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Stiles is miserable. It isn't just the fact that he has the worst cold of his life (helped in no way by his late night romps through the forest); no, it's also the fact that he's sick alone. Scott, of course, has his werewolf immunity, Lydia has her weird banshee immunity, and Allison just has a kick-ass immune system. Which leaves Stiles, the only one of them who is sick and miserable.
He was already coming down with something, but this past weekend had just made it worse. Because of course they couldn't have a weekend off, especially not the one where Stiles actually needed rest. Nope, they got to wrangle rogue omegas on the full moon. What fun.
Stiles can never begrudge Scott his bleeding heart for other werewolves - Scott didn’t have a choice in what he'd become, and now his mission is to offer a choice to others. Any omega he finds is offered the opportunity to join his pack: they’ll receive his protection, but can still live their lives as they wish, no weird Alpha dominance shit. After getting to know Scott, they almost always choose to join his pack and be his betas, be active members of his pack, follow him.
No, Stiles will never begrudge Scott that. Scott is a good Alpha, and he's doing his best with what he has.
But Stiles would be lying if he said he isn't a little upset that Scott can't be here this weekend, when his cold has really hit in full force. Well it isn't just Scott, everyone has ditched him. His dad can't afford to get sick - the department still hasn't really recovered from the Kanima attacks, so he's still working frequent doubles. Lydia and Allison had been by on Friday to bring Stiles the homework he'd missed when he'd stayed home that day, but they both made it clear that they were not there to take care of him, "and if you sneeze on me I will kill you, Stiles," Lydia had said. He'd believed her.
And Scott, well he's busy. Stiles had texted him Friday morning when he had realized there was no way he was going to school, and Scott had responded, telling him how he hoped he'd feel better and that he wouldn't be able to stop by, that he'd be spending the whole weekend with his new betas, showing them the ropes.
And again, Stiles doesn't resent him for that. But he does wish that his best friend could be there for him, if only just for his werewolf healing mojo.
So Stiles is sick and alone and miserable. He's spent the whole day in a haze of sleep and fits of coughing, aching muscles and mucus - really, it's all very unpleasant. His nose is chapped and red from all the tissues, his throat feels raw and his voice is a dry rasp when he tries to speak. He showered earlier, hoping the steam would help clear out his sinuses, but he still feels dirty, the cold sweat on his skin making him feel rank. There's also a nice mountain of tissue on the side of his bed, as well as empty packs of crackers and cans of ginger ale on his nightstand.
It's actually very disgusting, and maybe he should be happy that Scott isn't here to see it. Not that Scott would care - they've been best friends for years, and Scott has certainly seen Stiles in worse condition, in every condition. It's just the nature of best-friendship.
But Stiles cares, has been caring a lot more lately. He's been constantly worried about what Scott thinks of him, if he's grossed out or annoyed or turned off by the things Stiles does, by who he is. And logically, Stiles knows that Scott isn't, knows that they're best friends, their friendship transcends things like disgust and annoyance. But this (crush? lust? love? Stiles isn't sure what it is, just that it’s more than friendship) defies logic, of course.
He wants Scott there with him, to comfort him. He wants him there to just hang out, like the good old days, where if one of them was sick, they both were. But he doesn't, at the same time. He wants Scott to only see him at his best, not in this mucus filled state.
Of course, it's then, as soon as he's finally accepting that he's better off spending his sickness alone, that Scott climbs through his window.
Stiles jolts upright in bed, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor (it's playing The Princess Bride, his favorite sick day movie). He's in his t-shirt and boxers, but for whatever reason he pulls his blankets back up around his chest.
Scott looks at him, puzzled for a second, but shakes it off and grins.
"I brought you chicken noodle soup," he says, holding up the bag in his hand. Well, one of the bags, he seems to be carrying quite a few.
Stiles collects himself, nodding, "Thanks dude." He rights himself in the bed and closes his laptop, setting it at the foot of his bed. "I thought you had to take care of your new betas today?" His voice is raw, it hurts to talk. His sudden movement from a moment ago is hitting him now, his head starting to throb, a dull ache at the base of his skull.
Scott seems to realize this, and crosses the room to to set the bags down on the desk before turning back to the bed. He sits down next to Stiles, gently pushing Stiles back against the pillow and laying down on his side next to him, propped up on his elbow. He reaches his free arm over to Stiles's neck and starts to leach the pain away.
Stiles sighs into it. It's a strange feeling that he doesn't think he'll ever be used to. It feels sorta like when your foot falls asleep, pins and needles, but all over, with heat concentrated on the point of contact. It leaves him with a slight feeling of nausea and dizziness, his body not able to adjust quickly enough to the sudden lack of pain, but it fades before long.
Lost in the haze of euphoria, it takes Stiles a second to realize that Scott is talking, answering his question. "Mmf- What?" he moans.
Scott chuckles, and Stiles can feel him shake his head. "I said, I got Derek and Isaac to take care of it. Derek owes me one - well, owes me lots."
Stiles opens his eyes. It hurts his head when he looks up at Scott, but not nearly as bad as it would have before. "You trust Derek to do that?"
Shrugging, Scott says, "I have to. I mean, if we're going to do this whole sharing territory and sorta being part of the same pack thing, we have to start somewhere, right?"
Stiles huffs, "I guess. Just watch out, for all you know he's gonna try to build an army of omegas to bring you down."
Scott laughs at him, and okay, Stiles deserves that. As much as they have to be allies, and as much as he has to put up with Derek for Scott's sake, he won't ever trust Derek completely. He knows Scott doesn't either, probably won't ever - there's too much baggage there. But Scott's right, they have to start somewhere.
"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen. But even if it does, I still have Allison and Lydia and you on my side." he says, hand moving from Stiles's neck to his hair, carding his fingers through it slowly.
Stiles smiles a bit at that, humming in agreement, before letting his eyes fall closed.
Yeah, Scott will always have him.
Stiles wakes up to the faint smell (for all that he can smell with his nose all stuffed up) of chicken noodle soup and the feeling of the mattress sagging next to him. He must have drifted to sleep at some point after their conversation, the feeling of the pain draining and Scott’s fingers in his hair heady.
He'd fallen asleep before he could really think about it, what it all meant: Scott being here like this, taking care of him. They'd had many years of being sick together, strep throat or chicken pox at the same time, literal "I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine." They took care of each other and kept each other company throughout their sicknesses.
But this time Scott isn't sick, doesn't have to be here, and he definitely has more important things to do. Stiles understands him delegating responsibility to Derek, but why now? Why for something as simple as his best friend having a cold?
And then there were Scott's fingers in his hair and the hot line of his body all along Stiles's side as he drifted off to sleep.
And yeah, Scott is a good friend, the best - Stiles's best friend. He's always there when Stiles needs him. But this feels like more, and Stiles isn't sure if he's just reading into it too much - feeling what he wants to be there - or if it's just another part of Scott's new Alpha responsibilities, taking care of his pack.
He tries to hold onto sleep a bit longer, wants to let his head clear of all his confusing thoughts, but he can feel Scott there next to him.
When he opens his eyes, Scott is smiling down at him, a mug of chicken noodle soup in one hand and a fresh can of ginger ale in his other.
Stiles sits up in bed, weakly. The ache is starting to work its way back into his muscles, the pain coming back slowly, though nowhere near as intense as before.
He smiles back at Scott and reaches out to take the soup. It's warm and delicious and --
"Is this homemade?" Stiles asks, because he recognizes this recipe, and it's not Campbell's.
Scott looks away and, is that a blush? "Yeah, uh, I told my mom you were sick and she made it." He turns away from Stiles, setting the can of ginger ale down on the night stand.
"Right..." Stiles says. Before he can continue, call Scott on his lie, Scott is standing up, changing the subject.
"You wanna watch a movie? We could start The Princess Bride over. Or something else? You pick." He grabs the laptop from the desk, where he must have moved it to, and a stack of DVDs - all their old standbys.
"The Princess Bride's good."
Scott pulls it out of the pile, kicking off his shoes and settling back down on the bed with the laptop.
Stiles keeps eating, looking around his room. He notices that his laptop wasn't the only thing Scott moved. He'd picked up all Stiles's tissues and cleared off the cracker wrappers and ginger ale cans from his night stand, too.
Stiles looks back at Scott, suspicious in an effort to avoid the embarrassment he wants to feel. Scott's focused on getting the DVD started, trying, very poorly, to avoid Stiles, as if Stiles doesn't know what he's doing.
"So your mom made this soup?" Stiles asks, taking another spoonful of it.
"Mmhmm," Scott agrees, still not looking at Stiles.
Stiles narrows his eyes. "With my mom's old recipe?"
Scott blushes. "I don't know what recipe she used dude, she just told me to bring it to you."
Stiles sets the mug down on the nightstand and then turns to take the laptop from Scott, not allowing him a means of distraction.
Scott's averting his eyes, still, knows he's been caught in his own lie.
"Scott, seriously, I know that you made the soup."
"So what if I did?"
Stiles smiles and nudges Scott's shoulder with his own. "I appreciate it dude, but there's no reason to lie about it."
Scott huffs and sinks down on the bed a little more before pulling the laptop between them.
"Let's just watch the movie," he grumbles.
"Okay sure," Stiles says, but he allows himself to lean a little closer into Scott than he normally would.
Two hours later and they've worked their way through The Princess Bride and are both slumped down in Stiles's bed, blankets tangled around their legs and laptop between them. At some point Scott had kicked off his jeans, finally admitting he’s in it for the long haul tonight.
The pain has worked its way back into Stiles, his head throbbing and limbs aching in protest every time he moves. His throat aches too, feeling raw again, made worse by the case of mouth-breathing he's got going on, no longer able to breathe through his nose from congestion.
He keeps flashing between hot and cold, parts of his body freezing while others feel like they're on fire. He kicks the blankets off his legs and presses his nose into Scott's neck, seeking heat.
Scott shivers at the touch. He closes Stiles's laptop and places it on the floor. Stiles doesn't mind, he feels too miserable for any more movies anyways.
Scott shifts in the bed so that he can wrap both his arms around Stiles, letting Stiles press himself into Scott's chest. Stiles is grateful, it allows half of his body to be heated while the other half is exposed to the open air; he's much more comfortable this way.
He buries his face back in Scott's neck as Scott starts carding his fingers through his hair again, leaching pain away slower than before in an attempt to avoid the nausea.
When the pain starts to subside to a more manageable level, Stiles shifts in Scott's arms, wrapping his own around Scott's warm body.
"Are we ever gonna talk about this?" Stiles asks. Because as much as he likes avoiding, the not knowing is killing him.
"Talk about what?" Scott says. He sounds like he's half asleep, and when Stiles pulls his head back to see his face, he can see that Scott's got his eyes closed, looking content.
"This. Us." And he knows that Scott knows what he's talking about now, can see it in his blush, and the way his eyelids flutter like he wants to open them but is forcing them to stay closed because he knows Stiles is looking.
Scott shrugs. "We've always been close. What's cuddling between friends?"
Stiles's stomach sinks a little, but it's not from the pain leaching. "Friends, right," he says, burying his face back into Scott's shoulder.
Scott doesn't move and Stiles thinks that he's fallen back to sleep.
When Scott pulls away a few minutes later, looking down at him, he realizes he wasn't asleep, instead was mulling something over.
Stiles averts his eyes though. He's tired of talking for tonight, just wants to get a few hours of sleep without pain.
But Scott's not done, apparently. "You feel it too, then?"
Stiles swallows thickly, looking up. "Feel what?"
There's a little smile pulling at Scott's lips, and he's leaning closer to Stiles.
"This," he says, before leaning in and kissing him.
It's not passionate or sexy - it really can't be with Stiles's chapped lips and stuffed nose. It's chaste and sweet, and he has to pull away before long so he can breathe.
"'This', dude, really?" he says, when he's caught his breath back. "I think you let The Princess Bride get to your head a bit."
Scott huffs, "You're killing the mood."
"The mood? Oh my god." Stiles buries his face back in Scott's neck, laughing. Leave it to Scott to be a hopeless romantic, even with Stiles. With Stiles.
Scott grins. "Okay, well what else was I supposed to say? 'Do you feel the love tonight?'"
Stiles pulls back to look at Scott again. "How about you just say 'I like you. Do you like me too?'"
"That sounds suspiciously like a 'check yes or no' scenario, which is no less cheesy. And besides, I do like you, I like lots of people. I figured kissing you was the best way to convey how exactly I like you."
Stiles rolls his eyes, but he leans in to kiss Scott again. He savors it a bit longer this time, but he has to pull away to be able to breathe again before long.
"So I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Scott asks, grin plastered to his face now.
Stiles laughs and presses closer into Scott. "Yes, of course, dude. Now stop being a sap and do that werewolf pain leaching thing again."
He can feel Scott's smile against his cheek as he says, "As you wish."