in his pockets.
“Nothing has to change.”
The crowd of eighth graders swarm around Scott, making his mind boggle and twirl. He wanders around, letting random people sign his yearbook, kids he’s barely even interacted with in the last three years. To be polite, he signs there’s back anyways, and then goes forward through the sea of people, head spinning in all directions.
Bumping into people becomes tiring, so he steps out of the crowd and heads back inside the school, crossing the hallways, shoes squeaking up and down the slick floors. There's only a few other kids in the building and all the teachers are monitoring outside.
It's so empty.
Scott searches the first floor and then runs upstairs, to the eighth grade hall. It’s at the end, at the last door, where his homeroom is. Inside, is where Stiles is.
The classroom is deserted and Stiles is under one of the desks, looking like some kind of mechanic, a marker cap in his mouth.
“What are you doing up here, man?”
He can hear scribbling and squeaking, the sound of marker on wood and Scott shifts his jaw.
“Almost done, be with you in a sec," Stiles responds, the marker cap between his teeth.
Scott crosses the space separating them and puts his yearbook down on the desk next to Stiles, which is Scott's desk. Or was Scott's desk.
“Why are you vandalizing your own desk? School’s out. We’re done. You’ll never see it again.”
“It’s my legacy,” Stiles convinces, spitting the cap out so he can speak properly. “And it’s awesome.”
Scott kneels down, almost afraid to look at whatever Stiles has done now. When his eyes zone in on the doodle, he puts his palm against his forehead and groans.
“Not again.”
“Huh? Not again? Wait, did I draw this already?”
“Vividly drew it. Remember that assignment you turned in at the start of the year? Yeah, you pretty much drew this diagram on there.”
Stiles is thoughtful and lowers the marker from the desk, leaning his head back so that it’s resting on the cold floor.
“Oh.”
“Dude.”
“Hey, at least I’ll be remembered by something.”
“This is how you want to be remembered? The kid that drew an overly detailed diagram of a dick?”
“Actually, it's a circumcision - but close enough.”
They’re silent for a minute and then Stiles rolls himself out from under the desk, standing up and brushing his cargo pants off.
“Hey, don’t make fun of my legacy. If I ever come back, I'll see this picture and hopefully nothing will be different-" Stiles pauses and then quickly adds, "I'll still be my awesome self."
For some reason, hearing that brings a weird sensation to Scott's chest, like it's tightening and deflating at the same time.
“You missed the yearbook signing for this?”
“Social anxiety, Scott,” Stiles reminds, pointing at himself, “Trust me, I was better off here.”
“Well, you’re lucky I wasn't because I got Lydia’s signature-”
“What?!”
Scott covers his ears and then points to his yearbook on the desk. Stiles is off the floor and flinging it open, flipping through the pages quickly.
“I hate my life,” Stiles sighs, hand roaming the page where Lydia Martin’s pretty writing occupies. It's taking up little space in the corner but there's a little heart and that crushes Stiles.
“No more skipping out on stuff -” Scott scolds, tearing the sheet out of his yearbook, giving it to Stiles. He doesn't need all those phone numbers anyways and scribbles of have a great summer - from people he'll never call.
“I wonder how creepy this is from a 1-10," Stiles ponders, taking the paper.
“It’s way off the scale at this point.”
“Thanks for the boost of confidence.”
They leave the classroom and descend the stairs, already going into their plans for the summer. It's weird. Scott was so scared of today, dreading it for a week straight, the last day of middle school. But he's talking to Stiles like it's not.
Like tomorrow they'll both wake up and hop on the bus and go to homeroom and Stiles will be a troublemaker and Scott will try to stop him but end up in detention anyways and the next day they do it again.
As soon as they get to the exit, Scott stops, searching his pockets. He looks down and then checks his backpack.
“Crap, I think I dropped my keys. Be right back."
"Be right here," Stiles drawls, leaning back into the door patiently.
Scott runs back upstairs to the homeroom, jogging until he gets to his and Stiles’ desks, and drops to his knees so he can look on the floor. The keys glimmer on the white tile so he snatches them up, pocketing them in relief. He starts to push himself to stand again until his gaze lingers on the underside of the wood of his own desk.
He catches a glimpse of something. Crawling closer, he tilts his head and touches the black marker doodle left there.
If I ever come back, I'll see this picture and hopefully nothing will be different.
It’s a fox and a hound.
There's a lump in Scott's throat and he hops up, running at top speed down to meet Stiles again. His best friend is looking bored but moves off the door when Scott appears.
"Whoa, slow down there, buddy. You might get suspended for running in the halls," Stiles jokes, breath catching in his throat when Scott flies forward and hugs him.
It's been forever since they've hugged, at least like this.
"Scott?" Stiles wonders, patting his back to return the gesture, completely confused.
"I don't really care about middle school," Scott admits, "Or high school or any of that. They're just places."
"Okay - ?"
"The walls are different but it doesn't mean what's inside will change."
"Aaaand - I"m lost."
Scott doesn't bother explaining, he just hugs Stiles a little tighter, glad that Stiles hugs him back. When they pull apart, Scott throws his arm over Stiles' shoulder and they step out of the school, maybe for the last time.
It's not scary to move on and grow up, Scott thinks when they're outside.
Change isn't so bad.
Because what's most important will always stick with you.