Work Text:
It wasn’t strange now when Stiles felt the familiar warm hand settle on his shoulder after an encounter with the supernatural, only for the weariness and sharp aching pain to slowly dissipate into something manageable. Tonight was no different. While nobody was grievously injured, this encounter did knock most of their pack down hard. Liam was with Mason and Corey and Theo—which don’t get him started on those four and whatever the fuck was going on in that group because he couldn’t tell you and while he wanted to know he also definitely didn’t. Malia was helping Lydia to her feet, voices low as they leaned together to talk, their gazes a mixture of concern and what looked like fondness but don’t ask Stiles because despite having dated both of them, he couldn’t tell you what was going on there. Derek was talking with Braeden, and it all seemed okay, nonetheless.
Scott had gone around, done his “rounds” as Stiles now called it in his head. Made sure everyone was alright, that nobody was dealing with too much pain. Whenever one of the others took pain from someone, he seemed to circle around and take it as well. Stiles had wished that Scott would stop sooner rather than later, but he knew that was an argument that he could not win, no matter how hard he tried. Scott was someone who valued other’s safety first and foremost, and while Stiles admired him for it, he also knew that it meant that Scott would put himself into the crossfire.
But thankfully, they were able to make it back to Scott’s place, where Stiles was going to sit Scott down and make them both coffee, just something as they came down from the rush of adrenaline. At least, that had been the plan. But when they arrived at the McCall Home, the moment Scott seemed to stop for a minute and actually breathe, Stiles watched as brown eyes rolled back and his legs collapse under him; he was only just lucky enough to catch him, stumbling a bit under the weight.
“Jesus Scotty, coulda warned me you were a beef cake,” was breathed out as Stiles worked on getting Scott to comfortably be on the wooden floors, rather than face-first. While he knew the werewolf would be fine eventually, something was very wrong and Stiles was trying his damn best to not panic.
After an embarrassing amount of time struggling to get Scott safely into the Jeep, Stiles called up Derek. Apparently he had interrupted something, but at this moment, Stiles didn’t give a damn.
“Something’s wrong with Scott. Meet me at the clinic.” It was as simple as that, as Stiles put his phone on speaker as he called Deaton before making his way to the clinic.
When he arrived, Derek was already there to help Stiles get the still-unconscious Scott into the vet clinic and onto the steel table, where Deaton was already standing with a concerned look across his face. Stiles had been trying to keep his anxiety tampered down, but the fact that Deaton seemed so nervous just skyrocketed his own worries. He sat down in one of the foldable chairs Deaton had started leaving in there due to moments like this, leaving him face-to-face with his best friend, who seemed to be breathing somewhat shallowly but steady.
His leg bounced as he ran a shaky hand through that dark hair that Scott had been letting himself grow out, heart racing. “C’mon Scotty,” he breathed out, pressing his forehead to Scott’s, hating the fact that it seemed almost clammy with cold sweat. “Wake up so we know what’s going on.”
The first words said by Deaton after he seemed to get Scott’s vitals down—don’t ask Stiles how, as he hadn’t been paying enough attention—was “what caused him to collapse?”
Stiles gave a shrug, still watching over Scott and now casually petting Scott, unable to look away for a second. As if seeing that Stiles wasn’t really in the most talkative mood—the adrenaline finally fading away, leaving exhaustion and worry in its wake where speaking was just too much—Derek addressed Deaton.
“What could have caused this? He had been fine when he had gotten into the car with Stiles. And Stiles is fine, so unless something happened-”
Before Derek could even finish that sentence, Stiles was whipping around to face the two of them, eyes narrowing as the two were looking at him with slight apprehension. Sure, his track record wasn’t the best, but for fuck’s sake, they could at least have some faith in him.
“No , it wasn’t me. We got into the car, drove to Scott’s house, and the moment he was just standing there, he just fucking collapsed.” And he hated how his voice cracked on the last word, the worry seeping in like an infection.
“You said you got into a fight?” Stiles gave a shrug at Deaton’s question.
“I mean, yeah, you could say that. It was some Fair Folk. We were trying to make sure no more people came to their circles and they weren’t happy about it. Scotty being Scotty took way more pain from them after we settled things, and then went around doing his rounds.”
A look of contemplation came across Deaton’s face, but before any of them could say anything, a groan came from right behind Stiles, causing the brunet to whip back around. A nervous breathy laugh came from his lips as he saw brown eyes blearily blinking up from the table as Scott came back to consciousness. Stiles brought a shaky hand through Scott’s hair, relief rushing through his system at seeing Scott was awake.
“Shit, Scotty. Really gave me a fright back there. How do ya feel?"
"Like a someone tried to ring a gong using a sledgehammer against my knees." There was silence in the room as they all tried to process what Scott just said.
"I... what?" Scott's eyes opened a bit more to look at Stiles, amusement battling exhaustion in those warm brown eyes.
"It feels like somebody took a sledgehammer, and tried to ring a gong multiple times. However, instead of a gong, it's my kneecaps."
Stiles turned back around to Deaton and Derek, alarms ringing out in his head. He opened his mouth to try to figure out what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but Deaton spoke before he could get a word in.
“Scott, how much pain have you taken in the past few days?” They all turned to look at Scott, who was still laying on the table, face scrunched up in thought, looking as if thinking hurt at the moment.
“I…I dunno. I kinda lost count. I was at the hospital with my Mom yesterday, and there had been a fire. Lots of people had inhaled smoke and some had some nasty burns, so I just…kinda went around and helped.” Despite the hesitancy in Scott’s voice to explain, his gaze was anything but, reminding Stiles that Scott would always try to help take away pain however he could.
“And then you got into the altercation with the Fair Folk?” Scott gave a nod of his head, wincing a bit in a way that made Stiles feel as though he was drenched with a bucket of ice water. Scott didn’t wince like that unless he was seriously hurt, but they had checked before they got into the car. He had seemed fine.
“I see what the issue here is.” Stiles turned his head over his shoulder, all eyes on Deaton as they took in his wisdom. “Your healing factor can only handle taking too much pain, and in doing so, your body collapsed underneath the strain it went through in such a short amount of time.”
“How can that be possible?” Derek had his arms crossed over his chest, face set in a way that Stiles had come to learn meant he was more concerned than he’d like to let on. “When I was an Alpha, when I took Cora’s pain, it ended up taking the power that made me an Alpha. So if Scott has taken so much pain that he can’t just heal from it, why is he still an Alpha?”
And that was it, wasn’t it? The million dollar question to Deaton’s explanation. Stiles glanced back at Scott, meeting wide eyes for a moment before Scott was sitting up, groaning as he slowly made his way vertically. Stiles had moved his hand from Scott’s head, placing it on Scott’s knee in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture to Scott, but was probably just a way to ground himself. He jumped a bit when a familiar calloused hand wrapped around his own, and Stiles looked up to see a weak crooked grin come from Scott. Stiles gave a reaffirming squeeze of his hand, only to be met with one of Scott’s own. They turned their attention back to Deaton, their hands staying intertwined.
“See, I understand why you would say that, due to your own experience. But remember, Derek, Scott is a True Alpha. What we do know of them is very little, but that spark cannot be taken away; that much, we know. So, we can only assume that, due to this factor, the way his healing processes that much pain is the way most human bodies would.”
“Wait,” came Scott’s voice, a tad bit rough and hesitant. “Does that mean that…when I take too much pain, it’s going to affect me longer than it normally would?” Deaton nodded his affirmation.
“In a way, yes. Rather than it being an overwhelming slash of pain in that moment as you take away the pain, your body is going to process it slower and spread it throughout your system. Think of it as…almost a mediator of sorts. Rather than overwhelming your pain receptors, it brings a constant dull wave for a longer period of time. Similar to chronic pain conditions in people.”
Stiles watched as Scott processed this information, eyebrows raising up in surprise. He felt another squeeze of his hand, and he saw that Scott seemed more nervous about this information than he let on.
“I…okay. Am I okay to stand now?” A smile grew on Deaton’s face as he gave a nod of his head.
“If you feel up to it. Make sure to drink plenty of water once you get back, and maybe a hot bath would help. Take it easy for a while, Scott.”
And it took a moment, but soon enough, Stiles and Scott left Derek and Deaton to talk about the finer points of the matter. Sure, Stiles was dying to know what the hell Deaton meant, but the way Scott moved slowly and grimaced as he walked to the door cemented Stiles’ determination to get Scott the fuck home.
The drive was mostly quiet, but soon enough, Stiles pulled the jeep to the side of the road, putting it in park and turning to face Scott.
“Scott, you need to learn how to take care of yourself.” Well that hadn’t been what Stiles had expected to say. Especially not with his voice sounding so strained and tense with worry. “You’re going to kill yourself if you keep doing this.” He watched as Scott set his jaw, eyes hardening as the two made eye contact.
“Stiles, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I can’t just…I can’t just wait around while people are hurting and I can do something.” Stiles gave a grunt of frustration, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he looked out the windshield.
“And I can’t handle seeing you collapse like you did today. I- I know you just want to help. But Deaton said your body is going to be handling it like, chronically. We didn’t even know that could happen since you became a werewolf.” Feeling his throat tighten, he gripped the steering wheel just shy of too tight.
“What if…Scotty, what if the asthma comes back as bad as before?” And Stiles’ mind already started to wander, remembering the times where Scott had been sent to the hospital as he struggled to suck air into his lungs, helpless to do anything about it.
A tan hand reached over and rested atop of Stiles’ on the steering wheel, and Stiles turned his head to see Scott’s face, as the alpha werewolf leaned over the middle.
“We’ll figure it out, Stiles. I…I don’t like this anymore than you do. My body feels like strung out taffy and that I need to crack every bone in my body. I…I hate this feeling now. But if this is the price to pay to help someone, I’ll take it.”
“You don’t have to!” And oh, that’s what was upsetting Stiles so much. “You constantly give and give and give, and it’s pulling you apart! Why can’t you just…for once, be selfish and have self-preservation?” And he felt his chest tighten a bit, his stomach dropping at the idea of something happened when Scott was like this.
“If- if something happens when you’re like this, we don’t know how you’ll be affected. And Scott, I don’t want to risk that. You’re too good of a person to lose.” The unspoken words of ‘I can’t lose you’ hung in the air between them, the only thing heard in the car was Stiles’ ragged breathing.
“Well, I have you there to watch my back.” And Scott was smiling at him and why was he smiling? A hand came up against Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles let out a slow exhale, letting his eyes fall close. The two pressed their foreheads together, just taking in each other’s company.
“Just for the record, I am going to pamper the fuck outta you when we get to your place. You don’t get to argue. I’m cooking and you’re going to sit on the couch wrapped in blankets and relaxing.”
“Don’t burn the tamales this time.” Stiles’ eyes flashed open as he glared at Scott, who was giving him a teasing grin.
“I am making empanadas, thank you very much.” Stiles let himself pull back and start up the car once more, gazing out the windshield as he slowly pulled back onto the road.
Scott gave a quiet laugh next to him, pulling away slowly until he placed his hand over Stiles’ on the gear shift, the silence now comfortable between the two. Scott always tended to push himself past the expected limits of all things, sometimes good and sometimes bad. But a promise Stiles made to himself and Scott in the privacy of his own mind was that he was going to be there with Scott, every step of the way.