Chapter Text
Stiles first brought it up outside Eichen before they visited Dr. Valack. “There has to be a point where self-defense is justified.”
Scott glances away, rubbing his arms. “They’re victims too. They didn’t ask for this.”
Stiles’ mind flashes back to the red circling down the drain as he washed Donavan’s blood off his hands. “What if they weren’t good before?”
“Stiles,” Scott leans against the hood of Stiles’ jeep next to him. “We have to protect everyone.”
Then Kira almost died, and they nearly came face to face with evil doctors bending the rules between science and the supernatural. Melissa finds the four of them piled onto her living room couch when she comes home after her shift.
“Do I want to know?” She asks.
They shake their heads in unison, except for Kira, who groans and flops back onto a pillow. Scott leans a little onto Stiles’ shoulder, and Melissa pats her son’s head before going upstairs to take a shower.
Eventually, Lydia insists on driving Kira home, and they wave at Scott and Stiles as the door shuts behind them. Scott leans fully into Stiles, tucking his head under Stiles’ chin. It seems like only seconds before he’s snoring softly.
But Stiles can’t sleep. Every time he tries, he watches Donovan take his last breath. He sees the scaffolding pin in that stupid plastic box at Eichen. He finds an empty floor where blood had been just moments before.
When he can’t take the silence anymore, he nudges Scott awake. “Hey,” he says, brushing his thumb over Scott’s cheek. “I have to get home. My dad’s probably worried.”
Scott nods blearily before shifting to let Stiles out from under him. “Are you going to bed?” Stiles asks, kneeling down next to the couch.
“Mhm,” Scott murmurs quietly.
Stiles chuckles before grabbing a blanket from the closet and laying it out over Scott. He leans down and ruffles Scott’s hair, kissing his forehead before sneaking out the door.
---
It’s around one in the morning when he finally falls asleep, only to be plagued with nightmares of Donovan’s lamprey teeth and wendigo eyes. He didn't even know what a lamprey was until a few days ago.
God his life is messed up.
His phone rings on his nightstand. Scott's name glows on his screen and he clicks answer.
“You left?” Scott's voice is hushed, like maybe he hasn't quite woken up yet.
Stiles is immediately out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats. He hates when Scott sounds devastated like that; the way he did when his parents split. “I needed to let my dad know I was okay. He knew we were going to go to Eichen today, and I figured he would be worried if I didn't come home.”
His father’s door is cracked open, and Stiles tries his best to avoid the particularly creaky floorboards as he heads for the stairs.
“Why didn't you come back?” Scott sounds clearer, but it breaks at the end.
Stiles turns on his jeep before peeling out of his driveway, praying that his father’s sleeping deeply tonight. “I wanted to let you sleep.”
The other end of the line is silent, so Stiles ends the call and goes well over the speed limit down the road.
He pulls up to Scott's house without any frantic calls from his father, so he manages to go inside with a clear head. It’s good, since Scott has sunk deeply into the couch cushions, staring in the distance. He glances up when he hears the door open.
His eyes immediately soften. “Stiles.” His voice melts around that single syllable.
Scott holds up the blanket to let Stiles in under it, but Stiles just scoops him up and carries him upstairs. He kicks open the bedroom door and deposits Scott on his bed before chucking his shoes in the corner and getting in beside him. Scott immediately shifts closer, prompting Stiles to wrap his arms around him. The window's cracked, and the soft breeze floating inside ruffles Stiles' hair. He listens as Scott’s breathing evens out, trying not to think about the past few days in a desperate attempt to sleep.
When Scott's alarm rings, Stiles jerks awake. He can't remember when he'd fallen asleep, or when he managed to become the little spoon with Scott's arms wrapped tightly around his middle.
Scott kisses his forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to take a shower. It's happened so many times before–Stiles waking up in Scott's bed–but it's different now. Stiles has never kept a secret from Scott before.
There's a knock from the hall and Melissa pokes her head in. “Scott? You up?”
She startles when she notices someone who isn't her son in his bed, but she calms down when she realizes it's just Stiles.
“Good morning.” Stiles croaks. “Could you…”
Melissa just smiles. “I'll let him know you're safe.”
Stiles is still in bed when Scott exits the bathroom a few minutes later, steam trailing in his wake. “Do you need to shower?” He asks.
Stiles shakes his head in response. “I showered last night.”
Scott nods, chucking a clean shirt and pair of pants at Stiles. He groans into a pillow, before reluctantly heaving himself out from under the covers.
“Why do we have to go to school today?” Stiles mutters as he pulls the clean shirt over his head.
Scott chuckles lightly, and even though Stiles is facing away from him while he's changing, he can see the light in his best friend's eyes.
“We don't have to, we could skip if you really wanted to. Kira's probably at home today. We could keep her company.”
Stiles frowns. Scott knows he would never purposefully skip, even on a bad day. His grades are precarious at best, and his dad will ground him if they tip the wrong way.
They've been doing this ever since their first sleepover when they were seven. Stiles would complain about something, and Scott would propose a solution he knew Stiles would never agree to.
He can't be too mad though, because, as usual, Scott embraces Stiles from behind and rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder. They started doing this when they were ten and Stiles was having a panic attack. Scott didn't know how to help, so he hugged him. Since then, it's slowly inched into their morning routine whenever they're together.
“Today will be great.” Scott whispers.
---
To be fair, Scott hadn't lied this morning when he said today would be great. The day was actually quite nice. It’s the night that sucks.
It’s pouring rain when Stiles finally gets to the vet clinic. Scott’s dismounting his bike, already soaked to the bone.
“Scott?” Stiles asks quietly.
He almost thinks Scott didn’t hear him, until he pulls something metal out of his jacket. The wrench. The one he used to defend himself after Donovan’s stupid Wendigo teeth chomped on his shoulder. There’s some dried blood crusted on the top of it. “Where’d you get that?”
Scott steps closer, holding it out for Stiles to take. “This is yours?” It’s phrased as a question, but Stiles wholeheartedly believes Scott already knows the answer.
The wrench is freezing, like it’d been outside for a while before Scott put it in his coat. Stiles tries to focus on the cold biting into his palm, and not the devastation in his best friend’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott’s voice breaks on the last word.
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he wishes hard enough, he can go back to this morning when Scott’s arms were warm; wrapped tightly around him.
“I was going to.” He admits.
Scott takes another step closer. “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”
The warmth from his hand leeches into the wrench, stealing the only thing grounding Stiles in this moment. His brain switches to the dampness of his shirt on his skin. Not great, but better than nothing. “I couldn’t.” He whispers. It sounds so pitiful.
Another step. Scott's close enough now that Stiles can see his breath cloud slightly in front of him. “You killed him? You killed Donovan?”
Stiles stares at the wrench in his hands. Rain is slowly collecting at the top, and if he squints, it’s almost like the blood isn’t even there. He looks back at Scott. “Yeah, but he was going to kill my dad. What was I supposed to do? Let him? Scott, I’m not just going to let my dad die. I can’t—I can’t lose him, too.”
Scott takes the next few steps all at once, and Stiles jumps a little at his sudden nearness.
Scott holds Stiles’ face in his hands and tips his head slightly so their eyes meet. It takes Stiles as second to process what’s there. It isn’t disgust, or even anger. “I’m not blaming you, Stiles. I’m not accusing you. I would have done the exact same thing if he was threatening you.”
That catches him off guard. “What?” He murmurs, his voice lost in the pounding of rain against the cement.
“Stiles, if Donovan had been threatening you, I would have killed him. I don’t even care if it wasn’t in self defense. I’m not willing to lose you.”
“It was in self defense.” Stiles can feel the tears coming. He doesn’t exactly know where they’re coming from. His emotions are a mess. He’s probably stinking up the whole parking lot with his chemosignals.
Scott tugs Stiles into a hug so tight, he literally can’t breathe. Sometimes he wonders if Scott forgets he’s a werewolf in situations like these. Scott releases Stiles after a few seconds, but his arms stay loosely around him.
Scott presses his lips to the side of Stiles’ head, right above his ear. “I believe you.” He says softly.
Stiles clings to Scott’s jacket, sobbing into his shoulder. The weight of this secret had been killing him. He’s just glad it’s out now. He finds himself doubly glad that Scott doesn’t toss him away.
There’s a loud bang from inside the clinic, and they both jolt. Scott throws open the door, fully leaping over the half door between the desk and the office. Stiles just pushes through it. If the situation were different, he would have laughed. But when he comes up behind Scott and sees what’s in the room, all the potential laughter dies.
Theo’s panting in the corner. He’s got blood on his hands, his eyes are bright yellow, and his fangs are bared. Several vials and bottles are shattered on the floor, and there’s a large dent in the locked cabinet door.
Scott’s jaw drops slightly. “What the hell happened, Theo?”
Theo glares at Scott, shoving off the wall and stalking over to them. “Why’d you have to forgive him, Scott? When I was so close,” his claws make a tapping sound against the examination table. Scott takes a small step in front of Stiles, sticking his arm out slightly to cover him.
Theo keeps talking. “I did everything right. I orchestrated it perfectly. The only thing I didn’t account for was this.” He gestures between Scott and Stiles. “You fucking love him, don’t you?”
Scott growls then, his eyes shining red. “What are you talking about?” His tone is deceptively calm.
“They wanted me in your pack. I forced myself back to this shit-hole of a town, clawed my way through high school, I pretended I was good for so long.” His eyes are back to their original color, but there’s a manic glint in them that makes Stiles wish they were still yellow.
Theo’s got them backed against the wall now, and he’s still going. “I sent Donovan for Stiles; to wound, not kill. But you know how Wendigos get. Their appetite is never really sated. I wasn’t really that bothered, cause if Stiles was dead, then I could get into the pack for sure. Unfortunately, when I got to the library that night, Donovan’s fucking impaled on a metal beam, the idiot.”
Stiles’ brain is working overtime to connect what Theo’s ranting about. So he sent Donovan after Stiles. Explains why he knew about him being dead.
“You sent a wendigo after Stiles?” Scott has completely lost his calm demeanor. “A wendigo that, prior to turning into one, was already gunning for Stiles’ family? Seems to me like you went for the kill from the beginning, huh?”
Theo smirks, and Scott punches him in the face. “My pack isn't some study group you can join when someone leaves. And if you'd killed Stiles, you wouldn't have made it to the town line before that same pack you were so desperate to get into killed you.”
Theo laughs, which sounds weird due to the blood pouring down his face. “You don't kill people, Scott. It's against your rules.”
“Rules can have exceptions, and Stiles is the exception for every member of the pack.”
There’s a faint clicking coming from the back door of the clinic. Stiles tenses, remembering the terror he’d felt when he’d first heard the sound. Theo and Scott seem to be too angry to realize the Dread Doctors are literally right outside.
Theo opens his mouth as though to speak, but all that comes out is blood. Momentarily, Stiles believes it’s from the nosebleed Scott gave him, but then he sees the needle in the side of Theo’s neck, as well as the Dread Doctor on the other end of it.
The blood coming out of Theo’s mouth turns silver as the Dread Doctor says, “His condition is terminal.”
Theo collapses, and despite everything, Stiles feels a sense of relief wash over him as he realizes Theo’s still breathing.
The relief doesn’t last long though, as another Doctor materializes and stabs his staff through Scott’s side. Scott lets out an absolutely deafening roar before he collapses in a heap, blood pooling underneath his unconscious body.
Stiles falls to his knees, and everything turns into static except for Scott. He pulls Scott into his lap, brushing the hair from his forehead as he tries to stop the blood pouring out on his body. He thinks he’s crying, but he can’t tell for sure.
He doesn’t notice the third Doctor until it’s too late. All he feels is a blast of pain through his skull before everything goes black.