Work Header

Baseballs, Broken Windows, and Narrow Escapes

Work Text:

Every child experiences that horrible moment of dread when he or she loses a ball through the window of someone else's home. Scott and Stiles were no exception.

It had actually been pretty spectacular. Part of the problem was that Scott didn't know his own strength quite yet. Another part of the problem was that he also didn't have the best aim in the world yet. The ball sailed too far to Stiles' right for him to get to it, and it had enough power that bouncing off of the tree just outside of it wasn't quite enough to slow it down. It angled it just right, and the next horrible second, both boys were rooted to the spot as they watched glass shatter and heard even more things inside jostle and possibly break. They slowly walked a little closer, eyes wide, both of them somewhat expecting for things to be so much worse or to have actually been spotted. They hadn't. They were lucky on that. Still, the worst of the problem was that they were so, so dead whenever the neighbors came home.

That was exactly why they were going to get the ball out and make a run for it before that could happen.

Scott had his doubts, though. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Do you want your ball back or not?" Stiles had his arms crossed.

Scott just nodded sheepishly. If there had been a small rock in front of him, he might have kicked it, just for added effect. "Okay, fine. I'll go inside." He made a slight face, eyes squinted and nose scrunched up a bit. "But what if someone comes?"

"That's why I'm staying out here to watch!" Stiles's grin was not as reassuring as he probably thought it was. Scott made a note to tell him as much later, when time wasn't quite so limited. "If there's trouble, I'll warn you! Now go! If you go in now you'll still have time to get it before they come home!"

That was all he needed to hear. Scott bolted the rest of the way toward the house, grabbed a hold of the ledge of the broken window and pulled himself inside. His landing inside wasn't quite as graceful, and he hit the wooden floor with a thud and wince. He rubbed at his leg as he stood, turned back to the window and poked his head out to be sure he could still see Stiles. He wasn't really sure why, maybe it was to make sure he wasn't already having to "explain" to anyone who happened to spot them. Of course, Stiles' only answer was to make a face at him, and then he flail-waved at him to get a move-on and get inside the house before had to come over there and shove his head back in for him!

Even at eight years old, Scott understood his best friend's body language, word for metaphorical word.

He looked around. The room was pretty nice, in an old sort of way - a sitting room, or something like that. It was very old-fashioned, and even he could tell that the furniture probably belonged to someone's grandmother or something and was handed down. The baseball had certainly done some damage, though. That had probably been a lovely vase on the dresser before it became the mess of shattered and crushed ceramic on the floor that it was now. He took about a second and a half to feel bad about it, and then reminded himself that if he didn't get out soon, he was going to feel worse and end up in more hot water than he could even begin to imagine.

With no immediate sign of the ball present, he dropped to his hands and knees, crawling along the floor and peeking under any piece of furniture it could possibly have rolled under. It took some crawling, but he finally found it... all the way at the back of the couch against the wall. He sighed heavily, covered his mouth to keep from groaning, and even mouthed an exaggerated, "Oh, come on!" just to get it out of his system.

"Stiles!" He whispered - hissed, really. Even though he probably had no need to, it just felt like something to do in a situation like this. "Stiles, I don't think I can g--"

"Oh, hey dad!" came a very pointedly loud answer.

Oh. Crap.

Scott immediately scooted into the corner near the shattered window, hopefully out of sight, and stayed as still as he could, listening.

"What's going on here? What happened to the Parkers' window?"

"You know? I just don't know!" (Scott winced. He really, really hoped Stiles could keep this up...) "I just had to come over and look. You know. 'Cause I wanna know. And help out."

Silence, for a second. "You didn't see anything, did you?"

"See what?"

"Okay, maybe you should just head on home. It's not a good idea for you to be over here when they get home--"

"H-Hey, wait! Wait. Can't I just stay here for another minute?"


"... I really like this spot."

Scott put his face in his hands, just to keep from smacking the back of his head against the wall instead. Really...?

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Yeah, I used the toaster oven earlier to make pizza rolls. And I might have left it on."

"Oh, for--!"

Hurried footsteps, leaving. Scott let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. And then, Stiles was hissing, "Hurry up!!"

Scott crawled back over to the couch, wriggled and squirmed and stretched as well as he could, and somehow managed to knock the ball out from under the couch where he could grab it! With a grin, he held onto it tightly and jumped right back out of the window. He was already grabbing his friend's sleeve and dragging him away from the house and toward some sort of supposedly neutral territory, like the street, at the very least. "I can't believe we just did that!"

"I can't believe that worked again!" Stiles was laughing. "I mean, I know I really did it once, but I haven't really done it since!"

"Dude, that doesn't even matter! We're not gonna get in trouble!"

And that was true. ... For a couple of hours, at least.