Chapter Text
Stiles greets Scott with a frantic collision of their bodies, ramming Scott into the sharp corner of the doorjamb without so much as an apology.
"In about ten seconds, one extremely pushy werewolf is going to come over here and try to catch me in a lie so I need you to try to be totally attracted to this hot body and pretend you’re in love with me."
“What-“
"Hey, Elena!" Stiles is already turning them around, arm lopped around Scott’s neck in a frantic need to keep him near. "Look who showed up- the man of the the hour!"
Elena’s tiny, with curly brown hair, big blue eyes and a wide smile. She looks about as intimidating as the newborn puppies Scott helped a Yorkie named Maisy birth at Deaton’s.
Stiles pinches his side when the silence stretches on too long and Elena’s out-stretched hand- when had she done that?- begins to droop.
"Hey, I’m Scott." He shakes her hand, eyes widening at the bone crushing grip.
"Yes, Stiles’ partner,” she murmurs, leaning like she’s listening for the lie.
"In crime," Scott replies easily, stepping just ahead of Stiles. He doesn't want to raise his metaphorical hackles at every unknown werewolf passing through his town but he’s beginning to think he should make an exception.
Elena’s intense gaze turns sly a moment before she breaks contact to blow a kiss at Stiles. “Hmm. Later boys.”
Stiles practically vibrates at his side, peering up over the heads of the other people in the diner and counting to twenty when the front door swings open and shut. “Scott, I swear I have no idea what happened.”
"You tackled me into a door and ‘ugly friend’ed me."
"Dude, she came out of nowhere, I needed back-up." Stiles slaps a hand over his chest, fingers rubbing over the worn flannel of Scott’s shirt. "Started talking about her family passing through and accords and agreements. Kinda seemed like she was feeling me out.”
"Up?"
”Out, dude. Out. The deal with the whole-” Stiles gestures to the way they’re still clinging to each other, partially blocking off the side entrance with his free hand. “‘Partners in crime’ thing was to head that off at the pass. Smooth talking by the way.”
Scott shrugs, a non-verbal well I try. “Think she’ll be trouble?”
"Scotty." Stiles looks at him. “When is it ever anything else?”
Scott wonders if this is the first time Elena’s family has passed through. Beacon Hills isn’t exactly on route to anything special. “I’ll talk to Derek.”
Stiles grins. “Yes,”
"You get Peter."
The grin vanishes. “Dude.”
———-
Derek looks about as happy as ever, rolling his eyes when Scott asks if he knows a werewolf named Elena.
"No, Scott- I don’t know a werewolf named Elena. I don’t actually know every werewolf that passes through Northern California."
"She’s about yay tall," he says, wiggling his hand at just below his shoulder. "Brown hair, blue eyes- talked like she wanted to give us a cow for Stiles’ hand?"
Derek unfolds his arms, brow furrowing in concern. “Elena Montgomery.”
"So you do know her.”
Derek sighs. “My mom talked about them sometimes. They’re old- established. Powerful allies until you piss them off.”
"How do we not do that?" Scott’s got that sinking feeling he isn't going to like Derek’s answer.
"They hold dishonesty as the highest offense," he says, gaze narrowing when Scott fails to hide his wince. "Especially once they’ve deemed a pack good enough to propose an alliance. Scott- what did you do now?"
"Technically Stiles told the lie, I just played along."
Derek sets his jaw. “They’re going to kill us all.”
"How hard could it possibly be to fake date Stiles until they leave? He already carries my scent." Scott can practically hear the lie, the anxiety blooming behind his ribs.
Derek’s mouth is a grim line. “If you don’t fake it, the Montgomery pack won’t leave Beacon Hills until they feel you’ve made amends for your slight against them. If they don’t demand repayment in blood, they might demand something else. Like a member of the pack.”
————-
Isaac tosses a card at Scott’s head when he comes home that night.
Scott frowns down at it in confusion. “’It’s a Boy’?”
"Hallmark hasn’t cornered the market on cards for celebrating your best friend’s coming out with his best friend yet." Isaac shrugs. "Lydia’s expecting a spring wedding."
"How did she even find out?"
"Stiles called to complain about Peter’s leering and add to the plan to viciously murder him some day soon." Isaac nods at him. "What’s going on?"
Scott sighs, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. “We might have accidentally started a situation with another pack. I don’t want to put you in a position where your body might betray your lie- just know it’s being taken care of.”
Isaac nods, biting at his bottom lip in thought. “So until the situation has moved on, Stiles is your plus one. For real.”
Scott’s skin tightens, tingles at the thought. “Yeah. For real.”
Now he just needs to tell Stiles.
Keys jangle outside the front door. “Scott? Isaac? I brought burgers.”
But first he has to tell his mom.
—————
Melissa McCall takes the news well.
Almost too well.
"I have to call John, he owes me a steak dinner." She’s grinning, bouncing on her toes and pushing stray curls out of her eyes. She pauses to touch his shoulder, gentle and firm. "Thank you, for telling me. I love you."
"Love you too, mom." Scott lets her drop a kiss on his cheek, warmed by her acceptance and watches her go. Isaac takes a noisy bite of his burger, silently judging him with a pointed arch of his eyebrow.
"It’s technically not a lie." Isaac doesn’t break his gaze as he chews. "Ugh, stop it."
"Let’s just hope Stiles is just as good at lying to his father. The Sheriff. In case you’ve gotten.”
His phone pings ominously with a text alert.
'WTF? CALL ME.'
Scott takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring Isaac’s laughter behind him. His phone’s already vibrating in his hand. “Stiles?”
"I see you’ve been busy," Stiles hisses into the phone. "I just spent the afternoon dealing with Peter’s creepering and all-around unsettling love of sounding like a smarmy ass. You’ve been handing out wedding invitations.”
“You told Lydia!”
Stiles groans. “My dad said you were a good guy. That he approved. Of the fake relationship I didn’t even know I was a part of.”
"That doesn’t sound so bad," Scott says, hoping he sounds both supportive and soothing. Stiles is starting to sound a bit shrill.
"He asked if we were safe.” He flops back onto something soft- probably his bed- with a huff. “He meant sex, Scott. I had to sing the beginning of The Circle of Life repeatedly before he stopped trying to bring it up.”
"He thinks we’re having sex?" Scott’s voice strains, his throat tight with something over the idea of him and sex and Stiles. He feels warm.
"Uh, yeah? He also said something about the business side of his gun and my bedroom window but he’s totally too scared of your mom to do anything. You might want to call me before you come to take me out on a romantic trip to find dead bodies next time."
Scott stays silent, letting it wash over him. They’re going to have to date, to go out and do the things couples do. Sit together in class, pass notes, touch each other.
Things they….kind of already do.
Stiles sighs into the receiver. “So. Boyfriends. I’m guessing this has to do with Elena?”
"You would stumble upon the one werewolf pack that thinks dishonesty is punishable by death. If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you call me a floozy when we break up on Facebook."
Stiles laughs. “And ruin your glowing reputation as the most romantic little shit at BHHS? Although, you’re kind of slacking here. I didn’t even get flowers before you started telling our parents.”
Scott lets some of the tension bleed from him. They’re okay, of course they are. “I’ll get right on that.”
"Tomorrow."
He listens to Stiles yawn, stretching tiredly himself as he promises tomorrow.
———-
Scott’s feeling good about the daisies in his hand, slightly droopy but pleasantly fragrant, right up until the front door swings up and the Sheriff gives him a look.
"Flowers, huh?"
Scott moves to hide them, freezes as the Sheriff’s eyebrows get dangerously low and sets his shoulders instead. “I know this might have come as a bit of a shock to you-“
"Yeah, not really. I just wanted a reason to take your mother out for a nice dinner." He blinks hard, pulling a face. "Christ, that’s weird now."
He motions to the flowers with a quick nod. “Better put those in water before they droop.”
Any more than they already are goes unsaid.
Stiles meets them in the hallway, fighting to right his shirt on the stairs before he notices the flowers. “Dude. You do know that daises are like the weeds of the flower world right?”
Scott rolls his eyes, looking for a jar or empty cola bottle to use as a vase. “You’re a weed of this world.”
Stiles looks to his dad, hand over his heart. “Do you see how he hurts me? You approve of this treatment?”
The Sheriff takes a long sip of his coffee, looking oddly serene at the scene they’re making. “A guy gets up to bring you flowers at ten in the morning and you called them weeds, Stiles.”
"You’re an officer of the law!"
"Which is why I’m going to finish this coffee on the way to work and remind you both that the age of consent in California is eighteen." He nods at them both. "I’ll be back late. There’s money for take-out in the jar."
Stiles refrains from doing much more than waving him off, pink-cheeked in a way that makes Scott smile and try to fluff up the waning daisies.
"Day. One." Stiles says once they’re alone. "This is just day one. Day one in my home. Why are we doing this again?”
Scott looks over his shoulder. “Because the Montgomery pack will murder us for lying to them.”
"Right. That."
It’s all sliding too quick into awkward, the heaviness of the silence between them. Scott lets out a hard breath. “Okay. We need to have a seamless cover story- how did we meet?”
Stiles pulls a face. “Come on, that’s the easy one. You want to know what everyone’s going to ask: when did we get together? Why did we keep it a secret?”
"Fear?" Scott grimaces at the suggestion. Neither of them were the type to let that stop them. "Habit?"
Stiles looks down at his hands, inspects his nails casually. “If it were me,” he says, stopping to clear his throat. “If it were real, I’d want to keep it private- just for a little while.”
Scott- doesn’t know what to really say at that. If it were real- that would work. If it were real, Scott would want them to take their time and make their shot at whatever this was a solid try.
Stiles looks like he’s going to jump right out of his skin, hyped up on anxiety and his natural twitchiness. “Okay?”
Scott nods. “Okay.”
-------
Elena catches up to them out on the preserve, tracking the borders of Scott’s territory. She steps out from behind a massive tree, bouncing on her toes and grinning like she’s won the game of hide-n-seek. “Stiles!”
Scott drops low on instinct- because he should have heard or seen or smelled something. Elena flashes amber eyes at him in warning before her smile returns and she holds her hands up playfully. “Jumpy puppy. I’m here to talk. Officially.”
"You mean you weren’t before?" Stiles asks, reaching out to clap his hand over Scott’s neck. Their silent settle down. He breathes in deep and lets the touch remind him of grounding.
Elena smiles too wide with too many teeth. “I never mix business and pleasure.”
"What’s your business then?" Scott asks, scenting the air. He’s not sure he trusts Elena to have come alone. "What do you want?"
"My mother," Elena pauses for a moment, tapping a finger against her mouth. "My alpha wishes to meet with you. At your convenience.”
"Where?" Scott asks. He can’t help but wonder if Elena was sent in to spy on them- that her alpha wanted to catch them in a lie and give the Montgomery pack a reason to come in and clean house.
"It’s your town, Alpah McCall."
Stiles pulls a complicated expression- furrowed brows and widening eyes- Scott knows means he wants to handle this. He shrugs his okay.
"The Hale house ruins- you know it?" Stiles slips his hand off Scott’s back, tapping against his thigh as he speaks. "It’s-"
"Every wolf within a hundred miles knows it," Elena bites off. Her smile’s gone now. "You don’t have to be one of us to smell the sorrow coming off that place. Somewhere else. Please."
"How many are we looking to accommodate? Kids? How long are all of you staying?" It takes Scott a second to realize what Stiles is doing. Gaining intel. He fights a proud grin.
Elena either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “We’re bringing ten strong. A guard to negotiate safe passage. No children.” She lifts her chin. “We’re self-sufficient. We won’t require anything more than permission to run on your lands during the moon.”
"No one is allowed to hurt anyone in the town," Scott says. He cuts Elena off when she tries to talk over him. "Of course you can defend yourself but I won’t hold off the Argents if dead bodies start turning up. "
"Of course." Elena shakes her hair out of her face with a huff. "Although I have to wonder what kind of company you’ve been keeping if the warning is necessary."
"The kind that don’t know when they’ve outstayed their welcome," Stiles says wryly. "Why don’t we have first contact right here? Give us a couple of days to get our pack up to speed and we’ll welcome you at noon?"
Scott runs the idea over in his head; the home field advantage, the distance from Beacon Hills and the space to flee or fight should the need arise. He gives a sharp nod. “I’m in.”
Elena grins at them. “Swell. I’ll see you around.”
She gives Stiles a quick wink before taking off towards the northeast treeline.
Scott listens hard but Elena makes no noise as her scent disappears on the wind.
"Ever get the feeling you’ve just been played?" Stiles sighs. "Yeah, this is going to end badly."
Scott hooks a hand around his elbow, dragging him close. “Lets get out of here. We need to talk to the others.”
————-
"Do you want to run that by me one more time?" Lydia asks, not faltering in her stride. "Particularly the part where you subtract all the stupid you just agreed to and we send this pack on it’s merry way back out of Beacon Hills."
Scott jogs a little to keep up with her. “Um, no?”
Lydia hums in a way that lets Scott know she’s viciously dismembering him in her head. “You need to learn how to be unkind.”
"What?"
Lydia whirls on him, swiping her hair out of her face gracefully. Scott nearly bows them both over with the sudden stop. “You are responsible for the lives of everyone in this town and you invited ten strange werewolves to hunt in your territory when they didn’t respect your authority in the first place. Before they sent someone after Stiles.”
"What was I supposed to do? Risk them invading without us knowing?" He doesn’t need the reminder that this is all on him.
"Tell them to go around!" Lydia sweeps her arm out towards the rest of the town. "Beacon Hills isn’t that big, Scott. They don’t have to cut through us but they are- which means they want something here that they can only reach-“
"If we let them inside."
Lydia cups his jaw. “Congratulations, genius. You need to fix this.”
Scott looks away for a moment, thinking, planning. They need to work together to make sure the Montgomery pack can’t sneak in between the holes in their story. “Get everyone and meet me at Derek’s.”
He leaves Lydia standing stunned in the middle of the street before she huffs, outraged. “I am not a taxi service, McCall!”
————-
Scott picks Stiles up, telling himself it’s only keeping up appearances when he eases the helmet down over his ears and clips the strap together under his chin. It’s only playing along when Stiles lets him.
In the months since Scott’s owned his bike, they’ve never done this, never piled on and held each other tight over the danger of a sharply-taken curve. Stiles curses in his ear, jabbing the edge of the helmet into his shoulder blade until Scott takes a hand off the handle and wraps his fingers round the wrist at his waist. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Stiles breathes out slow against the back of his neck and calms his frantic heart beat.
Scott’s the one who’s shaky-legged and breathless when they finally pull up to Derek’s new apartment, his spine warm from the heat of Stiles against him.
"Think Derek has nachos?" Stiles asks once he’s pulled the helmet off, hair spiked up from the tight fit.
"I don’t think Derek’s a nachos kind of guy."
Stiles shrugs. “Burritos maybe?”
Derek’s grumpy, yanking the door open before they’re even at his unit, his scowl deep and unhappy. “This isn’t the town hall, Scott.”
"It’s important- we have a lot to talk about as a pack and this is the safest place." Scott grins, waving at the man peering suspiciously at them from four doors down.
"I can’t have teenagers trampling in and out of my place at all hours."
Scott nods at the others already waiting uncomfortably inside the apartment.
"Actually I’ve got a cover story for that," Stiles says, raising his hand. "We’re tutoring you in preparation for your GED." He pauses as the intensity in Derek’s glare rises. "What? It’s not like anyone’s going to believe you’re tutoring us. Lydia is like the smartest person on the planet and we’re all A students. Except Isaac."
"I’m sorry that I was a fugitive on the run for over a month." Isaac reminds him.
"The only reason we’re meeting here is because you’re the only person who’s met this pack before," Scott says, getting them back on track. Stiles and Isaac could cheerfully insult each other for days if given the attention. "What do you know about them?"
Derek shrugs, gaze going distant. “Not much. I didn’t deal with any of the official pack business- it was never meant to be my place in our pack.”
"Anything is better than nothing," Allison says, speaking up for the first time. Scott knows that Derek will never be her favourite person- no matter how many times they join forces to save their town. "Even my family’s records can’t tell us what you can."
Derek pulls a face and sighs.
"They came by every five years, when they migrated back around this part of the continent. I don’t remember much, I was sixteen the last time we saw them." Derek looks around the apartment, visibly uncomfortable. "My mom was always formal but direct with their alpha every time they came looking for an alliance. They wouldn’t be here more than a day or two."
"Why didn’t they come to you?" Isaac asks. "Instead of approaching Scott through Stiles?"
Derek lips thin. “It’s not Hale territory anymore.”
Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the silence that falls on them. Lydia gives it the briefest moment of acknowledgement before she speaks.
"It’s actually really clever, the way they’ve backed us into a corner. Stiles was either going to lie about being available or he was going to show an interest. Either option was their way in."
"Yeah, can we not admire the masterminding behind the bad guys evil schemes?" Stiles says pointedly.
Isaac does fight his smirk. “Particularly if they involve how easy it is to get in Stiles’ pants.”
"Hey-" Scott reaches up to clap his hand over Stiles’ mouth without looking.
"Is there any reason the Montgomery pack would want free reign of our territory? It’s not exactly prime real estate." He can’t figure it out- there are thousands of towns just like theirs out there. With the reoccurring supernatural disasters, why would anyone want Beacon Hills as their own?
Stiles grimaces, shoving the hand off his face. “I can think of one nightmare-inducing reason why someone might want in- the nemeton.”
"They wouldn’t dare-" Derek starts, shoulders drooping as he catches on.
"Yeah, maybe not when there was a big, established pack with an experienced, powerful alpha guarding a half-dead stump." Stiles fidgets, anxious just talking about the nemeton. Scott curls his hands into fists, plays with the stray threads on his cuffs, anything to keep from reaching out.
"We’ve seen what that tree can do to one town," Allison adds. She crosses her arms, standing firm. "I can’t let it spread."
“We can’t let it spread.” Scott steps into the middle of the room, that familiar feeling of power stirring in his blood. When they’re all together like this, his pack against the outside forces threatening their town, it isn’t hard for Scott to see why someone would kill to keep them safe.
"So what’s the plan?" Lydia asks, looking around the room. "Mountain ash? Any human could break the line. Mistletoe could kill us all and I am not built for a 24-hour surveillance. “
Allison taps a finger against her chin, the toe of her shoe banging rhythmically on the floor. “I could call in a few favours? My dad knows a few families that won’t ask any questions.”
"When they shoot us," Derek mutters, not looking away from Allison’s sharp glare.
Stiles sighs hard, scrubbing at his eyes and leaning back against the wall. “If they mess with the tree, I’ll know. Then Scott will know-probably really loudly.”
It’s not an option Scott likes- at all. Not even Deaton call really explain Stiles’ connection to the nemeton, just that it’s unrelenting and permanent. The darkness around his heart doesn’t exist so much as it thrives- just like the nemeton now does in the forest.
"Then we’ll have reason to ask them to peacefully leave Beacon Hills," Derek says, relief in the set of his shoulders.
Isaac doesn’t seem to feel the same. “So that’s it? We just wait and see?”
"My favourite.” Lydia says in the tone that clearly tells them it really isn’t.
————-
They don’t touch the tree.
The initial meeting between the McCall and Montgomery packs goes as smoothly as Scott could ever hope it would.
Ella Montgomery runs on an upfront disposition and treats Scott like a man, like the alpha he is. Her pack stands at her back, keeps their eyes from flashing in challenge when Isaac growls low and Derek flexes his hands.
Elena makes a sly, casual apology for approaching Stiles before speaking with Scott, still smiling like she’s two steps ahead of everyone. Her mother’s gaze only cuts once to them, assessing and shrewd in a way that sets Scott on edge.
Despite Lydia’s huff of irritation and Allison’s stony silence, Scott can’t help but grant them their ten day stay in his territory.
They don’t touch the tree- they don’t even set up camp near the sunken ground around it.
That doesn't stop Stiles from screaming awake in the middle of the night.
Scott’s up off the floor- an unspoken rule now that the Sheriff thinks he has designs on Stiles’ “you know, please tell me you know”- and gripping at his shoulders before he can think to stop himself.
"Stiles? Stiles!"
Stiles wriggles in his hold, gasping and choking on his breath. He blinks up at Scott with wild panic before the room comes down and reality settles in his gaze. “Scott? Scott. What are you doing?”
Scott becomes aware of his position towering over Stiles, his knee swung over one leg with a small curl of heat. He doesn’t move. “You were screaming. Are you okay? Is it the tree?”
"It’s not the nemeton- well, it is but it isn’t." Stiles swipes a hand over his face, grimacing when his hand comes back damp. "I’m fine now. Sometimes I dream about it."
Scott settles himself more firmly on the bed, rubbing his thumbs along the collar of Stiles’ nightshirt before he comes to his sense, hands dropping too quick to be casual. “Dream about what?”
"Nothing."
He groans. “Stiles-“
"No, I don’t mean like nothing-nothing. I’m not brushing you off, dude." Stiles shrugs like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. "I mean nothing. Like a lack of everything.”
He looks around the room, at the shadows of the desk and the bookcase like he’s waiting for something to pop out at them. “I spent a lot of time in that void, Scott. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I ever made it out. “
He knows what the telltale up-kick of Stiles’ heart beat means by now and reaches out to clutch at his wrist. “You made it out- Stiles. You’re out.” When it doesn’t help he asks, “what do you need me to do?”
Stiles twists his wrist to hold Scott’s hand in a tight grip. “Just shut up and keep me here.”
When he lays back, Scott goes with him.
"Your dad is going to frown at me if he finds me in your bed,” Scott says, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t scream ‘teenage boy shenanigans’. He settles on his side, free arm curling up under his head as he watches Stiles breathe. “Do you want me to count for you?”
Stiles nods tightly.
"One." Scott wiggles his thumb.
"Two." Stiles wiggles his in return.
"Three." He jiggles both their pointer fingers. "Four."
By eight, Stiles is breathing slow and easy, even if his heart beat hasn’t calmed completely. Scott continues on to ten before he stops. “Better?”
"Hmm." Stiles rubs hard at his chest. "Awake at least. Kinda wish I didn’t still want to turn on the light. Scott leans up to yank open the curtains instead, the clear night letting the half moon shine in on the bed.
"That works," he says, watching Scott lie back down and take his hand again. Scott shuffles close enough to rest their joined hands on his chest and bump shoulders teasingly when Stiles smiles.
"I didn’t know you still had nightmares like that." Scott broaches the topic warily. If Stiles hasn’t told him by now, he’s not sure if Stiles will even want to talk about it.
The hand on his chest twitches, like Stiles wants to tighten his hold before he sighs. “Sometimes the tree likes to remind me who I belong to.”
It’s such a stupid reflex, to want to growl at the idea of that insidious hunk of wood staking a claim on any part of his pack. Scott swallows down the sound, lets it settle hard behind his breastbone.
Stiles laughs. “Dude, did you just growl at me?”
Scott’s ears burn. “What? No.”
The hand on his chest presses down hard. “Right, you just regularly vibrate. Like a cat. Are you purring? Let me listen.”
Scott pushes at his face as Stiles tries to shove his head under his chin. “I’m going to go back to the floor-“
Stiles hooks a leg around his hips, tightening the grip on his hand, like Scott couldn’t tumble him onto his back with ease. “No. I’m going to be wide awake for like, the next hour. Entertain me- my dad makes me soup.”
"Your dad knows?"
"About the nightmares?" Stiles asks. "Well, yeah. As you could clearly see, it’s kind of a hard thing to keep quiet. We deal."
"So it’s not…" Scott doesn’t know how to ask about Claudia Stilinski. Not even now.
"A resurgence of my miraculously cured frontotemporal dementia?" Stiles slumps into his side with a soft sigh. He’s warm. “No. We had to drive three towns over to find a doctor that didn’t want to study my brain like a rat in a maze but this is just good old fashioned psychological trauma.” He pauses. “And magic.”
Scott grunts, wriggling until he can get his arm up and under the pillow, hooking Stiles into a firm embrace. He knows a thing or two about trauma but this is just as much for him as it is for Stiles. He remembers the terrified break of his voice on the phone, the blank stare of possession and the way the wood splintered and cut into his palms and he screamed for Derek to help him dig Stiles out of that damn tree.
"Your arm is going to fall asleep," Stiles mutters, nearly cramming his fist into his mouth to stop a yawn. He rubs his cheek tiredly against Scott’s chest. "Going to complain all day."
"Shut up. True Alphas never have to worry about numb arms."
Stiles scoffs, the sound barely a breath as he slowly drifts back to sleep.
The Sheriff doesn’t frown as much as Scott feared when he shakes them awake in the morning- just claps him on the shoulder as they both watch Stiles stumble off towards the bathroom.
"He’ll be okay," Scott promises. "I’ll make sure he’s okay."