Seeing Stars
Scott has a hard time waking up and getting ready at five in the morning, considering it’s the second week of the summer and he finally started getting used to sleeping in. Not so much today. His alarm buzzes him straight out of a dream and into the cold reality of the morning.
What makes it worse is that his room is a mess so he can barely stand up much less find everything he needs to pack. If only he would have done it the night before like his mom suggested. But, nope, he has to make his own life more difficult and now he's running around, throwing a bunch of clothes - he isn't sure if it's the clean or dirty laundry pile but oh well - into his bag for the trip today.
His mom is yelling from downstairs to hurry up and that the Sheriff would be there in about ten minutes. Scott keeps stuffing a bunch of random clothes into his bag, along with a toothbrush and deodorant - somehow he got all the necessities down - scurrying under his bed to grab a few more things.
The door opens and his mom is there, hand on her hip, about to tell him something but she’s cut off when Stiles flies in front of her. Her face shows that’s what she was going to tell him and reminds Scott that she packed him a breakfast downstairs. He gives her a swift kiss and hug before she goes off to work, then gets back to packing.
“Come on, Scott,” Stiles urges, jittery, “And yes, I got into my dad’s coffee.”
Scott would smile if he wasn’t so intent on finishing up with his bag, head hurting from an I barely slept last night headache.
“Ah - crap. I can’t find my socks,” he groans, making a breathy noise from his nostrils, searching under his bed again.
Stiles doesn’t waste a second opening the third drawer on Scott’s dresser, throwing the socks his way and going to the door.
“That all? We done here? We're gonna miss the bus.”
“That’s pretty disturbing,” Scott insists slowly, jerking his bag up over his shoulder.
The Sheriff is in the car outside and he drops the two off at a church parking lot, a place with about thirty other kids. Stiles gives his dad a hug and Scott waves when the Sheriff drives off, right after he lectures them on behaving themselves.
As soon as the car is around the corner, a large, metallic bus pulls up and all the kids standing around rush on. Scott and Stiles make sure to find seats next to each other once they put their luggage in the back, and chatter enthusiastically since Scott's mind caught up to his body - fully awake now.
“It’s like a ghost town on this thing. I mean, come on, we’re going to summer camp. Shouldn’t we be singing or something?” Stiles complains, eyeballing the ceiling.
“It’s always like that on buses in the morning. People are tired," Scott answers, putting his knees up on the seat in front of him, "Besides, not everyone is as ecstatic as you to be here. It's not the coolest way to start your Freshman year of high school with I went to camp over the summer.”
Stiles slumps a little but then straightens back up and dumps a bag of skittles into his hand, then some into Scott’s.
“I know the real reason why they're all so drowsy. They need more sugar.”
“Or you could use less?”
Stiles wonders about that while eating an entire handful of skittles at once. He glances at Scott, chewing and thinking about it more than he needs to, something Scott learned he does a long time ago.
“Maybe it’s ‘cause I have you to talk to in the morning so I usually wake up excited. We don’t all have a Scott to look forward to, I guess.” He pauses and swallows. “Or it’s the ADHD. That might be it.”
“It’s me,” Scott decides, suddenly all too aware of how close they’re sitting. His ears grow hot at the tips and Stiles has his head turned so he’s looking at him, doe eyed.
With no other way to play off his embarrassment, Scott hurries and grabs a few skittles, spending the next ten minutes seeing who can toss and catch the most in their mouth.
After a few hours, the bus drops the kids off at a pretty forested area draped in sunshine and greenery so bright it almost looked photo-shopped in. There's a shimmering lake and a few cabins hidden under the canopy of vines. It's the only thing Scott's ever seen look like the brochure.
Everything is pretty awesome at first. They meet the camp counselors, eat some grub - that isn't middle school awful cafeteria food - and play games for a bit. The other kids are nice too, easy to get along with. Scott's liking it a lot.
It’s sun down when the campers put their stuff in the cabins, preparing for the next few hours of night activities. Stiles takes the bunk above Scott’s, crashing from the sugar and coffee high, and Scott doesn't even unpack, he just sits down on his own bed to take in the scent of the dust and wood.
He doesn't know why but he really likes that scent. The same way he likes how this place already has a welcoming atmosphere - friendly and safe. Hopefully high school will be the same.
The room is buzzing for about an hour but soon clears out once everyone is finished unpacking their stuff so they can go on the night hike. Scott wants to go but he decides to stay with Stiles who isn't waking up anytime soon.
He whips out the gameboy he stashed this morning - even though the field trip requested not to bring electronics - and gets comfortable.
Scott doesn’t bother keeping the volume low, Stiles can sleep through an earthquake when he has a sugar crash, and is in the zone of his game until a sound breaks his concentration.
There’s a tap on the window.
At first Scott thinks it’s a bird or something until he looks up and sees how dark it's gotten outside. He waits and waits but after a dull silence, continues the game.
Then there’s another tap. It’s a little louder this time, almost a scratch or a scrape, like something is trying to get through the glass.
“Stiles,” Scott calls automatically in a hushed voice, hoping not to spook whatever animal is outside the cabin. “Wake up “
Stiles keeps snoring, oblivious to reality, so Scott sits up, eyes locked on the cabin door when it starts to vibrate. There’s another scratchy sound on the wood.
Scott sweeps a hard look over the room for a blunt object but doesn’t see anything that could prove useful against a freaking bear or wolf. His body tingles up and he’s standing, hand reaching up to shake Stiles bed when a howl echoes from behind the door.
“Stiles! Wake up!”
This time he shouts and Stiles wakes up with a grumble, attempting to figure out his surroundings, wiping the sleep from his face.
“Scotty? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“Something’s outside. I heard it. Get up.”
Stiles responds quickly, tripping down the ladder and grabbing onto Scott so he doesn't trip, watching the door with him.
“We can slip out the bathroom,” Scott thinks out loud. “But we need to be quiet.”
Whatever is outside makes another noise, a deeper sound this time, like a growl and Stiles must have heard it because he steps back.
The two of them wait anxiously and another growl rumbles from behind the door, to which Scott decides it’s time to get out of there before it breaks the door down.
He tugs on Stiles, pulling him towards the bathroom, stopping short when his best friend doesn’t budge. Scott wraps his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, urging him on.
“What are you doing, dude? Something's there. We gotta go.”
Stiles stares at the door, focusing on the sound and then steps forward, bringing Scott along with him. Scott is torn because he can’t leave Stiles to get eaten or mauled or even worse so he keeps whispering for Stiles to stop being stupid but they just keep getting closer to the door.
Stiles looks back at him and his eyes are kind of soft as he grabs Scott’s hand. It’s strange, like he’s asking Scott to trust him, and all doubts about whatever monster lies beyond the door disappears. It’s a weird power that only Stiles has over him.
“Real funny,” Stiles glowers, that softness gone, voice even and fearless as he yanks the door open, stopping Scott’s heart on the spot.
There’s a tense moment where Scott waits for something to jump out at them but there’s no beast. Instead, standing in front of the door are two campers, laughing their heads off. Scott is dumbstruck.
“Ha ha,” Stiles continues, “Laugh it up. But your little prank wasn’t all that impressive.”
“I’m pretty impressed,” one of the kids says, a blonde girl with smoky eyes. She's looking at their conjoined hands, smirking. Scott flushes and pulls away from Stiles.
“Don’t be so mean, Erica,” the boy next to her joins in, “You have a convincing howl. I’d be scared too.”
“Scared, no - Annoyed, yes,” Stiles retorts. He drums his fingers absentmindedly against his shirt, a reflex Scott knows is a nervous tick he does when he’s lying.
“We just wanted a little fun,” Erica perks up, flashing pearly teeth at Stiles, “And clearly you’re not much of that.”
They squint at each other and Scott swears he can see a little spark of electricity. He isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. The boy at her side breaks the tension by putting his hand out to Scott, completely sincere when he speaks.
“I’m Vernon, from the cabin next door. But I go by Boyd. And this is Erica.”
Scott reaches his hand out politely, still embarrassed but wanting to forget the whole ordeal since the guy seems so friendly. “I’m Scott and-”
“Whoah, hold up, buddy,” Stiles interjects, looking at Boyd, “Don’t think there won’t be retaliation. You started this war.”
“And what? You’re going to end it?” Erica questions, her smile devilish and interested. Scott and Boyd look at each other and then at Stiles and Erica who are crossing their arms.
“F-Y-I your howl sounded like a dying cat,” Stiles snaps but before Erica can make a comeback, Boyd steps in.
“No need for hostility, we’re just trying to make some friends,” Boyd tells Stiles, palm out. "Sorry if we scared you guys. I guess we went too far."
“I think we did what we came to do,” Erica grins, using a red polished nail to lower Boyd’s hand, “And I don't mind a little war. Bring on your best game, boys.”
She links her arm with Boyd and drags him away, giving a final look at Stiles who is nodding slowly, mouth a thin line. The second they’re gone, Scott rubs his face, shutting the door.
“They were playing around, Stiles. It’s camp. Do you have to turn everything into a challenge?”
Stiles brightens up at the question and he places a hand on top of Scott’s shoulder.
“You should know the answer to that. Let the games begin.”
Two weeks fly by at summer camp and Stiles meant it when he said the games would begin. Every chance he got - whether at the mess hall or during the activities with the other campers - he took a shot at Erica. She never failed to fire right back.
Bantering at each other, pulling pranks, battling it out at tug of war - whatever chance they got to go head to head they took it. Too bad Erica is much slyer at it - which is why Stiles has been getting more talks about his behavior from the counselors. She even makes it a point to blow him a kiss whenever he’s the one getting pulled aside after their stunts.
People are starting to talk about them, asking if they're dating, saying they would make a cute couple. Stiles always shoots the questions down but Scott realizes after the second week, that he gets less and less hostile with each one. Like he's starting to not be so opposed to the idea of it.
One afternoon, Stiles is put on dishes duty and Scott follows him into the kitchen after dinner, wordlessly. He sits on the counter, kicking his legs back and forth, picking up a clean hand towel.
“You don’t have to help, Scotty,” Stiles shrugs, rolling his sleeves up. He begins to rinse the pile of the dishes by the sink with a scowl, “You should go canoeing with everybody else. You like doing that stuff.”
Scott takes the wet dish from Stiles’ hand regardless and dries it, setting it onto the clean pile. Stiles smiles fondly anyways.
“Yeah, I like this whole camp thing,” Scott admits, clenching the rough fabric of the towel between his fingers, “It’s fun being outdoors. Swimming and telling stories at campfires and stuff.”
“You’re such a sap,” Stiles laughs, handing another wet plate over, “I'm glad you see so much magic in all the dirt and bugs."
“Maybe you would see it too if you weren’t obsessed with getting revenge on Erica,” Scott says offhandedly, grabbing the next plate, raising an eyebrow when Stiles doesn’t let go.
“Hey, she started it.”
“She was just joking around. You blew it out of proportion."
They stare at each other and Scott squeezes the plate a little. Stiles looks away.
“You don't get it. When she gets that crazy look, like she’s gonna man handle me - which she actually has a few times - it gets me riled up, ya know? I don’t like it so I fight back,” Stiles confesses, releasing his grip on the plate, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Scott wipes the plate dry and sets it aside, taking another one and then another. The two wash and dry for a few more minutes, both stewing on their own thoughts. Eventually, Scott kicks the cabinet and hops down, gingerly placing the bowl he just cleaned onto the tabletop.
“Or you do like it,” he murmurs, the room suddenly draining of color and energy.
Stiles whips his head around and peers at him like he’s crazy but hesitates - actually considers that - and then shakes his head, going back to washing the dishes.
“You like her,” Scott clarifies, watching how Stiles scrubs a bit harder, pretending like he didn’t hear or didn’t care enough to argue.
And Scott. Well, Scott wants him to deny it.
He wants him to care. Wants him to say no that’s crazy or why the hell would you think that or something to prove him wrong. If Stiles could prove someone wrong, he would never miss an opportunity to do it. So, why not now?
“Moving on from Lydia then?” Scott asks, steering the conversation along, hoping to get something out of Stiles.
It’s so stupid how desperate he sounds. Why is he getting so upset over this? What’s wrong with him?
It’s not like he looked forward to this trip because it meant spending more time with Stiles. And it’s not like he was happy that Stiles basically said he’s the reason he wakes up feeling great in the morning. Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating. But it’s not like he’s been secretly jealous every time Stiles insults Erica or messes with her - which has been every second since they got here - because Scott can handle not having Stiles' attention for one second of his freaking life and there’s no reason for him to care or make it a big deal.
So, how come it is like that?
How come he wants Stiles to say he doesn't like Erica?
With each second of silence, Scott feels dumber and more pissed off at himself. He’s being so clingy and selfish, getting jealous. It's pathetic.
Scott has the instinct to take his inhaler out, like he can’t breathe, so he ducks his head and tells Stiles he’ll see him later before he goes out of the room.
He hears dishes clatter behind him.
It’s only been a few hours since Scott’s conversation with Stiles and he wishes he could take it back. It’s his fault. He shouldn’t have gotten so obviously upset. Stiles is probably mad.
Everyone is sitting around the campfire that night, singing and dancing, telling crazy stories - all kinds of stuff Scott would normally be into. He’s not up to it right now though.
He’s sitting by himself on the edge of the lake, a little ways away from the campfire, miserable. The air is slightly chilly - just enough to where he needs a light jacket - but he doesn’t mind too much.
This whole trip should be over already. That’s all he thinks about as he skips rocks over the lake. Let it be over so he can go home and sleep the rest of the summer or whatever.
No, he doesn't think that. He doesn't want to go home. In fact, he should be over at the camp fire, making new friends.
It's probably unhealthy. His attachment to Stiles. Really, if Stiles can make friends with Erica - if that can be called friendship - he should be able to do the same. He should go meet some people. It's time to branch out, right?
That thought is interrupted by a rustle in the bushes and someone walking up to where he’s sitting.
“You’re missing the s'mores,” Stiles greets nonchalantly, pocketing his hands, squatting next to him.
Scott ducks his head into his sleeve a little more and uses his other arm to toss another pebble, making about eight skips. He can’t lie about the fact that his heart does a skip of it’s own when Stiles gapes in admiration.
“Dude, when did you become the king of rock skipping? That’s awesome!”
“I’ve been doing it for an hour,” Scott shrugs, throwing another. Seven skips.
Stiles has a go at it and the rock plunges into the dark water, sinking on impact. They say nothing for a while as the ripples pulsate out, then simultaneously burst out laughing.
“You suck,” Scott chokes, about to fall over when Stiles throws another that makes a funny plop into the lake. It hits hard and drowns on the spot.
“I do suck,” Stiles agrees, not laughing so much now, eyes on Scott. He does that thing with his lip, where he pulls it in and let’s it go so that it’s almost white. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Scott replies, throwing another rock, trying to ignore how his chest is lighting on fire. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I was being a crappy friend, you know that. You’re Scott McCall though so you won’t say it. That’s what I’m here for. To make sure Scott McCall isn't burdening it all on himself.”
“That’s not true.”
“I was caught up with a girl and ignored you - that goes under the very definition of crappy friend. Let's be honest.”
Scott grins despite himself and flicks his wrist, too limply this time, causing his next rock to drown without a single skip.
“Yikes,” Stiles snorts, “Maybe we should take back your title.”
“Very funny.”
They compete to see who can land the most skips and Scott wins by a landslide but Stiles is beaming the whole time, eagerly trying over and over. As they crack jokes and wind down, Stiles shakes his head, rubbing his jaw.
“I don’t know why I bothered competing with Erica. It’s always more fun with you.”
That’s another thing about Stiles that Scott can't help but like. Stiles is a compulsive liar - to his dad and his teachers and to strangers - but won't lie to Scott. Whether he can’t or doesn’t want to doesn't really matter. Scott appreicates being the only person Stiles whole heartedly is open to.
Stiles sits back down and scratches at his nose, before talking again.
“Erica came in and kissed me - right after you left.”
The cold of the air hits Scott all at once and he’s speechless. His jacket becomes too tight now and he can’t seem to get comfortable in how he’s sitting. Stiles is patiently waiting for a response but when he gets none, he goes on.
“When it happened, I thought oh wow holy shit - because a girl actually kissed me. Like, this pretty girl wanted to kiss me and did so I was all for it but then it happened and - it uh, I guess I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Scott pipes up, pretending to be interested. Maybe Stiles won’t catch on that he doesn’t like this at all if he acts enthusiastic. Stiles rubs his nose again and glances straight at Scott.
“I don’t know. I thought it would be this awesome thing - my first kiss. It wasn’t though. It was pretty - unawesome actually.”
“Unawesome,” Scott repeats, “Sorry, dude.”
Even though Scott isn't actually so sorry at all. And that makes him feel even worse.
Stiles doesn’t explain anything else. Not how it happened or if it was gonna happen again or if this means he’s dating Erica now. He shifts and then clears his throat.
“Maybe it’s because it wasn’t Lydia. That’s probably it.”
“Yeah, probably.”
The air is so thin that Scott has to inhale deeply and he’s about to stand up to get some sleep - much needed at this point - but Stiles holds his forearm to keep him in place.
“Wait.”
It's urgent enough to get Scott to slowly settle back down, puzzled.
“What’s up? We should head back before curfew.”
“Hold on one sec.”
He relaxes, letting Stiles win and after all this time finally looks at him. Then he kinda wishes he didn’t. Because Stiles is staring at him in this weird way. Like he’s lost or distraught or in wonder - something weird that Scott doesn’t get. It’s making him nervous.
“Dude, what is it?”
“I, uh, kinda - “
Stiles hesitates and isn’t getting to the point which makes the situation worse because Stiles isn’t one to beat around the bush. Ever.
He’s anxiously looking between Scott’s eyes and it’s pretty impressive that he’s gone this long without fessing up to whatever’s going on in that mind of his. He’s not one to stay quiet - not around Scott. Whatever he’s thinking will be said out loud for the two of them, as if Scott’s a personal diary that Stiles writes his thoughts down into - embedding them forever.
“Don’t freak out,” Stiles blurts, getting Scott's nerves even more twisted up.
He inches closer to Scott, palm under his elbow for support as he leans forward, cheeks tinting. His eyelids fall a bit and he pushes up with his converse so that his face is right in front of Scott's.
“What are you doing?” Scott asks curiously.
Stiles blushes and has to hold onto Scott tighter so he doesn’t fall over, skin going even redder.
“Are you kidding me, Scott?!” He whispers - high pitched and raspy.
“What? You’re being weird! How the hell should I guess?”
“It’s obvious what I’m doing!”
“You’re literally just staring at me!”
“I’m trying to kiss you, dumbass!”
Scott’s lips zip shut and his pulse picks up at a speed that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Stiles readjusts, sighing in relief, and doesn’t seem to have anything else to add. He waits to see if Scott is opposed - anxiously twitching and not as smooth as he tries to appear. Scott doesn’t even know where to start.
He has no idea why Stiles wants to kiss him and why he thinks it’s a good idea because obviously it’s a terrible one - but he doesn’t say that.
He keeps it to himself, even when Stiles actually does close the space between them and brushes a kiss over Scott’s lips. It doesn't even occur to Scott that he's never kissed before until it's over.
He realizes his eyes were shut and quickly opens them as soon as Stiles leans back. Since this is Stiles’ plan, Scott sure as hell isn’t going to be the first to say anything.
That’s what he tells himself anyways. But then Stiles is awkwardly quiet - driving this whole messy situation into the ground further - so Scott plucks at a blade of grass on the ground by his shoe and grits his teeth.
“Why’d you do that?”
Stiles doesn't answer right away so Scott glances over, taken back by the expression on Stiles' face. It's dazed.
“I don’t know.”
Scott stands up because he doesn’t like what they did. He doesn’t like being kissed like it’s a joke. Like he’s just some afterthought to someone else. Not even a few hours ago, Stiles was kissing Erica.
It doesn't feel right.
“I’m sorry, Scotty,” Stiles breaks out, jumping up, “I’m Sorry, I didn’t mean to -”
“It’s fine. Let’s just go back, okay? I’m sort of tired.”
Tired of feeling like an idiot.
“No, no, no,” Stiles urges, blocking his way with an outstretched arm, “That was dumb. I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.”
“Okay.”
There’s a sting when he hears sorry because frankly Scott doesn’t want him to be sorry. He hates hearing that. Stiles wasn’t sorry to kiss Erica. And then he kisses Scott. And he’s sorry.
Okay.
“I thought maybe something was wrong with me because I didn’t feel anything when Erica kissed me so I. . . I was. . . “
“Using me?” Scott bites, moving around Stiles in annoyance, stepping over the bushels in between the trees on the dirt path leading back to camp. Stiles runs up next to him and Scott can’t see his expression and he doesn’t care. He wants to be left alone.
“No! Not like that - augh - I wouldn’t do that. Now that you say it - it seems that way but it’s not - really. Listen for one second!”
“I don’t care, Stiles. I told you it doesn’t matter. You wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong with you so you kissed me to see if you felt anything, right? To make sure Lydia is the one and that's why? Did I get it?”
Stiles is silent, jogging to keep up. His sneaker digs into the ground so he can come to an abrupt stop when Scott turns around, eyes glassy, posture slouched.
“Did it work? Was it like kissing Erica? You didn't feel anything, right?”
He’s never been this upset at Stiles before. And even now, looking at his best friend, he’s not even that mad. He’s not, not really. He’s mad at himself.
Because Scott did feel something.
And that scares him. He shouldn't be feeling anything strange for Stiles. His heart shouldn't be beating faster for Stiles. It's so stupid.
“No, I didn’t,” Stiles mumbles, unable to look anywhere but at the tree roots by their shoes.
“Okay, great. Now we know, you're just meant for Lydia. You were right,” Scott confirms, the heat and anger dying down, replaced now by something more raw. Like a nail is being hammered into his chest or a rope is being tied around his vocal chords.
“I guess so,” Stiles nods, hitting the nail deeper.
Scott nods too and is about to turn around. Before he does, he notices Stiles’ fingers.
They drum across his shirt.
“Are you mad, Scotty?” Stiles asks, tensing up, still drumming his hands. “Do you hate me?”
You could turn the world inside out and drag the sky down and I wouldn’t hate you, Scott thinks.
He carefully give Stiles a once over, picking up on how he's extra fidgety, another habit of his anxiety.
You didn't feel anything, right?
No, I didn't.
He studies Stiles' dancing fingers, the nervous way Stiles avoids eye contact and chews his lip and slides his shoe across the foliage. And it occurs to him what it means.
It's the first time Stiles is lying to him.
That's when all the sadness vanishes. As if it were never there. And Scott feels something else. A heaviness - the kind that hurts but is somehow okay.
“We’re cool,” Scott murmurs, meaning it, putting his arm around Stiles who practically melts into the contact. It's so natural, the way they mesh together.
“Okay, cool, because I love you and don’t want this to ruin our friendship or anything," Stiles replies quickly, playful tone back. Scott can tell it's not all a joke, hears that there's more hidden between the words. And that maybe he means it in another way.
In a way he's too afraid to admit. The same as Scott.
“I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that," Scott says earnestly. "I don't think we could ruin it if we tried."
“Yeah," Stiles responds, eyes lighting up. "But I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”
Maybe one of them will bring it up later.
The fact that they're both lying about how they feel. Or they might bring up the kiss. Or maybe they won't.
But for now, this is fine. It's okay to stay like this.
To forget to look up and see how beautiful the night sky is because they're too busy seeing the stars in each other.