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Scott always was a very tactile person. Maybe he picked it up from his mother, who always used to hug him or rub his arms whenever he felt down - she still does, actually. In any case, physical contact has always been for him a way of conveying emotions, of feeling connected to others. A slight bump of shoulders for you’re going to be okay, a firm hand holding for you’re not alone and we’re going go get through this together, a kiss on the forehead for I’m here for you, always. That’s how he showed how much he cared, because words were not always enough.
(When he took Lydia’s hand in his own and she tightened her fingers so hard around his, holding onto him as if she was drowning, lost at sea, and he was both a beacon and a lifeline–
When he brushed his thumb across Kira’s blood-stained hands, soothing her fears away with soft kisses, and she looked at him as if he was the cool rain after months of drought–
When he pulled Malia out of the crossfire and she leaned on him, exhilarated and terrified at the same time, looking at him as if she was at war and he was her colonel–
When he hugged Stiles so tight in the hospital, crying and promising he would do anything to save him, and Stiles looked at him with the eyes of a condemned man, as if he was the light getting further and further away–
When he put his hand on Liam’s shaking shoulder, telling him he wasn’t a monster and hugging him close, and Liam looked up to him as if he was the blinding sun–
He really felt like he was making a difference.)
(He only wishes they would look at him as if he was just Scott)
And ever since he became a werewolf, gaining the capacity of taking pain away, touch also became a way of freeing people from their suffering, making them feel better (and that’s all he wants to do, really, he just wants to help and save people but somehow he always fails).
But after the last few days, he’s not so sure he can do that anymore. What used to be a way of giving hope, compassion and support, is now just painful. He’s tired, sore of all the pain he’s ever taken, invisible black veins permanently running from his hands to his heart. He aches from all the ephemeral wounds and scars that ever plagued his body, and feels them burn every time someone touches his skin.
Liam is afraid, always afraid even when he is brave, and Scott just wanted to make it easier for him. So he would pat him on the shoulder, on the cheek, and hug him tight (I’m here and I’m going to protect you, don’t worry). But now … he can’t touch him anymore. When Liam’s fingers slightly brush against his, all he can feel is pain and helplessness and claws tearing his flesh apart (and it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it never stops), yellow eyes brightened by white-hot rage and the want to kill– no, the want to erase Scott from existence, to char him and his body until there’s nothing left of him. And so he winces and pulls away, and now Liam’s eyes are baby blue and plagued with guilt and sadness, and Scott wants to reach out to comfort him but he can’t, he just can’t (it feels like dying over and over again).
He used to be quite tactile with Theo, too. Although for once, he wasn’t the one offering the support but the one receiving it. Theo had quickly become a calm and steady presence at his side, always helpful and understanding, always saying the right words and doing the right things (he should have known it was too good to be true, but he was a parched madman and Theo had seemed like an overflowing oasis). They would sit next to each other and Scott would lean on Theo’s side, or Theo would put a firm and reassuring hand on his shoulder, settling him - the same hand that dug in his chest, dug through the skin and flesh and bone, hungry and prying for his heart. (Theo isn’t hungry, he’s voracious and insatiable and wants to devour them all, and he did manage to consume Scott, leaving teared up and bloody pieces of him all over Beacon Hills.)
He hasn’t touched Theo since that night, but every time he sees him, it feels like his last breath is knocked out of his lungs once again. And when Theo looks at him with his piercing eyes and cruel smile, it’s like his clawed hand is back in Scott’s chest, a painful and constant reminder of his failures. (He doesn’t know what would happen if Theo touched him again. He feels like it would break the few pieces of him he managed to gather. He thinks it might kill him again.)
Stiles–
It’s painful to even think about Stiles. They used to be so close, physically and emotionally. From bumbling children to awkward teenagers, they always had been stumbling over one another and gripping to each other for dear life. Always bumping shoulders, hugging, holding hands so tight (I will always be here for you no matter what). Clasped hands on necks, elbows in ribs and bodies pressed together. Touching Stiles used to be comforting and grounding. (Now it just hurts.)
Even after the Nogitsune incident, physical contact with Stiles hadn’t bothered Scott. It hadn’t been his best friend, but a monster wearing his skin, and Scott managed to draw a clear line between the two. Stiles had been more of a victim than him anyway, and Allison–
(Do not think about her do not think about her cold hands red lips touching yours and the blood so thick and sticky between your fingers do not)
But this time it wasn’t the Nogitsune. It was Stiles, screaming and slamming him into a wall, onto the floor. His brutal grip searing into his shoulders and arms, burning through the clothes (it would’ve left purple black bruises on his skin if he didn’t heal so fast but it heals so it’s okay it’s okay). Reproaches spurting from his mouth like venom, eyes not glowing but full of the same destructive rage that animated Liam a few hours before. Stiles with murder in his eyes and poison in his mouth - it feels like a déjà vu.
(He knew Stiles would be angry, he knew he would be desperate because his father was dying, and when Stiles is desperate he gets mad and aggressive and breaks things, but he would never have thought that Stiles–
that his own best friend–
that Stiles would break him in a fit of rage like he broke so many meaningless things before.
Is he meaningless ?)
Scott gets it. Really, he does. The pain, the rage, the suffocating anxiety that leads to it. And he wishes Stiles didn’t take it all out on him, but he is his best friend so he forgives him. Easily. (Maybe he shouldn’t.) That’s who he is and that’s what he does, especially with Stiles (people are dying, their friends are in danger, he can’t be selfish right now.)
And now the incident is behind them. Except that it’s not. Because every time that their arms accidentally brush, or that Stiles places a casual hand on his shoulder, Scott flinches.
(Because every time that someone touches him, he feels the burn of Stiles’ clutch on his arms, the stinging pain of Liam’s claws ripping him apart, the phantom ache of his back being slammed into walls and floors and library tables–
and the gaping hole that Theo dug in his chest keeps bleeding and bleeding and it looks like it will never stop–
and then older wounds open up again, the ghostly but vivid pain of arrows and claws and bullets and electricity boring through his flesh and–
suddenly he can’t breathe his lungs won’t work and he doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or asthma or wolfsbane.)
It’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed, and every time Stiles quickly pulls away. He tries to give Scott some space, but it’s not easy to do so when they are trying to survive chimeras and Dread Doctors (and when they’re so used to touch each other all the time). Stiles is concerned, but still doesn’t understand (he still hasn’t apologized for hitting him, but why would he apologize for something he doesn’t perceive as wrong ?). Scott doesn’t say anything about it (he shouldn’t have to).
Scott is exhausted, aching, raw skin peeled off to expose throbbing flesh. He took too many hits, sucked in too many pain, and now he’s saturated, pain oozing from his pores.
He needs to pull himself back together, but doesn’t know how. He wants to find comfort in touch again, but doesn’t know how. He doesn’t have the time to gather pieces of himself when he has a broken pack to repair.
All he can do is tell himself I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine over and over again, and hope that one day it will be true.