skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Summer just nods, acknowledging everything he’s just said. “Yeah. Okay. Just — one thing, okay? You don’t get to decide if you make me uncomfortable. You’re a — you’re a /kindred spirit/. I’m — I can tell things like that; you know, sometimes you meet someone and you just /know/. Sometimes you don’t even have to meet them in person. All my real friends are like that.”

She glances at him from under the arc of red hair shaped from the way her braid hangs over one shoulder, almost to the floor. “I understand about … people not being interested. Jesse is — was the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. Nobody else ever … I’m not … ” She shrugs, somehow embodying embarrassment and acknowledgement and frustation in one motion. “I’m /me/. And he’s right, anyway, nobody is ever going to want me. I’m used to it.”

They’ve both used those words now, and she wonders how close his ‘used to it’ is to her own, that long knowledge of being different. His difference probably isn’t anything like hers, though. In a way she hopes it really isn’t; she honestly wouldn’t wish her ability on anyone. So to deflect the topic a little, she smiles, something bright and inviting, and says, “If you want to get to know me, you can ask me anything, I don’t mind.” She leaves him there to ponder that while she takes her turn.

Stiles gives a breathy half-laugh through his teeth. “Okay. Fair enough. I don’t get to decide when you’re uncomfortable. K—yeah, sure. Kindred spirit.”

There’s a flicker of a look to the side, as Stiles keeps his hands pressed between his knees, his voice suddenly gone wry. It seems like being in that mode—the wryness and sarcasm—is the fastest way to cool his normal stammering  speech patterns. “Dude, no offense or anything, but Jesse was a huge douche. Like I am pretty sure Summer Eve factories have less douche in them than he does. I wouldn’t exactly judge my self-worth based on his bullcrap because he definitely seems like the kind of aye-whole who’d say that kind of stuff about a perfectly nice girl just because she shut him down. Which, not asking, but hey, if that’s what happened, good for you.”

His eyes narrow, just faintly, when she tells him that he can ask anything, like he doesn’t believe that entirely means anything. Still, he doesn’t do anything to interrupt her turn, watching as she bowls with his fingertips tapping out some erratic rhythm against the insides of his knees.

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.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Summer pinches her lips together before she speaks, looking at him in a way that’s much more direct than any other time. “You can’t crash a party I invited you to. That’s not how it works. You might be new, but you aren’t unwelcome, and you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

Which is a blatant lie, but also absolute truth: he doesn’t make her uncomfortable the way he means it — bringing his friends wouldn’t have made her uncomfortable, or any of them; he makes her uncomfortable by existing, with his unconscious defense of her problematic social virtue and general geekiness and long-limbed attractiveness. She hates that she can’t /not/ see that, now.

She looks back at the keypad, and says, very quietly, “Did you /want/ this to be a date? With someone you’d only just met?”

“Maybe I can’t, but Scott or Lydia probably could. Especially Lydia, she’s basically a savant at bowling. And…everything else. To be fair. What I meant was I didn’t want to force a stranger on you that you hadn’t met at your own party, even if at least one of them is the easiest person in the world to like. Though, you know…” Stiles shrugs, a little, the gesture as sharp as ever. “I make everyone uncomfortable, it’s completely okay to admit it. I’m used to it.”

The question causes him to still a little, and Stiles tips his head downwards, attention seemingly focused on the bowling board instead of Summer’s face, or even whose turn it is. He blinks rapidly, eyes shifting to the sides a few times like he’s calculating something unseen, and then he admits, equally quietly, “I don’t…know. I don’t get dates. People aren’t interested, really, and certainly not…college chicks, I just…I don’t know. I’m not very good at it. But I’d like to at least get to know you, okay?” There Stiles looks up, considering her face thoughtfully. “I don’t want to like…set up false expectations, because that’d be pretty shitty and I picked up in like five seconds that you’ve already had your fill of dudes being shitty to you. I think maybe…we make sure we don’t hate each other first. And see where it goes?”

The wince that plays over poor Stiles’ face indicates he probably expects to be slapped.

Summer just nods, acknowledging everything he’s just said. “Yeah. Okay. Just — one thing, okay? You don’t get to decide if you make me uncomfortable. You’re a — you’re a /kindred spirit/. I’m — I can tell things like that; you know, sometimes you meet someone and you just /know/. Sometimes you don’t even have to meet them in person. All my real friends are like that.”

She glances at him from under the arc of red hair shaped from the way her braid hangs over one shoulder, almost to the floor. “I understand about … people not being interested. Jesse is — was the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. Nobody else ever … I’m not … ” She shrugs, somehow embodying embarrassment and acknowledgement and frustation in one motion. “I’m /me/. And he’s right, anyway, nobody is ever going to want me. I’m used to it.”

They’ve both used those words now, and she wonders how close his ‘used to it’ is to her own, that long knowledge of being different. His difference probably isn’t anything like hers, though. In a way she hopes it really isn’t; she honestly wouldn’t wish her ability on anyone. So to deflect the topic a little, she smiles, something bright and inviting, and says, “If you want to get to know me, you can ask me anything, I don’t mind.” She leaves him there to ponder that while she takes her turn.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Beth shrugs in a ‘just trying to help’ kind of way and takes her turn, scoring a strike. Summer comes back and perches on the edge of the seat, just as careful as Stiles not to touch, although she’s casual and easy with the other two. She does nudge him conspiratorially, though, this time, and points to the scoreboard.

“You can change people’s names on the board here,” she whispers, and does just that, changing everyone’s but hers. She just makes Stiles’ his last name, but puts something goofy for the other two, some kind of inside joke obviously known only to the three of them. It’s pretty clear they’re very close, but Summer somehow still seems a little on the outside.

“I thought you were going to bring some of your friends?”

Stiles can sympathize with feeling a little on the outside of people. He watches Summer’s face for a second before his mouth quirks up, and he leans forward to change his name on the board from ‘Stilinski’ to ‘Batman’. That gets a decisive nod before he looks back at the girl sitting next to him. His expression is soft and contemplative. “Yeah, well—you didn’t really seem like you wanted me to bring anyone, and since I was kind of crashing your party already…”

His shoulders lift, then drop, hands folded between his knees. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Besides I don’t really have friends, I’ve basically got—Scott. And that’s more or less it.”

Of course that’s more or less not true, but Stiles’ vision has always been a little clouded when looking at himself, as much now as ever, with his shoulders bearing the weight of the nogitsune’s actions.

Summer pinches her lips together before she speaks, looking at him in a way that’s much more direct than any other time. “You can’t crash a party I invited you to. That’s not how it works. You might be new, but you aren’t unwelcome, and you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

Which is a blatant lie, but also absolute truth: he doesn’t make her uncomfortable the way he means it — bringing his friends wouldn’t have made her uncomfortable, or any of them; he makes her uncomfortable by existing, with his unconscious defense of her problematic social virtue and general geekiness and long-limbed attractiveness. She hates that she can’t /not/ see that, now.

She looks back at the keypad, and says, very quietly, “Did you /want/ this to be a date? With someone you’d only just met?”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Summer’s friends are clearly used to her behaviour, and simply introduce themselves to Stiles and add him to the board. There’s no one in the lane right next to them, and it seems almost pointed the way Summer is the one who ends up occupying one of the chairs at the ball return, and the pair of seats perpendicular seems to be constantly full of girl or stuff, leaving no space for Stiles to sit there.

None of them are particularly spectacular bowlers, and it takes a game or so for Summer to get warmed up enough to stop putting the ball down one or the other gutter every third time she’s up. Beth clearly thinks she’s being helpful when she encourages Stiles to go help Summer improve her posture. It’s probably fortunate for all of them that Summer doesn’t hear her; she’s too busy swearing at the single pin left standing in the center of the lane.

Stiles isn’t any better at bowling than the girls, it seems; he’s jittery, prone to making sudden motions that send his bowling balls going in directions he most sincerely didn’t intend. The teenager seems more on edge after the issue with Jesse, a little owl-eyed at everything even if he wouldn’t normally be. He sits in one of the chairs at the ball return in lieu of anywhere else to sit, but he seems to go out of his way not to touch Summer, maybe out of a sense of respect, or jitteriness.

His honey-colored eyes drag up to Beth and for a second Stiles opens and closes his mouth randomly, a little intimidated. A second later he mutters, voice awkwardly strained, “Uh, I dunno, I’m not exactly the most…posture-perfect…I’m not doing a whole lot better…”

Beth shrugs in a ‘just trying to help’ kind of way and takes her turn, scoring a strike. Summer comes back and perches on the edge of the seat, just as careful as Stiles not to touch, although she’s casual and easy with the other two. She does nudge him conspiratorially, though, this time, and points to the scoreboard.

“You can change people’s names on the board here,” she whispers, and does just that, changing everyone’s but hers. She just makes Stiles’ his last name, but puts something goofy for the other two, some kind of inside joke obviously known only to the three of them. It’s pretty clear they’re very close, but Summer somehow still seems a little on the outside.

“I thought you were going to bring some of your friends?”

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

It’s like the question is all the cue that’s needed. Summer hovers by his elbow while he tells his shoe size and pays for the rental, before she says, “I think I’m not giving you a choice.” She hugs him — well, more like glomps him, shoes and all. This is no A-line hug, it’s a full-on full body press, and she winds it up with a swift peck to his mouth.

“You’re going to have to stop being heroic, or I’m going to be contractually obligated to fall in love with you and that won’t end well.” Even she’s not sure how much of that is a tease, and all but bolts back to their lane, blushing hotly in the dimness and hoping he doesn’t see it.

“Uh—!” Poor Stiles. He was so ready to deal with Jesse, so suddenly fluid and confident in his motions—but not here. Here, he freezes up, his whole body going stiff against the aforementioned full-body press. His eyebrows furrow and eyes widen at the kiss, like he literally can’t figure out why anyone would do that to him.

And so he stammers instead. “Uh….I’m…I’m not really a hero, but…okay…uh…” And there she goes. Stiles takes a few moments while he finally gets the bowling shoes he needs to play with the others. By the time he shuffles up towards the lane, he’s mostly returned to a normal color instead of bright red.

Summer’s friends are clearly used to her behaviour, and simply introduce themselves to Stiles and add him to the board. There’s no one in the lane right next to them, and it seems almost pointed the way Summer is the one who ends up occupying one of the chairs at the ball return, and the pair of seats perpendicular seems to be constantly full of girl or stuff, leaving no space for Stiles to sit there.

None of them are particularly spectacular bowlers, and it takes a game or so for Summer to get warmed up enough to stop putting the ball down one or the other gutter every third time she’s up. Beth clearly thinks she’s being helpful when she encourages Stiles to go help Summer improve her posture. It’s probably fortunate for all of them that Summer doesn’t hear her; she’s too busy swearing at the single pin left standing in the center of the lane.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Summer is just shoving herself flat against the counter behind Stiles because of all the possible things to go wrong this hadn’t occurred to her at all; Jesse hasn’t actually spoken to her in weeks, not since that final disastrous meeting when he took her heart and stomped it into the mud. Andnow he’s here, he’s right here, saying the same ugly things /in front of someone else/.

Jesse and Stiles are actually kind of similar in appearance, she notices idly, both tall and lithe and dark-eyed, but Jesse wears his hair long and curly and wild like the raver he is and Stiles seems more clean-cut, more straight-up geek than outright rebel. The smile he’s wearing looks more like a slash across his face.

Jesse looks Stiles up and down, obviously taking note of the Star Wars shirt and Converse. Summer cuts in before he can say anything, though. “I can be here if I want to. You — you left, you don’t get to have any say about my friends.”

The smile gets more cruel, and he leans over her petite figure. “I’m just doing my Godly duty, protecting people from /you/. It didn’t work on me because I don’t believe in it, but this guy obviously isn’t so lucky.”

All she can do is protest, “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Okay, pal,” Stiles says, and now he’s bristling, taking a step forward and—yes—seemingly unconsciously putting his body between Jesse and Summer. “I don’t know you from Jack, but I can tell you that I don’t need anybody ‘protecting’ me. You wanna back up a little, ‘cause it’s obvious the lady here ain’t feeling it and I’ve known you for three seconds and I already don’t like you so I’m not blaming her.”

His shoulders are tense but his hands loose by his sides rather than balled up into fists. It’s hard to really see the shape of Stiles’ body beneath the multiple layers of clothing he wears, but Summer’s seen his bare arms in and was just prodding at his chest—he isn’t entirely without muscle. Despite the fact that it seems his go-to defense is running his mouth. ”Savvy?”

Jesse shoves Stiles in the shoulder, hard. “She’s already put you under her spell. Figures. It’s not like the little slut can get laid without lying.” His dark gaze flicks over to Summer, behind Stiles. “Quit stalking me, bitch. I’m immune to you, and I know how to deal with your kind now.”

She opens her mouth to reply, and stops short at Jesse’s final words. She isn’t sure what he means, but the vitriol behind it implies bad things. “You loved me once,” she whispers, instead, “I know you did.”

“You forced me to,” he spits back, trying to push Stiles out of the way to get to her. “You made me until I figured out how to escape.”

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t.” She wants to cry. Why does this have to happen now, at a time when she most wants to make a good impression, a new friend? She’d no idea Jesse hated her so much now.

skinnydefenselessheroism:

iamthefirechild:

Summer practically pounces on him. “You came, I didn’t think you were going to come, oh my god!” She grabs his arm and tows him over to the desk. “There’s just a couple of my other friends here.” While they wait for the guy manning the desk to get back from wherever he’s wandered off to, she pulls Stiles around so she can stare unabashedly at his shirt, smoothing out wrinkles and peering at the tiny writing.

“That,” she says at last, “is a good shirt. I need to finish the Lego Falcon some day.” The guy /still/ hasn’t come back yet, and she turns to point to the lane at the far end of the alley. “We’re down there. That’s Beth, she’s an artist, and Zenobia.”

“And I’m Jesse.” The deep voice comes from behind them, and Summer spins around with a muffled shriek. “What are you doing here? With a guy? Suckering someone else into your little web, witch?”

“Oh, oh—hey, okay yes, I’m here, I can…” Stiles starts, stammery at best, a little surprised at how quickly he’s claimed and drug off towards the desk. He’s been bowling enough to know the drill, so as they wait for the attendant he starts to bend over like he’s going to take his Converse off pre-emptively. At least, that was Stiles’ intention, but of course he’s distracted by that when she starts manhandling his chest through his shirt. “—yeah,  you’d be surprised what you can find at Target.”

Stiles is leaning heavily against the counter when the heavy voice booms behind them. His eyes narrow, and slowly he turns around, maintaining contact with the counter at all times, until he’s leaning backwards against it with his elbows. “Oh, oh. Is that your opening line? Of all the things you could have chosen to say, and that’s what you go with? Are you sure you don’t want a do-over, man, ‘cause that was perilously close to 80s John Hughes Film Villain?”

Summer is just shoving herself flat against the counter behind Stiles because of all the possible things to go wrong this hadn’t occurred to her at all; Jesse hasn’t actually spoken to her in weeks, not since that final disastrous meeting when he took her heart and stomped it into the mud. Andnow he’s here, he’s right here, saying the same ugly things /in front of someone else/.

Jesse and Stiles are actually kind of similar in appearance, she notices idly, both tall and lithe and dark-eyed, but Jesse wears his hair long and curly and wild like the raver he is and Stiles seems more clean-cut, more straight-up geek than outright rebel. The smile he’s wearing looks more like a slash across his face.

Jesse looks Stiles up and down, obviously taking note of the Star Wars shirt and Converse. Summer cuts in before he can say anything, though. “I can be here if I want to. You — you left, you don’t get to have any say about my friends.”

The smile gets more cruel, and he leans over her petite figure. “I’m just doing my Godly duty, protecting people from /you/. It didn’t work on me because I don’t believe in it, but this guy obviously isn’t so lucky.”

All she can do is protest, “It doesn’t work that way.”