Just a fun little show about teenage werewolves... hahaha no.
I still have way too many Scott feels to be able to write anything from his POV so angsty!Stiles with a dash of fluff will have to do.
Title from "Be Still" by The Fray.
I still don't own TW.
Trigger warning: suicide attempt
Stiles is six years old, sitting on the grass in the backyard of his best friend's house while Scott giggles and pats his head awkwardly, tiny fingers looking for longer strands of hair that are no longer there.
Stiles doesn't think his buzz cut is that amusing, but it's the first time he's seen Scott smile that week and suddenly he realizes that he would have cut his hair sooner if he'd known that's all it takes to make Scott happy again.
He looks at Scott's mommy, who is sitting nearby on a picnic blanket with Stiles' parents, the three of them drinking ko-fee – Stiles really likes the smell of it but his mommy won't let him drink too, says he has to wait until he's older – and he knows that she hasn't smiled in a week either.
You see, Scott's daddy left a week ago and Stiles understands that they miss him, but he'll be back soon. Stiles' daddy always comes back from work too, and he lets Stiles play with the shiny thi – badge, daddy said it's called a badge.
But Scott's mommy looks so sad and that makes Scott sad as well, and Stiles wants his best friend to be happy and smiling, chasing around butterflies like he always does because Scott is a bit like a puppy.
And then Stiles remembers that his parents always smile when their lips touch – kiss; it's called kissing – and, oh. Kissing makes people smile. Stiles wants to make Scott smile.
So, naturally, he plants a kiss on Scott's lips.
He doesn't understand why their mommies start laughing – and Scott's furrowed brows tell him he doesn't get it either – or why his daddy shakes his head slowly as he chuckles anyway, but they all look – not sad, and Stiles thinks this must be a good thing.
So he grins at Scott, and Scott is beaming and then he tackles Stiles to the ground and starts peppering little kisses all over his face.
Their parents simply laugh louder.
Six-year-old Stiles and almost six-year-old Scott don't know yet that Scott's dad won't ever come back, but they begin to understand that they can find happiness in each other.
/
Stiles is eight and his mom isn't getting any better.
He's been staying a lot at Scott's lately and he likes it, Scott's home has always felt like his home too, but right now he'd rather be at the hospital, sleeping on a squeaky chair next to his mom's bed.
But his dad won't let him, Scott's mom won't let him, no one lets him stay there, so Stiles leaves the hospital room with his head bowed down and Scott's hand in his.
They lie together in Scott's bed and Stiles has trouble sleeping, tossing and turning and sighing and trying not to cry because he knows there's nothing left to do, knows it will happen, but he doesn't understand why, how is that fair, why his mom –
"It's gonna be okay," Scott whispers all of a sudden and Stiles has to blink back tears because that's a lie and they both know it.
But then Scott wraps his skinny arms around Stiles' body, brown eyes wide and earnest, and says, "You're gonna be okay."
And Stiles really, really wants to believe him.
Eleven days later everyone is wearing black and Stiles doesn't cry once.
Scott holds his hand during the funeral.
/
Stiles is ten, reading the latest Batman comic while he waits for his dad to finish things up at the police station when there's a phone call and then chaos ensues, everyone saying something about a house being burned down and children dying.
Well, it seems that Stiles is sleeping at Scott's tonight.
"But what happened?" is what Scott immediately asks after Stiles tells him about the fire, sounding genuinely concerned.
They're playing Mario Kart and munching on chocolates instead of sleeping; Scott's mom is out like a light in her bedroom and since there's no one to tell them that it's late and they should go to bed, they don't.
Stiles shrugs, tells Scott he doesn't know the details and changes the subject.
He doesn't want to think about what happened. It scares him and he doesn't even know why.
It doesn't really have to do with people dying – death happens every day, it's normal, he knows that now – but burning to death, that –
That sounds terrifying.
Stiles thinks about too-bright flames, orange-red heat surrounding everything, about the lack of oxygen, about lungs that won't – can't – work, about Scott's asthma –
"How bad do you think it hurts? I mean, it's gotta be pretty painful, right? To die like that."
Stiles rests his head on Scott's shoulder, takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. Why are there tears in his eyes, Scott is fine as long as he has his inhaler, why is he even thinking about that, everything is fine, he's not going to lose anyone else. He needs to stop being such a baby.
"Dunno," he answers sighing, lets Scott steal his chocolate bar and play with his hair. "Don't wanna find out."
"Yeah. Me neither."
/
Stiles is thirteen and hasn't talked to Scott in six hours and forty-eight minutes. He kind of wants to tear his hair out.
He and Scott are both grounded – because detention for a whole week doesn't suck enough already – and their parents have learned that not being allowed to see each other is the only form of punishment that works on them, so they only get to talk at school for the next four days.
Stiles is so not okay with that.
He supposes he might have some codependency issues given how sometimes it feels like he needs Scott more than he needs air, but, well, at least he knows he can say the same thing about Scott.
Which is exactly why he isn't the least bit surprised ten minutes later when Scott topples over through the window, landing gracelessly on the carpet, slightly out of breath.
"And you want to make the lacrosse team one day."
Scott just grins at him, puppy-dog eyes sparkling, and Stiles grins back because he doesn't know how not to.
"Sorry you're stuck in detention with me. I swear I didn't put that used condom in Greenberg's backpack!"
"Dude, I know!" And maybe Stiles forgets to use his inside voice but it's not like his dad wasn't expecting Scott to show up at some point, this has happened before, so, whatever. "You'd totally come up with better pranks. I taught you well, after all."
And Scott grins again and Stiles thinks his best friend is made of happiness and sunshine and hopes dearly that nothing will ever change that. He wants Scott to be always happy.
"Besides," Stiles begins, lowering himself on the carpet, sitting cross-legged next to Scott, shoulders and bony knees touching, "wherever you go, I go, remember? That includes detention."
Scott's lips curve into a smile again, gentle and warm and a little shy, before he nods twice, his voice small when he says, "You know I'm never gonna leave you, right?"
And Stiles –
Stiles thinks, that's my brother.
The next morning the Sheriff finds them wrapped around each other like newborn puppies on Stiles' bed and his voice is fond when the tells them there's breakfast on the table.
/
Stiles is sixteen and has a crush on a girl who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.
He supposes he should be used to it by now but his heart still breaks a little bit every time Lydia Martin – gorgeous, intelligent, untouchable Lydia – ignores him completely.
And seriously, Jackson is such a douche, what is she even doing with him –
"Stiles."
"I said that last part out loud, didn't I?"
"Yup. Should we run or just hope that he hasn't heard – "
If Jackson's death glare is anything to by, he most definitely did hear them – well, Stiles – badmouthing him, so running sounds really good right now considering that Jackson-the-douche has a bit of habit of throwing Scott and Stiles against the lockers – and that's when he's being gentle.
They stop before they can find a safe place to hide because Scott can barely breathe and Stiles is so ready to fight Jackson if he has to, he's so gonna – get his ass kicked, most probably, but there's no way he's letting Jackson touch Scott or break his inhaler like he did last month, and seriously, those things can be pretty expensive, but it's not like Jackson I'm-a-rich-boy Whittemore cares and – oh, Jackson isn't following them.
Huh. Well, okay then.
"You alright, buddy?"
Scott nods and offers a weak smile, puts his inhaler back in his pocket.
"You're always getting me into trouble," he says with a laugh, and Stiles pretends to be offended, gasps and puts a hand over his heart.
"Moi? Please, you should be thanking me. I make your life interesting."
And, yeah, okay, maybe he takes a little pride in knowing he's the only one who can make Scott laugh like that.
"Fair enough," Scott says giving him a fond smile, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners, and it's moments like this that make Stiles think he just might start singing My Life Would Suck Without You to Scott in front of whole damn world.
Because yes, he's a loser and his life is pretty ordinary and he's never going to get the girl of his dreams, but he has a best friend who's stuck by him through thick and thin, a best friend who knows all of his secrets and whose secrets he knows, a best friend he would gladly die for if need be.
And then one night Stiles decides they should go looking for a dead body in the woods, and, well –
Scott is a freaking werewolf now.
/
Stiles is seventeen and he's looking with tear-filled eyes at his best friend, who is drenched in gasoline and crying and about to set himself on fire.
And for a second he thinks, well, okay, this is not unmanageable, not after Ethan and Boyd and Isaac. All he has to do is breathe, inhale, exhale, don't panic; he can fix this, he will fix this.
But then he realizes Scott is already holding the flare, holding fire in his hands and yet he's still suicidal, and his eyes aren't dull like Boyd's had been or manic like Ethan's and it takes everything in Stiles not to break down because this –
This is just Scott.
There is no voice inside his head telling him what to do; just Scott, suffocated by guilt, thinking everyone he loves would be better off without him.
And this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that Stiles' heart is more than willing to just stop beating. There is no point in living without his brother.
He stops trying to hold back his tears.
In retrospect, Stiles should have probably realized no one's life was going to change for the better, but he never imagined that being a werewolf would do this to Scott.
Never imagined that Scott's wide smiles turning into tears would be his fault.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? It's Stiles' fault that his best friend has to go through this.
And, honestly, Stiles hates himself for it. Most nights he wants to go to sleep and not wake up the next morning, and he doesn't exactly like that feeling but it's not like he can control it either, it's buried deep inside of him, something he hasn't felt since his mom died and the only thing that kept him going was eight-year-old Scott saying that he needs him.
Scott and his dad are all Stiles has left and without them – without either one – he doesn't really see what he's supposed to be living for.
So no, he's not letting Scott do this, not without him. And if he messes up again and they go up in flames, at least they go together.
Because, well, Stiles has thought about this. The two of them dying. So many times that Ms. Morell would probably have something to say about it if she knew. Stiles has hundreds of different scenarios in his head, some peaceful, some nightmare-inducing – they are old and grey and surrounded by grandchildren, they are ripped to bits by a supernatural creature, they kill each other because there is no other choice.
He sees something different every time he closes his eyes; the one thing that never changes is the fact that they die together.
And Stiles is sure that's what will happen, that's how they'll die – one day.
But not tonight.