He lowered his voice a little as he spoke. "How is he?"

"He has the common flu, Stiles, he's not on his deathbed," Melissa McCall replied.

"But isn't it strange a werewolf gets the flu? Shouldn't they have a perfect immune system?" Stiles continued on a normal tone.

"Apparently not. He's awake now but he has a fever. Try not to wear him out too much, okay?" Melissa asked.

"Sure thing," grinned Stiles.

Even if Scott hadn't heard the conversation at the front door, he would have still recognised Stiles' gait on the stairs. Stiles always skipped the first and the last stairs steps, for example.

The door creaked open and Stiles' head came around the corner first. "Hey, buddy,"

"Hey, Stiles," was Scott's weak reply.

The lights were off and the curtains only allowed a little light in. The room was stuffy and warm. The bin was full of tissues and the blankets were a mess that hid the patient from sight. This was the room of a sick person, no doubt about it.

"So how is our Alpha feeling today?" Stiles asked.

"Miserable," grunted Scott as he lifted himself up from beneath the blankets, "I'm cold and hot the same time, I've a headache, a sore throat and I'm nauseous. Do I need to go on?"

"Sounds like the flu to me," diagnosed Stiles cheerfully, as if that solved the problem.

"How are the others? Are they doing okay?" Scott asked.

"They're fine, don't worry about them. I had to say that they miss you and get well soon. Kira and Liam want to visit you tomorrow if that's okay."

Scott rubbed his eyes. "Yeah sure."

He paused.

"Stiles, will you read my book to me?" Scott asked gingerly.

"Wow, you really are sick, then," exclaimed Stiles.

It was an old routine. When Scott was younger –and not a supernatural creature- he would fall sick often due to his asthma. Bedridden, his only pleasure was to be read to by his mother or, when he came to visit, his best friend. It had a soothing effect on Scott.

"So what are we reading?" Stiles asked, providing himself with the answer by taking Scott's book from the nightstand.

"George Orwell? Why does that sound familiar?"

Scott coughed badly. "We read Animal Farm in class a few years ago," he answered.

"Where do I start?" Stiles inquired, taking out the bookmarker as he opened the book.

"On the right page, from the top."

Stiles started reading. "The girl with the dark hair was coming toward him across the field. With what seemed a single movement, she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside…Wow, Scott, What are you reading?"

'It's a dream sequence, Stiles, just continue, please?"

And that's what Stiles did.

"…On occasion he had even been entrusted with the rectification of the Times leading articles, which were entirely written in Newspeak. He unrolled the message he had set aside earlier. It ran: Scott, are you asleep?"

Scott's head laid down on his pillows, eyes closed and his bare chest steadily going up and down. Stiles marvelled for a moment at how peaceful and completely content the sleeping looked. Then he put the bookmarker between the pages where he stopped and laid the book back on the nightstand.

"Sleep tight, Scotty, sleep tight."