Scott, laying in bed with a snoring Peter, he wakes, sweaty and shaking. A loud, high keening in his ears. Smashing his palms his ears, the eternal high pitched buzz never leaving his mind. Getting up, hoping a jog might stop it, he collapses before he gets to the door. Dropping down, he crumples, unable to move as his body begins seize. His eyes roll to the back of his head as the white frothy bubbles foam at his lips, dripping from the corners of his mouth. Sweat rolls down his face and practically drowns him, uncontrolled tears leak from his eyes, still white as the pupil and iris are under the socket. The buzzing still ringing in his ears, small rivulets of blood soaking into his hairline, mingling his salty tears, turning the white bubbles pink. He tries to cry out as his body continues to thrash, but he can barely muster up enough breath to whimper. All of a sudden, it's over. The frothing is over, the bleeding stopped, his body lays still, his eyes snap back. He gasps, breathing heavily, trying get in as much air as he can. Still shaking slightly, he gets up, wobbly as he makes his way too bathroom. Wetting a washcloth, he wipes the sweat, blood, tears, and slightly crusting saliva off. He's super pale, clammy, has bags under his eyes, and just looks like shit. Walking back to his room, he grabs fresh clothes and turns on the shower, getting in, he cleans himself up. Though the ringing is still there, it's not near as loud. Once he's done, he dresses himself and lies down in Peter's arms, feeling somewhat guilty cuddling into him. He felt he was taking advantage of Peter, the man, usually so sarcastic, looked so peaceful, innocent, almost angelic in his unconsciousness. Scott thinks back to how Peter came to be in his bed.
7 HOURS EARLIER:
He had driven back from the Hale house after a pack meeting. He stopped in kitchen to grab a spoon and a tub of Nutella, he dropped his backpack and took off his shoes. Opening the jar and heading upstairs to his room, he shoves the spoon into the chocolaty hazelnut deliciousness. Putting the spoon in his mouth then somehow pulling his shirt off and opening his door at the same time. He tossed his shirt on the ground and yanked off his pants, setting the jar down and pulling the now clean spoon out of his mouth he sets that next to it as he pulls off his boxers. Going over to his dresser, he pulls out an oversized shirt and a clean pair of boxers. Pulling the clothes on, he picks up the Nutella and eating utensil, flopping on his bed, thinking about Allison. Her death had been months ago, but he still missed her. Thinking to the pack meeting, not actually the meeting itself but the one sexy werewolf who was there. So what? He had a thing for Peter no one could prove that. He heard his window slide open, expecting Derek or Stiles, he sits up, seeing none other than Mr. Sexy werewolf himself. Peter.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" He was not blushing dammit!
"Hmm... You seemed rather... upset tonight. I sent to check on you." Peter spoke in his usual dry, sarcastic tone, but he could smell actual concern, Peter reeked of it actually.
Knowing there no point in lying, he looked down and shoved another spoonful of paradise into his mouth. "I - I've been thinking about Allison... It was my fault..." He mumbled the second part, avoiding eye contact with the man. He felt his bed sink under Peter's weight, then his nose was flicked. Stunned, he blinked and looked up, pulling the empty spoon out of his mouth again.
The older man's voice was unusually gentle as he spoke. "It's not your fault Scott. You couldn't have done anything different that would have saved her." He reached a hand forward and wiped some chocolaty goo off the corner of his mouth. Licking it off his thumb before pulling the younger boy, who looked like a kicked puppy into his chest, hugging him close. He picked Scott up, the younger wolf complaining and resisting the whole time, then set him on the bed. Laying behind him, spooning him, shocked, Scott tried to pull away, but Peter didn't allow it. He held him closer, one arm under Scott's head and the other around his waist, his thumb stroking Scott's stomach.