Author's Note: I'm aware of the fact that there may be certain triggers in this story.
I hereby let you know I choose not to use any trigger warnings, because life doesn't have them either.

But on a less dramatic note:
Enjoy!

The Beacon High lacrosse team is soaking wet from the rain pouring down outside. The locker room bears the brunt of the weather as they walk in, flooding with splatters of mud and the remnants of what could have previously been identified as grass. Scott grins at his best friend, Stiles, high fiving him as they both recall their coach's words.

"Stilinski, you're playing next week."

Stiles is ecstatic to say the least, and Scott's grin has lasted so long that it seems unlikely to ever fade, even though his title of captain of the team is on the line. Nevertheless, he has to admit that the new guy, Liam Dunbar, is an awesome player. And Scott wouldn't be Scott if he didn't support him.

"Nice training, dude. Your last shot was pretty impressive," he compliments the boy, after he has walked up to him.

Liam turns around in a quick motion. A droplet of water – or sweat – falls from the tip of a soaked strand of his hair, Scott only noticing because it hits the bottom of Liam's lips. It's an imperfect image: like a stain on a snow white carpet. It remains there for only a second before the back of Liam's hand wipes it off.

"Thanks, man," He grins. Scott hears the surprise in his voice. He'd probably expected the threatened captain to be a little more competitive. "You've got some swift moves yourself."

Scott flashes a broad smile. His stomach tingles from the familiar feeling of someone being nice to him. A quality he thinks there's too little of in the world – something he feels responsible for making up for, all by himself. The spark ignites his body, reminding him of that time when Stiles referred to him as 'the hot girl'.

Liam pulls his mud-covered lacrosse shirt over his head and Scott mimics the motion while he's turning back around, attempting to go back to his usual spot in the locker room.

That is, until he notices something odd out of the corner of his eye. Usually, such a phenomenon exists as a dark silhouette that fades in the blink of an eye. It's a shadow, an entity, something that's almost enough to make you reconsider your opinion on the existence of the supernatural, just for that moment. Scott's vision darts in the mystery's direction, but on this occasion, instead of a fleeting shimmer, his eyes fixate on a mark crossing the skin of Liam's arm.

"Hey, did you get hurt out there?" he asks, pointing at the cut he now registers there.

Liam's eyes widen. His gaze glances to what Scott's referring to. He holds his wrist with his other hand, brushing his thumb over the wound, covering it.

"Oh, that. Nah, I fell off my bike on the way to school the other day, scraped my arm on one of those barbed wires, you know?"

Scott nods, willing to accept the simple sounding explanation. But something dawns on him right as he's about to turn away.

"It's winter," he remembers aloud.

The boy opposite him throws him a weird look. "Yeah…so? Those wires are still there."

Scott licks his lips. The frown on his face deepens for a moment. He opens his mouth to respond, but refrains when he grows aware of the vibe Liam's giving off. It's telling Scott to back off. A little intimidated by this sense, he obliges and moves back to his locker.

He rummages through it, looking for his shampoo and a towel. Finding those items takes him longer than normal, because he can't stop eying Liam in a suspicious way. Their eyes catch one other a couple of times, instinct causing them to quickly look away sheepishly.

When it happens for a third time, Liam seems to utter a sigh and change his mind about showering. Instead, he throws on his shirt and kicks his shoes on. His lacrosse gear is hurriedly stuffed into his bag and seconds later Scott's watching him leave, a thick winter coat hugging his upper body.

"But it's winter…" he repeats, to no one in particular.

"Picturing my glorious moments on the field next week, daydreamer?" Stiles pulls Scott out of his thoughts.

Scott chuckles, shaking his head. "You'll be great, I'm sure."

Stiles nods frantically, a wide grin growing on his face. "Thanks, man," he says, bumping his fist against Scott's shoulder. "Appreciate it."

"Anytime," Scott replies before taking off towards the showers.

"So do you wanna hang out or something?" Stiles wonders when they leave the school. The sheer January cold hits their faces, and Stiles hides more into the collar of his jacket.

"Can't. I really have to study."

"Lame."

"No, I'm serious! Chemistry is kicking my ass and I really need to learn to defend myself."

Stiles chuckles. "Your ass is fine. You shouldn't worry as much."

"Easy for you to say. You're a genius."

"Oh, come on."

"You are. I don't know how, but you are!" Scott laughs. "It's really frustrating."

And it has been. At some times Scott had even found himself growing jealous of Stiles. The boy was always hyperactive as hell and easily distracted – as he was most likely suffering from a still undiagnosed, severe case of ADHD – but still managed to surpass their teachers' expectations of him, therefore pissing them off even more. Scott literally couldn't recall even one teacher that didn't seem to despise the Sheriff's son.

In fact, Scott only started to feel content with himself once he realised that every individual had different qualities. Stiles might have been an easy learner, but Scott was still the captain of the lacrosse team. And where Stiles could get anxious and was terrible in social situations, Scott triumphed and proved to be very easy going.

"Well, how about I help you study then?"

Scott ogles him. "Nah… I think I'm gonna pass."

"Why not? Would you rather have Lydia help you study?"

Scott's facial expression shifts into shock and he rapidly shakes his head. Lydia's a great tutor, but a very strict one. She once helped Malia with her Maths homework, but Malia made the mistake of telling her she didn't understand any of her notes. Lydia had went ballistic on her and had forced her to study all night long, almost making Malia cry in the early hours of the morning. It should be noted that neither of the boys had ever seen Malia cry, not even during Marley & Me – which is the most heart breaking movie Scott has ever seen.

"Come on," Stiles continues. "We can study for an hour at my place and then for the rest of the day we can play videogames." His grin is sneaky while he's wiggling his eyebrows.

"There it is," Scott nods. "No. Nope, we are not studying. You're just trying to take me home with you."

"Well, I didn't want to be so up front about it, but…"

"No!"

But spending the rest of the afternoon alone doesn't make Scott more able to focus on his studies. His mind keeps drawing him back to the image of the cut on Liam's arm, distracting him until it's finally time for dinner.

"Mom? Have you ever had someone lie to you?" he asks when he and his mother have both sat down.

The lamp above their small kitchen table shines a faint light through his mother's curls, casting shadows on her soft face. Scott watches them dance across her skin, wondering if they're telling a story he can't quite comprehend.

She scoffs, pausing her chewing. "Yeah, you did, last week, when you said you had passed that Chemistry test, while, actually, you failed."

Scott purses his lips into a thin line, scratching the back of his neck. He had definitely not seen that one coming. "Right. You see, I meant to tell you, but, err…"

His mother's giving him an expectant look, meanwhile continuing to eat her mac and cheese.

When Scott can't come up with a good excuse after a couple of minutes, she decides she has tortured him long enough and asks, "Why?"

Scott shrugs a little. He pokes into his food with his fork. "We have this new guy at school, Liam. He's on the lacrosse team as well," he explains unsurely, "so, today, in the locker room, I saw he had a cut on his arm. But a weird cut, on the bottom where his wrist is, you know?"

His mother hums affirmatively. Her eyes have narrowed a little and the tiny wrinkles at the corners betray her age, but also the undivided attention she has for her son's words.

"And when I asked if he had maybe hurt himself on the field, he said he had cut himself on barbed wire, when he fell from his bike the other day."

"Yes…?" Melissa wonders, not sure where her son is going with this.

"I don't know. It just seems weird. I mean, when he left he was wearing a coat. A coat with long sleeves. And I sort of checked the fabric where the cut should have been, but it was fine. So wouldn't that have protected his arm?"

"Maybe he wasn't wearing his coat when he fell?"

"It's 35 degrees outside, mom."

"Well, then…what are you saying?" she asks. "Do you think he's lying about how he got it?"

"I don't know. Maybe…"

"Why would he lie about something like that?"

Scott sighs, before repeating, "I don't know… It's just…" Another sigh. "I just have this feeling that something isn't right."

His mother smiles. After putting down her fork, she moves her hand over her son's. "If you really have that feeling, then you shouldn't ignore it."

"You think so?" he asks, looking up at her with an unsure expression. "Maybe it's just me worrying too much again."

Melissa squeezes his hand. "That's not a bad quality."

She winks before she retrieves her hand and picks up her fork again. "Just don't let it get into your head too much."

Suddenly, the front door slams shut with a loud bang, making the porcelain in Melissa McCall's cabinets shiver and the cutlery on the table tremble. Scott gives his mother a surprised look, but she only rolls her eyes.

"I hate this job. No, wait, let me rephrase that. I don't hate my job, but I do hate the idiots I'm working with," Agent McCall grumbles as he enters the kitchen. He sets his briefcase down against the doorframe. "Apparently a very important piece of evidence vanished. Gone. Just like that. No one knows where it is. Unbelievable. How can someone be stupid enough to lose evidence?! I bet it was Parrish, the guy's all looks and no brain."

He sits down at the table, throwing a look at the glass bowl in the middle. "What are we having?"

"Mac and cheese," Melissa answers sternly. "And you're interrupting."

"Well, you knew I was coming over, didn't you?"

"Yes, but do you have to be so loud?"

Scott's father looks from his ex-wife to his son and then it finally seems to sink in. "Oh, sorry. What were you talking about?"

"We were just-"

"It's okay, Mom. I was finished anyway," Scott cuts her off. He picks up his half empty plate, putting it into the sink. "Thanks for your advice," he says, pressing a kiss on her head before exiting the kitchen.

The staircase makes a cracking sound under his footsteps. Downstairs he can hear the muffled voices of his parents; his mother probably accusing his father of being too intrusive. Scott supposes he should be happy to have his dad back in his life again – there are people in this world who don't have that liberty: Stiles, for example, whose mother passed away when he was only five years old.

Yet Scott wasn't happy with the man. After spending so many years with just his mother they had grown close and accustomed to each other, his father fading into a vague memory in the back in his mind. Which Scott had considered a fine place for him.

But now that he had returned, Scott's comfortable and quiet home life had been interrupted. He and his mother have been building a warm atmosphere over the years, moulding it into a strong base. Only time will tell if that foundation is solid enough to withstand Agent McCall's weight.

And Scott decides he can't control time, so he focuses back onto the present again.

The next day at school, he keeps an eye out for Liam, all the while forming a plan to catch the boy in his lie. Determined to find out the truth, Scott doesn't hesitate to walk up to Liam when he sees him during lunchtime. The cafeteria is crowded with people and Scott has to squeeze past some students to get to him.

"Hey man," he greets.

Liam looks up from his textbook, examining Scott from head to toe.

"Scott…?"

"Is this seat free?" Scott asks, but he's already pulling out the chair across from Liam, casting aside the formality of his question.

"Oh. Oh, yeah, sure, you can take-"

Scott grins, sitting down. He zips his bag open, fishing out his lunch and in the meantime ignoring Liam's startled expression. The noise around them fades into the background when Scott picks up the conversation again.

"How are you?" he asks.

"I'm… Fine," Liam answers. Scott smiles comfortably at him. "What brings you here?"

The older one shrugs. "I don't know, just figured we could have lunch together."

"I already finished mine," Liam replies, still sounding a bit wary.

"Great," Scott nods, taking a bite from his peanut butter sandwich. "What're you reading?"

Liam's frown softens a little. "History. I have a test fifth period."

"Did you study?"

Liam scoffs, "Obviously not."

"What's it about?"

"Second World War."

"Oh." Scott takes a bite of his sandwich. He stays quiet for a while, eyes rolling from left to right, as if the options he can choose from to continue the conversation are splayed across the table.

"I'm not that good at History either," he finally admits in between chews. "I just don't like it as much."

Liam sighs. His eyes have averted to his book again. "Same."

Usually Scott would have felt uncomfortable – Liam makes him feel like Scott's bothering him – but the caring guy refrains from moving. After all, he did have sort of a plan.

"So weren't you wearing a coat when you fell off your bike?"

He didn't claim it was a subtle one.

"What?" There's clear caution in Liam's voice.

"Your cut," Scott clarifies, nudging his head towards Liam's left arm.

Liam moves it, folding his hands into his lap. "I wasn't, actually."

"Really? Weren't you cold?" Scott wants to know.

"No…" Liam answers. "I cycle for sport, so I always wear thin and short sleeved or piped clothes. The exertion keeps me warm."

Scott nods a little. "I thought you said it happened when you were on your way to school?"

Liam sits back a little, starting to look annoyed. "What do you want, Scott?"

"Nothing. I was just saying…" Scott brushes it off.

"No. No, you're clearly not. You're clearly implying something. What is it?" Liam fires back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Scott purses his lips before answering, "Nothing! I was just curious. I didn't mean anything by it."

Liam nods, starting to gather his things into his backpack. "Just leave it, Scott. I don't know what you're thinking, but I also really don't care. Just leave me the hell alone." He stands up, walking off without looking back.

Scott watches him, wondering why Liam's lying. Especially now he's sure that he's lying. Maybe Liam's right and maybe Scott should leave him alone, but his stomach keeps tightening whenever he flashes back to the image of the cut. It's nagging him and, even though he feels bad for not listening to Liam, he isn't going to let it go.

But clearly Scott won't be able to figure this one out on his own. Especially not since he has most definitely chased Liam off.

"Time to call for help…" he whispers under his breath.