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The interrogations went on for days, the police asking the same questions over and over until Scott wasn’t sure what was coming out of his mouth anymore. They’d barely waited until he was coherent and out of surgery, pressing for information about the attack. A lycantherope murdering a human was a breach of security, especially when the werewolf was supposed to have been safe and rehabilitated. It cast doubt on the whole system and a rabid animal needed to be controlled.
Scott stuck to the story, keeping the details vague and fearful like he’d been the victim. It had all just happened so fast, he didn’t know why. He must have sold it, nervous and quiet, no threat at all. Violence against his kind was normal enough to write off and the weapons the hunter had been carrying sold it. They released him home as soon as he was ready, not sure if they trusted him but unable to prove his story wrong.
Home didn’t feel right anymore. The illusion of safety was gone and the walls closed in around him like a prison. Stiles didn’t feel right either. He’d showed his monster, the full extent of what Peter had shaped him into and there was no going back. He’d killed a man and felt nothing for him, forcing Stiles to lie and risk everything to fix his mess. Scott could act the quiet and loving man, but he wasn’t the same.
The wolf flinched as the kettle on the stove started to whistle, turning down the burner and pouring himself a mug of tea. He moved silently around the apartment, curling on the couch with his legs tucked underneath him.
----
The story was simple.
Scott got shot. He defended himself. The pain drove him mad. Stiles arrived when it was too late. No one could say for certain when the screams started, but there were more than enough witnesses to testify to Scott’s agony. Burning the plant out of his system did little to ease the damage it had already done, but every part of the investigation pointed towards a quick, but painful death. Part of Stiles still wished it hadn’t been so quick.
They put a name to the face Scott tore apart when they found Haddock’s car. It sold the story more than anything Stiles could have pieced together, and the papers were still running stories about men who turned into monsters. Eichen House’s PR reps were working double time, but the public had almost unanimously decided that Scott was the victim - Beacon Hills’ lost little lamb. It helped that he was handsome. It helped that he smiled shyly for reporters and interrogators, and spent the rest of his time looking petrified. It helped that the Sheriff publicly defended his ‘outstanding detective’ of a son and his childhood friend. It helped that Dr. Alan Deaton was such a prominent figure in the community and loudly guaranteed Scott’s job once ‘everything boiled over.’
But Stiles couldn’t be on the case, and home was too quiet.
He’d combed through the apartment with Allison and two other (trusted, hand-picked) officers. They searched every inch of it, took apart the smoke detectors, and checked all the external window dressings. They didn’t find anything, but Stiles still wondered if Scott could smell the people who’d been there.
"It feels too big," he commented at length, when the silence grew too heavy. Stiles forced himself not to hesitate when he approached, curling into Scott’s space on the couch without his permission. If he needed to force himself to do that, too, he refused to acknowledge it. "The apartment, I mean."
----
Scott tensed and cursed himself for it, tightening his hands around the cup for tea. He gave a shallow nod and a small smile, okay with hiding behind the small talk. He didn’t look up, he couldn’t bare that look in Stiles’s eyes. The slight wariness now, the tiny edge of fear and the determination to keep the struggle with it hidden. He appreciated the effort, but you couldn’t muffle the slightly faster beat of a heart or the anxious chemosignals that clung to the skin. This was what he was, what Peter had made him, and there was no hiding it behind wide eyes and an eager smile.
“Maybe you really should get an army of corgis, dude. That might help? Or at least a fish or something.” He tried to find the humor, but everything just felt awkward and he lapsed back into silence. “I should make something to eat. We haven’t…I’ll take care of it.” He slipped from Stiles’s side, escaping back into the kitchen and feeling like a coward.
As long as he kept his hands busy, he didn’t have to think about them covered in blood or the way he didn’t mind the feeling. How was this supposed to work now when Stiles looked at him and could see what he truly was? There was no way to take it back and no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. If Peter tried again, Scott would tear open anyone who threatened them with the same brutal efficiency and lack of remorse.
He put his hands on the counter with a sigh, bowing his head. Damn it, damn it! He’d lost the only thing that ever mattered by trying to protect it. Was he just going to go on pretending everything was okay and that he didn’t feel the rift widening. How long was that going to last? Taking a deep breath, he started gathering pots to make pasta, something easy that wouldn’t require much from his shaking hands.
----
"Scott-" Stiles didn’t know what he was going to say, but he had to say something. Except Scott was pulling away, and Stiles couldn’t not chase after him. Anything else wasn’t an option. Stopping never would be. He stumbled into their kitchen with too much speed, but comfort still remained in how it was unquestionably, unabashedly theirs. "No, Scott. No you don’t get to do this."
He didn’t trust his voice, but his feet carried him the rest of the way, trapping Scott against the counter because apparently they couldn’t have conversations while not less than a foot away from one another. Stiles didn’t care. His heart did a thing, and his body did something worse, and he didn’t fucking care what they said because he wasn’t going to let goddamn physiologic reactions dictate his fucking life. He vomited the first time he fed his pet boa. That didn’t stop him from feeding it.
"Look at me." He demanded, and his voice was soft, the same way it had been ever since their house had been torn apart in the name of safety. "It’s been - too fucking long. You would never hurt me. I know. And I’m not sorry."
The days in the hospital seemed endless. Dr. Tate made personal calls, spent hours by Scott’s bedside, and talked him through so much of what happened. Officers passed through, and platoons of doctors. Stiles never left, not until he was dragged away by his father or coworkers or orderlies, but he’d just come back. It stopped being an act before it started. They never had their privacy, and Stiles could guarantee that their conversations were overheard, but he never stopped holding Scott’s hand or kissing his brow or apologizing because it had all come from The Worst Lunch Ever. Now that they could finally speak he wouldn’t accept the silence. He renounced it.
"You wouldn’t hurt me, and I’m still. Scared. I’m still scared. I know, all right. I know, but I fixed this, I fucking fixed this. You have to deal with me. You have to fucking deal with me.” He snarled, eyes too wide, face too pale. He gripped the front of Scott’s shirt, threatening to tear through fabric.
"Stop pushing push me away. Stop - don’t…" And Stiles tried his best to burrow into Scott’s arms, staking his claim with long arms and an unforgiving grip. If he could maintain it long enough, maybe it would make a difference. His voice faltered, and he was ashamed. "Please don’t leave me."
----
Scott shied away from the touch, but there was no escape, his human had him trapped. He still couldn’t meet Stiles’s eyes, gaze sliding to the side every time he tried to raise his head. “Do you know I wouldn’t hurt you?” He asked quietly, hating himself for the questions. “Are you sure I won’t?” He knew hurting Stiles was never an option, but he was a weapon and even a blade could cut the one who wielded it. Just because he hadn’t spilled the human’s blood didn’t mean he hadn’t wounded Stiles. He’d broken something worse than bone, something that he wasn’t sure could ever heal again.
He was a monster. When would he stop pretending to be anything else?
“You can’t fix this, Stiles. This isn’t something that you can slap a bandaid on and pretend it’s all okay. I tried to warn you, I told you what I was and you refused to believe me. You saw me as you wanted to, that boy from when we were kids, and fuck…I let you because I wanted to be him again. I’d have been anything to get you to look at me like that.” Scott’s voice caught and he stopped, trying to find a way to escape Stiles’s arms. He was drowning, this was how he died. He couldn’t let go no matter how wide the rift between them grew, Scott knew he was trapped. He couldn’t leave but there was no way to cross. There was no way to fight this, even if Stiles never saw him as anything other than a killer he was powerless to leave. He’d remain, quiet and pretending that everything was fine though they both would know the lie until Stiles finally realized he had to let go. And then…some things were better left unplanned.
Scott smiled, loving and gentle and completely insincere. Escape wasn’t possible, so he switched to surrender, body relaxing against the human’s and arms wrapped loosely around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I’m right here, dude, just calm down. I’m only making dinner, I’m not running away on you.” The wolf left quick kisses along his human’s jawline, lying with his mouth as well as his words. Anything to distract Stiles from that look in his eyes and that waver in his voice that caused Scott’s heart to stutter. “You gonna let me make dinner or what?”
----
"No, you’re acting like a fucking piece of trash," Stiles hissed, and he hated how good that felt in the moment. He screwed his eyes shut, but he still turned into Scott’s touches, still sought his mouth with parched lips and demanding to drink his lover in. Everything was slow, chaste, like they were still learning each others’ bodies. They’d never needed that before. Stiles didn’t want to think of it now.
"Stop lying to me. You can’t just - you can’t just say shit like that and then - fucking mac’n’cheese isn’t gonna make it better." His grip never weakened. His arms trembled, and he fought to stay, but he never weakened.
"You won’t hurt me," he insisted, and his heart was steady the entire time. Stiles still choked on a laugh. "But you’re doing a damn good job of trying now."
He let his head fall to Scott’s shoulder, ignoring the crick in his neck so he could press close. His hands balled into fists, but maybe it was time to stop this. Maybe.
Stiles doubted it.
"Do you know how long I put that fucking cream on to heal the bruises around my neck? I took that shit more seriously than Ritalin. Just so you wouldn’t have to see them, those times you -" He scowled, mouth pinching unhappily. "That didn’t hurt me. I expected those, and I’ll defend myself, and I can take a punch and give it right back. I know what I’m getting into you piece of shit, so just!"
He stepped away slowly, half-certain that he’d stopped making sense. He’d only seen his dad over Scott’s hospital bed, and Stiles scowled like he’d bit into a lemon. “Stop trying to protect me. Start helping me.”
----
Scott flinched, panic beating in his chest. He wanted to run or sink down to his knees and beg for forgiveness with distracting mouth and anxious hands, another lesson from Peter he couldn’t seem to shake. Sex and violence, pain and pleasure, was that all he knew anymore? Neither one would help him fix this.
“Hey…” He stroked his fingers through Stiles’s hair, letting his eyes close and breathing in the calming scent of him. Even so upset, he smelled like home and it always grounded him when Scott felt like everything else in the world was falling apart. “I won’t hurt you, I can’t. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to protect you, Stiles. I don’t know how to do anything else. It’s fine, we’re fine. I just…”
It was impossible to say and Scott traced his fingers down the human’s neck, wishing he could steal away this kind of pain from Stiles’s skin. “What do you want me to do? I never wanted you to see me like that, and if you want the truth, I’ve been so much worse. I’m a monster, an animal, this was what he made me into. Years and years, Stiles, you can’t hold on to humanity that long. I killed for him because he wanted me to and I wanted to make him happy. I liked it, I was good at it. I can’t even tell you how many I killed because they never mattered. You get to the point where all you want is the rush and they stop being people anymore.” His voice was quiet and steady, belaying the horror of his words and the matter-of-fact way he spoke.
“This is what I really am. I’m the thing you’re supposed to put down, not invite back into your home.” Emotion drained from his eyes leaving them empty, the killer showing through. “How am I supposed to help you?”
----
Stiles wanted to ask for Scott’s hands. He wanted them everywhere. He wanted them to drag him back to bed, where they could hide for the rest of the week, or the month, or year. Stiles had a credit card. They could get delivery for 365 days, easy.
Scott looked like he could tear him apart. He looked like he knew Stiles’ every secret, and every thought before he could form them. The grip on his throat was gentle, but it would be so easy to rip through skin and tear through flesh. Stiles suppressed a shudder, and never wanted to be looked like that again. It felt too much like he had nothing to offer Scott, and that - Stiles couldn’t live with that.
"Is that all you think you are?" He asked. "A killer?"
He’d wait for however long it took to answer. He’d already waited for 11 years though, and Stiles was the sort who had to force patience. He traced down Scott’s cheek carefully, his thumb ghosting over lips that he loved kissing, and a face he loved waking up to every morning.
"After - the first time, at the hospital. After you kicked me out," he strained for a smile. The wounds hadn’t scabbed over long enough for it to be funny. "I looked over everything they found on Hale’s property. I knew. I- all I could think about was if you’d be okay. You are a killer. Maybe you enjoy it, but you - that guy was going to hurt us. That’s why you did it…"
Stiles laughed, strained, and tired, but he leaned closer so he could rest his head on his wolf’s shoulder. All long limbs and fuzzy hair, he looked like a giraffe hugging a lion probably. He didn’t stop. “Doesn’t make it any less fucked up. Doesn’t excuse - me. Being a shitty cop. Doesn’t make it better, but it’s more than I need. To fight for this.
"I’m scared, Scott." The words burned his tongue. Once upon a time, Stiles never would have had to say them. Scott would just know. Scott would have done everything to make it better, but they weren’t those people anymore. That Stiles would have cried at the sight of blood. That Scott never would have hurt a man. Stiles still loved his Scott so much. "And I don’t know what to do, but I’ll work it out. I swear. I’ll do something, just - stop looking at me like you think I’ll run away just because I’m scared."
Then after a beat, he forced a huff. “I got better at speech-ing while you were away.”
----
“You’re great at speech-ing, Stiles.” The reassurance slipped past his lips before he even thought, always celebrating his friend’s successes and building up his confidence like they were kids. It was instinctual, perhaps deeper engrained than even the wolf. It made him smile a little, easing just slightly against the counter.
“I’m scared too.” He admitted, finally meeting Stiles’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if it happened again, I’d do the same thing. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I wish I wasn’t like this, but I don’t know how to fix it. Dude, I…” He stumbled over the words, knuckles whitening has his grip against the counter tightened. “I’m afraid of hurting you, of course I am, but it’s worse knowing that you see this in me. I don’t want to be a killer with you, Stiles, I just want to be me and I can’t because know what I am. I don’t want to be something that scares you.”
Scott wanted to close the distance between them. If he couldn’t bridge the emotional gap, then at least the physical and mold his body against the human like they were one being with two heartbeats. This was agony, every part of him resisted like being apart was anathema but Stiles made the decision for him and the wolf sighed in relief. He wrapped his arms around the human, holding on like he was falling.
“I love you. God, I love you more than anything and it terrifies me, but is it enough? I made you risk everything for me because I killed that man and then lie about it. You’re not a killer and I dragged you into this and I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t leave you either, Stiles, I can’t…I tried before, but I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to and that’s not fair for you. All I do is hurt you and make things harder, I never wanted any of that for you. We can’t just fuck those problems away. I’m gonna get you killed someday and what am I going to do without you?”
With a sob, he buried his face into the human’s shoulder, body shaking as he finally broke. He cried for the man he’d killed without hesitation, for the fear of losing Stiles, for all the pain he’d gone through and the monster it had left behind, for the life he wished he had, for his mom… “I don’t know what the right thing is anymore! Please don’t be scared of me.”
----
The worst thing in the world was hearing Scott’s voice break. Part of him watched with clinical disinterest as pain painted itself across Scott’s features, in the lines of his face that looked so much like scars, in the way tears caught on long lashes. It left him cold. He wondered how much more would it take before he could pull off his own limbs. Stiles wanted to skip to the part where he couldn’t feel anymore. It could turn him into a cliche as long as it made dealing with this easier.
He left deep crescents along Scott’s back, gripping as tightly as he could, threatening to crush his ribs. This close, he could feel every hitch of breath, every aborted sob, and everyone Scott lost control of.
"I’m here," Stiles promised. "I’m not going away."
He carded his fingers through Scott’s hair, and he couldn’t promise he wasn’t scared. He couldn’t promise that he’d ever stop being scared, but when he said he wouldn’t leave, he meant it. He kissed down the side of Scott’s face. “You took care of us, okay? Don’t forget that Scott. Okay. You did it for us.”
Part of Stiles still wondered who he could ask his questions to. He had no answers for Scott, and he had nowhere to turn for them. He couldn’t hold Scott together, and there was no one to keep them strong. It was terrifying. He didn’t know what to do, and sometimes it felt like no matter how tightly held on, he never really reached Scott.
When his legs trembled and his arms shook, Stiles pushed on for as long as he could manage. It meant everything not to fail. It meant everything to keep fighting. As they sank to the ground, feeble and pathetic, Stiles hid his tears on his sleeve.
----
Scott cried until he was empty and quiet, leaning against Stiles in exhaustion. His eyes felt swollen, dark skin blotchy and streaked with tears, but the feeling had been replaced with blissful numbness. Fingers traced aimlessly down the human’s arm leaving invisible whorls and spirals drawn into his skin. He knew he should be feeling anxious that everything was slipping from his hands and afraid, but all he felt was a kind of inexplicable relief. All that guilt and grief held tight against his ribs finally broken free, letting him breathe for the first time in so long. In that cracked and shattered part of himself he found that boy he used to be and the man he might have been.
The wolf threaded his hands through Stiles’s hair, pulling him close to rest their foreheads together with a soft, ragged laugh. “We are so fucking stupid. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…it’s gonna be okay, Stiles. We’ll figure it out because we always do, I don’t care if it’s hard or damaged or doesn’t make any sense. We’re going to be okay.”
His voice was soft but laced with conviction, the sparks of faith almost extinguished flickering through him. He’d once believed in things so completely he could almost force the world around him to bend to it, but Scott had lost hope over the years. Somehow the barest hint had survived and he clung to it with a fierce desperation. Scott smiled, pulling Stiles’s hands to his lips to kiss along the knuckles.
“I can’t change what I am and I can’t promise it won’t happen again or that I’ll stop scaring you, but I love you. I could have died a hundred times before now, but I didn’t. You could have done anything with your life, but you did this. Somehow out of everywhere on earth, you actually found me and you saved my life, Stiles. You save it every day. I have a future because of you and even if I’m a monster and a killer, for the first time since I was fifteen year old, I’m human again too. We’re gonna make this work, trust me.”
----
"I got you speech-ing, too," Stiles whispered, and he tried to push closer. None of his limbs would cooperate. His ass was numb, and his back ached, but he refused to get off the floor even when he knew he already should have. It had seemed like forever since the first sob had broken free, and from that moment, it had been too much to bear. Scott apologized. Scott always apologized, and Stiles didn’t know if his forgiveness made a difference. He wished it did, so badly.
"You can have bad days or - weeks. Months. You don’t always have to believe we’ll make it, but it’s always gonna be a goal. I promise." He rasped, and it was so easy to say. The words even sounded sort of pretty. Stiles wondered if they could make a difference when either of them was having a bad day. Scott sounded so certain, so sure. He sounded so much like a hero Stiles used to know, one who’d kept him a live a million times over as a child. Stiles should have been inspired.
"And you don’t give yourself enough credit. So. So stop doing that," he finished lamely. Stiles thought of all the ways they had to mess up, and all the ways they somehow hadn’t. "You’re the only one I’ve ever needed…"
Despite all that, despite everything he said and knew and wanted, the weight on his shoulders felt too heavy. It had been a long time since Stiles couldn’t face his best friend. He kept his eyes closed now, tried to start making sense. Maybe he could go into another sermon about how they’d always fight for it. Stiles had been very good at that. “I’m kinda fucked up now, dude. Digging my own grave sorta shit. Please - please stay. I’m just gonna be fucked up for a little bit. I promise. I’m just going to bed.”
----
He pulled back as hope flickered and dimmed, smiling like his heart hadn’t broken. “Okay…there’s no rush, I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t leave you, I promise I’ll stay.” Scott gave a reassuring nod, tracing the back of his fingers down the side of his human’s face. His. Was Stiles still his? He hid the fear behind the smile, thankful no one could catch the lie in his heartbeat and pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s temple. “Go to sleep, dude. I’m gonna stay up a little while longer, I’m kind of wired.”
Scott forced his body to lie, years of training and skill to sell it. Tense muscle relaxed, sincerity shone through his expression. He pulled himself to his feet, switching off the stove with a quiet click. His stomach ached too much to think about eating now, bile burning the back of his throat. He snagged his now cold cup of tea and retreated back to the safety of the couch, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t fleeing.
The wolf tucked his legs beneath him, taking a sip of his tea and making a face at how strong it had gotten before abandoning it on the coffee table. It would work out, it had to. They’d been through too much together to let this fear break them apart. Doctor Tate was wrong, they were all wrong, they needed each other… It used to be so easy. They’d come together without a thought, best friends that had known everything about each other, each fear and ridiculous wish. They knew every scar in each other and had caused more than their share of them, memories written permanently in the flesh. It had been too long now, everything had changed and grown in unfamiliar patterns and Scott felt lost in something that should have been home.
He closed his eyes and searched for something he knew and understood to hold him down and keep him anchored. Scott shuddered when he realized it was Peter’s hands he felt ghosting across his skin.
----
All he wanted was to link his arms around Scott’s shoulders and pull him to bed. Stiles closed his eyes, and pretended that looking away from a problem meant it no longer existed. He’d done that for years. He did it when Lydia Martin ignored his existence, when Coach Finstock banished him to the bench - when his father picked up another bottle. He’d done it for months after Scott’s disappearance.
He’d never been very good at ignoring Scott. When he failed, he turned the world on its head to find him.
"What if I mess up?" He whispered, and Stiles didn’t recognize his own voice. "What happens when I mess up?" Stiles had always cared less than he should for serious matters. Scott McCall was the one issue that evened it all out.
Stiles didn’t know how he’d managed to drag himself to bed, but he did. Sleep came almost instantly, the moment he collapsed into sheets that still smelled like them, barely remembering to take off his socks. It didn’t matter.
Three hours later, with only the kitchen lamp to guide him, he padded towards the couch and told himself that Scott’s decision didn’t feel like an accusation. Curling into his werewolf seemed as easy as breathing. Stiles wanted to chase away that moment of irrational fear that had come when he woke to an empty bed.
----
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, television flickering hypnotically with the volume turned down so low only werewolf hearing could pick it up before it had shut itself off leaving him in darkness. He’d meant to go to bed, of course he had…of course he had. He wasn’t hiding from anything, it would all be fine. Scott jumped at the touch, eyes flying wide and managing to bite back the name that had intruded into his restless dreams.
“Hey…” The wolf relaxed into the warmth at his side, shifting stiff and numb limbs to better pull his human against him. If they didn’t say anything, he could pretend everything was okay again and he’d gotten so good at pretending. How much of this was a lie he’d built around Stiles and him? From the first time they’d crossed this line, they’d been lying about the world outside the door, the struggle they faced, the way they’d changed… Did they have anything that was real? Did he even care if it was real or not as long as he could make himself believe it?
Scott wanted to say I love you, but Stiles knew that already and it wouldn’t change anything. Nothing would, he didn’t have the words to fix it. Instead, he brushed the wild hair from his human’s forehead, settling himself beside him, each curve slotting together. At least some things still seemed to fit.
I’m sorry.
“Go back bed, Stiles. It’s late.”
----
If Scott hadn’t pulled him in, Stiles would have pushed his way through his partner’s grip, digging himself a nest in Scott’s arms. He smushed his face against his werewolf’s chest and openly refused to be brushed aside, come Hell or high water.
The cold had woken him. Ever since they’d shared a bed, Stiles had gotten accustomed to leaching Scott’s heat, taking advantage of how he ran just a few degrees hotter. Everything that wasn’t them and pillows normally ended kicked off the bed sometime in the night.
And there was nothing for Stiles to hold. He didn’t know how to cope with that. When he’d woken, his first instinct had been to call for help. His next had been to stop - everything, and perhaps that would have had a better chance at helping them then what he asked.
"Why’re you out here?" He murmured, unabashedly blunt. If there was a good answer to that, he didn’t know what it was.
----
Scott bit his lip, stroking his hand down Stiles’s back. “Sorry, I guess I just fell asleep. Didn’t mean to…” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t avoiding the bedroom, he hadn’t done it on purpose. Not really. He just hadn’t felt ready and dozed off, it wasn’t a big deal and didn’t mean anything. Scott could just keep telling himself that until it felt true.
He forced himself to smile even though it was too dark to see it, fully committed to playing the part. “Is everything okay? Why aren’t you sleeping?” Scott worried even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer tonight. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, Stiles was the one thing actually made sense in his fucked up life. How could something feel so familiar and be so different that he couldn’t understand any part of it anymore?
Nuzzling down against the human, he didn’t give any indication of moving, too comfortable with Stiles’s weight pressing him down. He’d earned this, some part of his life was supposed to be easy and good. He deserved some small happiness after everything, he wished he could actually keep it. “C’mon, let’s go back to bed, okay? There’s nothing to worry about, you need to get some sleep.”
----
"Damn better be sorry. I missed you," Stiles huffed into his partner’s clavicle, nipping at it in earnest, or rather, in as much earnest as he could manage so late in the evening. He closed his eyes in a bid to escape honesty. I thought you’d left. I didn’t trust that you’d come back. I thought you wanted to hurt me.
He ran a hand down Scott’s chest, hitching his leg so it nestled comfortably between his partner’s. They’d spent entire days in this position, trading lazy kisses and even lazier promises, too relaxed to even retrieve the remote. Now, Stiles used it to keep Scott trapped. He couldn’t regret it.
"You should tell me," he yawned, muffling it against Scott’s shoulder and curling back into position. It woke him more than he wanted to acknowledge. What he wanted to acknowledge started and ended where their skin touched, no more and certainly no less. "When you’re mad at me… Or disappointed. I can’t tell. I’m not like you, dude, and I just… I wanna be good, but when I mess up, you don’t come to bed."
----
The wolf smiled again, so hard to hang on to the fear with Stiles’s heart beating against his own chest in comforting rhythms. The tight anxiety unwound itself from his ribs, losing himself in the other man like he always did when they were so close. Lying tangled until he couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose, the difference between what was real and what was their perfect little lie didn’t seem to matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Scott slipped a hand beneath his human’s shirt, tracing fingers lightly down the knobs of his spine to settle low, fingertips teasing along the hem of his pants. “You didn’t mess up, Stiles. I’m not mad or disappointed, is that really what you thought?” His fingers dug harder into pale skin like they could pull the doubt from his body. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch, I wasn’t avoiding you. I just kinda conked out.” He made it the truth, putting the full force of his conviction behind it and making himself believe.
“I just want to be the person you think you see in me and I’m the one who let you down. All I do is cause you problems, you keep risk everything for me and I wish you wouldn’t.” He hesitated before pressing his lips to the side of Stiles’s face. “But I’m so glad you do. I wish I didn’t scare you, but I’ll take anything if you just keep me.” He wanted to ask if they were okay, if they’d rushed into everything and were now paying the price. He wanted to know if this was actually going to work or if they were just so relived to find each other again they’d created something that burned too hot when they barely recognized the men they’d grown into. Instead he kneaded his fingertips into Stiles’s ass and kept the questions locked inside. “I’d always come back to bed with you, dude. I don’t remember how to sleep well without you.”
----
"M’butt." Stiles complained, wrinkling his brow as he tried to paw his way deeper into Scott’s chest. It already felt like he was drowning in the feel of his partner’s skin, like the only thing keeping him afloat was Scott’s insistent hands and the husky rumble of his voice. Stiles would pay good money to listen to Scott narrate books. He’d - probably not pay attention to the books, sure, and maybe get really hard off of pieces of literature, but he would pay some damn good money.
Except Scott sounded like he was trying to break Stiles’ heart, and that couldn’t be fair when it already belonged to Scott. It had always belonged to him.
"You’re allowed to let me down," Stiles mumbled, but the way he dragged his gaze up Scott’s face suggested he just wished they could maintain their sleepy intimacy. "I’m allowed to let you down. It’s just… We gotta be okay, with - letting each other down. Sometimes. Not in bed. Not that it’ll ever happen, but if I ever let you down like that, dude, so giving you a blow-y."
He dragged himself up the length of Scott’s body, not an ounce of grace to spare so he could peck clumsy kisses across his lover’s cheek and jaw. When he sighed, it was too loud against Scott’s ear, but Stiles succumbed to relief with no regrets. He couldn’t think that their problems had settled, or that their lives would sail smoothly from here on out, but he could find relief in Scott’s fingers, in his lips and skin.
In how Scott was still here.
"You shouldn’t take anything. You deserve everything… From me. From everyone." He snorted, sluggish and grumpy as he draped himself over Scott’s body like an overly pale blanket. "I’m afraid you’ll just - go away one day. Because you think I don’t want this, or like, I’m being stupidly heroic or something. I don’t think you get how much I need you, and you’re kinda dumbass for that, but I love you - because of it. Not despite it."
He paused, to sniffle dramatically. “Can’t believe you ditched our bed for the couch dude, the hell is that?”
----
“My butt.” He argued back, palming the flesh in his hands and giving it a squeeze. He could still find the humor, the slight absurdity they lived in whenever things got too serious. Scott wasn’t sure he could ever get used to disappointing Stiles, but he could learn how to be better at this human relationship thing. He could be a killer, he could be a pet, but somewhere along the line he’d lost what it meant to be human. It might take a while and he might make mistakes, but he needed to learn how to be a better Scott McCall.
“You can give me a blowjob anytime, dude, you don’t have to let me down first.” The world settled again, warm, lazy feeling of Stiles’s mouth chasing away the memories of Hales and guilt. It wrote over the feeling of Peter’s hands, adding new chapters to the way the touch made him feel and bled the poison from what had once been so tainted.
“I don’t want anything, just you. And a job. And a cool ass motorcycle. And maybe to get my face off the tv for a while.” Calloused fingers caught under Stiles’s jaw and tipped his head up so Scott could kiss him. “I promise you.” He murmured against the human’s mouth. “As long as I’m strong enough to keep fighting, nothing would take me away from you. I’m done running, you’re my home.”
With a wiggle, he managed to sit up further on the couch, pulling the human up into his arms and gathering his body close. Werewolf strength made it easy for all that Stiles was broader and just a tiny hardly noticeable at all bit taller. Ignoring any sounds of protest, he lifted them both from the couch and carried him gracefully through the dark apartment, nightvision making the trip easy and without any bruised shins. He laid Stiles carefully in their bed and climbed on top of him, kissing the edge of the man’s jaw and down his neck as Scott wrapped his entire body around him.
“Better? I wouldn’t want you to wake up stiff or anything. At least not your back.” Any other problems could wait until morning when sunlight forced them to confront their fears. Now in the darkness, the only thing that mattered was the way they touched.
----
Stiles was inches taller, whole frigging inches, and if he wasn’t busy cuddling Stiles into submission, they would have a serious discussion about just how much taller Stiles was. When he was picked up, Stiles had whined for all of two whole seconds. Then he went back to absently mouthing at Scott’s clavicles, like he could convince his partner to take off all his clothes if he kept working them over enough.
They landed with a plop in a tangle of arms and legs, and all that mattered was that Scott was everywhere. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted, Stiles promised without words, kissing his wolf again and again and again. Scott would get his job and his motor cycle and a billion blow jobs, not necessarily in that order. Scott would make a new life with him. They would make it better than the one they were forced to give up, all those years ago, and when they were like this, it was easy to see all the things that they could have, instead of all the things they’d lost.
"My butt," Stiles countered, reaching over to squeeze the cleft of Scott’s cheeks, snickering like his wit could overwhelm them both.
"You’re gonna take care of me." Stiles decided, stating what should have always been a fact. "And I’m gonna take care of you."
He let easy acceptance settle over his bones, refusing to doubt the truths that would carry them through. No matter what happened, no matter what else they had to face - they would take care of each other. Stiles was still snickering as he sank into their pillows. How easy it was, he marveled, to lay back now, when Scott could hold him down. How easy everything was, as long as Scott was by his side.
"And not just when you’re naked."
I love you, Stiles thought, greedily smuggling this moment into his memory. He didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud. He was too busy snoring.
----
Odd how things seemed so much clearer in the dark. Scott had nothing of his own except this, and he’d been worried that with all the world battering to get inside and their own mistakes breaking them down from the inside that love wouldn’t be enough. That idea didn’t make sense to him now, tangled tight with the man who made him stronger, the touchstone that kept him human. The rift between them seemed hardly more than hairline fracture and Scott could cross that divide with ease. Of course love would be enough. Love was everything, the only part of this that couldn’t be fixed or forced into place. Nothing would be easy and finding that balance would take time and effort, but as long as love remained, the rest would follow.
“Your butt.” He acceded with a sigh, wriggling a bit beneath Stiles’s hands. His breathing stopped as the words hit home, an unfamiliar sense of pride blooming in his chest. He brought something to this relationship, he wasn’t just a burden or a pet, but a partner. Scott would take care of Stiles and carry him when things got rough, just the same as when they were kids, and Stiles would do the same without hesitation.
That meant something so, so important.
He’d killed a man to protect them, he would be willing to fight whatever else life through at them to keep this, even if it was their own insecurities. Some things were worth a little agony.
“I love you.” Scott echoed, words lost in the human’s skin as he refused to stop worshiping that perfect pale flesh with his mouth. He smiled into Stiles’s shoulder, surrendering to sleep.