skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“Stiiiiiles,” she manages. That sets her off again, after she’s barely recovered from the last fit of laughter. She can’t even make any sound now, just random whoops as she drags in a breath, and she wraps her arms around her middle. She can’t even /look/ at him without continuing to laugh. “You … did that … on purpose … “

He perks up a little bit, looking less theatrically ridiculous, but he remains draped over the scoreboard like a cat in a sun patch. “I might’ve,” Stiles admits, his voice smug and his eyes pointed towards the others as they take their turn on the bowling alley. He pokes his head forward and back a few times in a gesture not quite unlike a chicken, but somehow it fits with his general demeanor. “But, come on, don’t lie, you don’t mind. Laughing is good for you.”

She’s still giggling through her reply. “My /face/ hurts.” Summer reaches out and pokes Stiles in the side, vaguely hoping she’ll find a ticklish spot. Every couple moment another giggle erupts. Finally she gasps, “Oh my god,” and leans back again, putting her hands over her face. When Stiles opens his mouth again, she pokes him. “No, stop. I can’t breathe, and if you make me laugh that hard again I will /pass out/. Then you’ll have to do CPR, and just no. You don’t want to do that.” A laugh threads under the mock-stern tone.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Between his expression, his tone, and his words, she just loses it completely. It starts as a little snicker, and before long she’s laughing so hard she can’t /breathe/, much less hear his question. She wheezes in air desperately, face flushed and bright and grinning so hard it hurts, and reels over onto the keypad. “That should not have been that funny,” she gasps, wiping at her eyes.

Stiles sighs theatrically, just as exaggerated as the expression he made a few moments ago, and leans forward against the computer tracking their scores. He stretches both arms over it, slumping his body against it, and generally makes as much of a scene about flopping over as he can manage. “I really feel like I should be used to people laughing at my face by now. I thought you’d be different, Summer. I really did.”

The sniff he gives off sounds more like a giggle.

“Stiiiiiles,” she manages. That sets her off again, after she’s barely recovered from the last fit of laughter. She can’t even make any sound now, just random whoops as she drags in a breath, and she wraps her arms around her middle. She can’t even /look/ at him without continuing to laugh. “You … did that … on purpose … “

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

She laughed a little. “You’re not going to give up, are you? I thought I was making you be friends with me, not the other way round.” Another glance, slanted up at him, before she straightened her shoulders. “You win for now. Ask another question.”

“Lady, I dunno what delusion you’ve been laboring under, but nobody makes me do anything.” Stiles’ tone is lofty, downright haughty, likely intentionally given the way he’s tipped his chin up and started to hood his expressive eyes to make them seem more distant than they really are. “Okay…another question. How about…what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream, did I ask that already?”

Between his expression, his tone, and his words, she just loses it completely. It starts as a little snicker, and before long she’s laughing so hard she can’t /breathe/, much less hear his question. She wheezes in air desperately, face flushed and bright and grinning so hard it hurts, and reels over onto the keypad. “That should not have been that funny,” she gasps, wiping at her eyes.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“Oh, well, people don’t like me, mostly. I’m … used to that. I’m not /nice/. I don’t meet their expectations.” She slants a glance at him, green-eyed and curious. “I never had a Scott. You’re lucky. Almost everyone I know has wanted me to be someone different.”

Stiles makes a little snorting noise in the back of his throat. “I know I’m lucky to have Scott, but…what the heck do you mean, you aren’t nice. Your cat is nice, animals don’t stay nice if their owners aren’t nice. Plus, you were very generous with your book and your ice pack, you could have just taken Helios and left. What, do you kick puppies, or…”

“Nice and good aren’t the same.” Summer’s back to twisting her hands together, thumb rubbing in the palm of the other over and over like smoothing out something. “I have a pretty sharp tongue, and I don’t put up with stupid very well. At all. I correct people and I know too much — I’m just not very nice.” She dragged in a long breath. “I don’t — do the little empty social things.”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“I mean … I want to stop feeling like I’m not worth anything unless I’m important to someone else.” Now she’s studying the palms of her hands like the secrets of the universe might be hidden in them. “I want to — ” She blows out a breath. “I don’t ever want to try to be something I’m not so someone will notice me again. And I need to know who I am so I know who not to be.”

“Ahh.” Stiles says, and he nods, his head tipping back as if that explains some deep secret of the universe. “I gotcha. I guess I mostly came to the conclusion that people are probably not gonna appreciate much who I am, and I can’t actually help that at all. But, hey, maybe it helps that I’ve got Scott, he’s literally never once asked me to be anything but what I am so I’ve kind of been like, well, screw the rest of the world.”

“Oh, well, people don’t like me, mostly. I’m … used to that. I’m not /nice/. I don’t meet their expectations.” She slants a glance at him, green-eyed and curious. “I never had a Scott. You’re lucky. Almost everyone I know has wanted me to be someone different.”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“I want to figure it out for /me/,” Summer corrects. “Just me. I want to — to find a way to not need anyone else. To be okay with being alone in a crowd. I need to … there are things I did in high school that I did for really stupid reasons. Maybe if I figure out who I am, who I want to be, I won’t make that kind of mistake again.” She gets up, picking up the ball, and manages to bowl a perfect strike, exchanging high fives with the other two girls.

Stiles considers the words while Summer gets up to bowl, his mouth pressed into a thoughtful line. When she’s done, it’s his turn—not at all a strike, again—and then he plops back into his seat, asking like it’s the most casual question in the world, “Do you mean that to mean you want to be happy with yourself before you’re happy with other people, or do you mean that to mean you don’t want to have to deal with having friends any more?”

“I mean … I want to stop feeling like I’m not worth anything unless I’m important to someone else.” Now she’s studying the palms of her hands like the secrets of the universe might be hidden in them. “I want to — ” She blows out a breath. “I don’t ever want to try to be something I’m not so someone will notice me again. And I need to know who I am so I know who not to be.”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“North Carolina,” she answers. “A little tiny town in the middle of North Carolina, full of hicks and rednecks and churches. Or soldiers. Sometimes soldiers. Fort Bragg was half an hour down the road.” She combs her fingers through the red hair, sorting out tiny tangles. “I could have gone to Duke, I suppose, but I wanted to get away from all that. Away from all the expectations, you know?”

Summer looks out at the lane, gaze a little distant. “I wanted to figure out who I was, and it’s really hard to do that under all that pressure.”

“I guess I can understand that.” Stiles says quietly, considering Summer’s words as she explains. His fingers rub against each other, a nervous gesture meant to keep the rest of him from twitching around too much. “I dunno if I want to go somewhere to figure out who I am. If that makes sense? Most of the things I’d want to be anything for are here. So if I can’t figure it out here…maybe I won’t anywhere.”

“I want to figure it out for /me/,” Summer corrects. “Just me. I want to — to find a way to not need anyone else. To be okay with being alone in a crowd. I need to … there are things I did in high school that I did for really stupid reasons. Maybe if I figure out who I am, who I want to be, I won’t make that kind of mistake again.” She gets up, picking up the ball, and manages to bowl a perfect strike, exchanging high fives with the other two girls.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong.” She shakes her head, loose tendrils flying around her face. “I’m just waiting for whatever you decide to ask.” She changes Beth’s name to Dazzler, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration, and then fiddles with the end of her braid. “Seriously, you can ask me anything.”

It’s going to be something ordinary anyway; he doesn’t even have the knowledge to ask the sort of questions she might actually not want to answer. Well, ordinary by her standards — even questions about her hair or the pentacle charm she wears are pretty ordinary at this point. Although if she hears one more person on campus sing the Wicked Witch’s theme from the Wizard of Oz she might scream.

“I dunno, I’m not really the kind of person who like…stores questions up. I have this problem where I basically have no filter between my brain and my mouth, I just say what’s on my mind whenever it’s on my mind.” Stiles shrugs, his shoulders exaggerating the motion from his position. He’s looking at the end of Summer’s braid when she fusses with it with his eyebrows slowly furrowing faintly.

“…so you’ve been here in Beacon Hills a couple of years, right? Where did you live before that? I’ve always lived here, so…”

“North Carolina,” she answers. “A little tiny town in the middle of North Carolina, full of hicks and rednecks and churches. Or soldiers. Sometimes soldiers. Fort Bragg was half an hour down the road.” She combs her fingers through the red hair, sorting out tiny tangles. “I could have gone to Duke, I suppose, but I wanted to get away from all that. Away from all the expectations, you know?”

Summer looks out at the lane, gaze a little distant. “I wanted to figure out who I was, and it’s really hard to do that under all that pressure.”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

She wants to defend Jesse, to explain somehow the goodness inside him — the rainy days when they just laid in bed together and talked, sick days when he brought her soup, the guitar, the bicycles — but there’s no point. It’s impossible to explain what she sees, how easy it can be to look past the bad when the good is so clear.

So Summer just bowls, managing to knock down all the pins, and points out that Phoenix is Marvel when she looks up to see Zenobia’s changed her name to that, and that Batman is DC, so they don’t match. She sits quietly, watching, with her chin on her hand, while Stiles takes his turn, and doesn’t say anything when he comes back, either.

“Hey, there was at least one DC/Marvel crossover where Gambit stole the Bat-mobile and Jubilee made out with Robin, so, it’s kosher, don’t worry about it.” That’s Stiles’ advice on the protest that Phoenix is Marvel and can’t hang out with Batman for some reason.

He doesn’t even get a spare on his turn, but Stiles feels he’s well-advertised that he’s not very good at physical endeavors. Instead, when he comes back to sit in his place, he tips his head at Summer, considering her profile for a moment. His eyes narrow, although there’s no cruelty in the gesture. “Did I say something wrong? I do that a lot.”

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong.” She shakes her head, loose tendrils flying around her face. “I’m just waiting for whatever you decide to ask.” She changes Beth’s name to Dazzler, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration, and then fiddles with the end of her braid. “Seriously, you can ask me anything.”

It’s going to be something ordinary anyway; he doesn’t even have the knowledge to ask the sort of questions she might actually not want to answer. Well, ordinary by her standards — even questions about her hair or the pentacle charm she wears are pretty ordinary at this point. Although if she hears one more person on campus sing the Wicked Witch’s theme from the Wizard of Oz she might scream.