"Scott?"
Stiles' voice was distant, though he stood on other side of the door.
"Scott?"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Scott was vaguely aware of the sound. It normally would have pierced his senses life a knife. But right now he wasn't normal, couldn't distinguish words from noise. Not now.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The thumps grew louder.
"I'm coming in, okay?"
The door swung open. Stiles rushed into the bathroom. His friend stood, fully clothed, watching the shower run.
"It works better when you stand under it," Stiles joked with more anxiety than amusement. Scott's shirt was still drenched with gasoline, and the smell sickened Stiles. It took him back to the sight of his friend holding a flare in shaky hands, saying he was better of dead. That they were better off with him dead. That Stiles could cope without him.
Scott McCall felt so low he was prepared to commit suicide, yet he was concerned about the wellbeing of everyone else.
He had spoken in an unnaturally even tone, each word perfectly enunciated. It was as though they had been rehearsed a million times before leaving his mouth. It was a lie Scott had told himself so many times that it was now his truth. He talked about killing himself like he was stating the colour of the sky.
Stiles breathed in then exhaled the dark images that filled his lungs and threatened to choke him up.
"Arms up."
Scott didn't move.
"Okay, buddy...we need to get this shirt off you, okay?"
His voice was strained, stretched across his nerves so thinly that it threatened to break. Stiles worked to steady his voice. It needed to be steady, stable enough to pull his friend from catatonia. Stable enough to support the weight on his brother's shoulders.
But it wasn't stable enough.
Scott's eyes were hard, yet unfocused, like they had been glazed over. It was as though Scott didn't register the figure in front of him.
Stiles pulled the shirt and jeans from his friend's rigid frame. His own outfit got soaked under the shower but that was okay. The stench of gasoline that clung to the boys' bodies swirled down the drain.
"So Star Wars is a great movie," Stiles chattered away nervously as he scrubbed his friend, "and no, Scott, it has zero relation to the television series Star Trek so don't try to-"
Scott began to breathe fast and shallow. It felt like his throat was tightening, that he couldn't get enough air.
"Come on man, I realise its incredibly sad that you can't distinguish between the two," Scott prattled on, trying to distract Scott from his panic attack, "but that's why you have me, bro."
Scott shut his eyes tight, let the darkness envelope him once more before meeting the warm light in his friend's eyes.
"Yeah, you heard. You have me, Scott."
Slowly, breathing got easier.
"Yeah, I know its a lot to take in," Stiles flashed a smile, "I am pretty awesome."