Scott quickly shrugged off his jacket, wordlessly handing it to Stiles. He grabbed the hem of his friend's shirt, and pulled it over his head as Stiles weakly shoved at him, saying that he was fine. Scott's gut twisted when the bandages were revealed on his chest, previously hiding underneath Stiles' clothing.
"Geez, you're grabby," he muttered, but allowed Scott to manhandle him into a sitting position against the wall. Blood was still oozing from where Scott's claws had pierced his arms, and Scott immediately stood up, grabbing and wetting some paper towels in the sink before pressing them on the wounds.
"Scott, I'm fine," Stiles protested as the werewolf began to furiously wipe at the gouges. The blood was continuing to seep through; turning the paper towels a light red. "Scott, stop. I'll live, okay?"
"I DID THIS TO YOU!" Scott suddenly screamed, and Stiles jumped, pressing his back closer to the wall. Scott's eyes were glowing yellow, and his fangs were out. The paper towels slipped from his grasp, falling damply to the tiled floor (thankfully, his claws hadn't come out). He gestured shakily at the white gauze and tape strewn across Stiles' chest, which was black with old blood. "I had better control in my first week as a werewolf than I have lately! The evidence is all over you, Stiles! Stop ignoring it! Stop pretending that I'm not a fucking threat to you!"
Stiles rolled his eyes, as if Scott was overreacting to a minor nuisance. "Scott, it's okay. You haven't killed me—"
"Yet," Scott finished gravely, looking into Stiles' eyes. He needed to convey how serious the situation was; how Stiles' wellbeing was constantly in danger lately. It's been like this all summer, ever since Allison and her dad left Beacon Hills in order to get away from the murderous supernatural tendencies that their town seemed to possess. The first full moon after their second break-up had damaged his self-control. He had tried focusing on his memories with Allison as an anchor, but they weren't strong enough or diluted by the heartbreak. Stiles had been there that night, and received deep claw marks down his back as payment for refusing to leave.
It had also been the night that Dark Scott re-emerged, holding Stiles' head down as he threatened to shred his throat open.
Nights after the fact Scott would awaken from the most realistic nightmares that he'd ever been forced to endure with; sweat and tears pouring down his face as his mind relived the horrific imagery. They had begun with him mutilating Allison to death in his beta form as she screamed for mercy. Her bow was always out of her reach, snapped in half and her arrows scattered. He could still hear the cracking of her bones and the disgusting snap of her neck as his hands twisted it at an impossible angle.
Allison's form would then morph into his mother's as his dark side relished in ripping her intestines from the gaping hole in her stomach. While awake, Scott could still taste the thick coppery taste of their blood in his mouth and the tacky feeling on his fingers. Dark Scott had laughed in these dreams, as if this were all a game to him. Scott soon came to the realization that it probably was. Scratch that, it definitely was.
Another full moon had passed, and after breaking the pointer, middle, and ring finger on Stiles' left hand, Scott's mother and Allison disappeared from his dreams, now replaced with his best friend. Those felt real as well, because in them Stiles kept talking back in his sarcastic manner even as Dark Scott throttled him to death, leaving a ring of bruises around his throat.
Over the summer, the nightmares became more sexually graphic, and Scott became too afraid to even name the atrocities that he'd committed. He tried blocking out the more painful bits, but Stiles' screams continued to echo and multiply in his mind. Scott cringed whenever the memories of Stiles' sarcastic words and demeanor was painfully whittled down to pleading sobs instead; begging his dark side to stop as Scott forcibly entered him, savouring his cries…
"And you're not going to," Stiles said, breaking into Scott's thoughts. "Because I'd end up becoming a ghost and haunting your sorry ass for all of eternity." He gave off a weary smile, but his eyes were empty of their usual light.
Scott ran his tongue along his teeth; his fangs were still there. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms on the cool tiles. He took in several breaths, and soon enough his wolfish canines had retreated. He gingerly picked up the paper towels, and placed them in the garbage can close by.
"Wait here," he told Stiles. "Please, just wait for me; I'll be back."
Stiles silently nodded, and Scott slowly turned away from him, shoving the door open. Classes were still in session, so the hallways were devoid of students. He made his way to Stiles' locker, where he knew he kept a first aid kit nowadays. Scott fiddled with the combination, hearing the familiar clicks before the locker door swung open.
He was just about to grab the kit and shove the door shut when he heard, "Scott?"
"Hey," Scott said, turning to face Allison. His eyes didn't quite meet hers.
His stomach still did that backflip whenever she was in his presence, but it had dulled over the summer. When he'd told Stiles, his best friend had just rolled his eyes in that affectionate, dude-you're-an-idiot way, saying that Scott was finally getting past that stage of "lovesick first love".
Allison's arms were crossed, and she was leaning against the lockers, watching Scott carefully. She bit her lip, concern flashing in her eyes. "He's hiding most of them, isn't he." she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," Scott replied, clutching the kit more tightly.
"He's been taking a lot of hits from you lately," she replied softly. That guilty look was back on her face, and it frustrated Scott not knowing why it was there.
"I've been trying to keep him away," Scott said, "but you know how he is. He usually gets his way in the end. You tell him to do one thing and he does the complete opposite."
"I'm sorry, but that sounds like the most pathetic excuse for letting this happen to him." There was no real heat in her words, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.
Allison uncrossed her arms, and pressed her hands to her face before dragging them down her face, sighing heavily. "I just… I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose, and I know that I don't know all of the details but… You have to stop this, Scott. For his sake as well as yours."
"So what are you saying that I should do?" Scott asked quietly. "Tell him that he can't be around me when there's a full moon?" He knows he's being selfish, but he needed Stiles to be there. You might as well rip off his arms and legs, because it would have the same effect on him.
"Yes," Allison said quietly, catching Scott off guard. He didn't expect her answer to be so simple, yet blunt. But when he looked at her, her eyes were fixed on him, that familiar gleam of a hunter's determination in them.
And that's when it hit him; Allison was a hunter, and Stiles was human. Her family business—former business, there was a reason the Argents had bailed for the summer—was all about protecting humans from the supernatural beasts that walked among them. Anything that killed a human was instantly a target for extermination.
Mr. Argent would have no problem putting Scott down, he was sure of that. He always seemed to have it out for him, even before he knew that Scott was a werewolf. But Allison… it would be more difficult. It was complicated between the two of them, but she knew Scott; she knew that he would never purposely hurt someone.
And yet there was Stiles, perfectly human and capable of dying at the hands of his best friend.
"You have to tell him to stay away," Allison urged. "Tell him he's not even allowed to help put you in lockdown during the full moon. Tell him that you don't need him—"
"I can't," Scott interrupted, and he felt rage stirring beneath his breastbone. Why is this any of her business in the first place? Her and her dad ditched the moment they fucked up the Code too much, and now she's trying to tell me how to handle this?!
He forced himself to calm down. He understood Allison's intentions, but they still irritated him.
She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can't or you won't?"
Scott turns on his heel, heading back to the washroom as Allison angrily calls out to him.
Stiles grimaced from the stinging pain coming from his arms. They'd stopped bleeding as soon as Scott had left, promising to return. Dark blood had congealed around the wound, and the streaks of blood running down his arms had ceased and had begun to flake. Stiles gingerly scraped his nails along it, but stopped soon after, hissing from the strain.
He looked down at his torso, and began to peel off the medical tape holding his bandages in place. The cuts had mostly healed with the new skin still pink and tender. Stiles slowly rose to his feet in small increments, and walked over to the sink. He stripped off the remaining bandages, and turned around, his bare back now facing the mirror. He looked over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes at the massive gouges now scarring his back. He remembered the sadistic, playful nature of Scott's dark side as he dug his claws into his back.
"This is my new signature," Scott said, dragging them brusquely across the exposed flesh. He had Stiles pressed up against the wall, breathing hotly against his throat as his claws took a new angle and tore downwards. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to be an illusion. "It's unique, and very telling to other wolves. They'll see this, and know."
"Know what?" Stiles sneered. His fingers curled into fists, digging his nails into his palms as the pain increased tenfold. "That you claimed me as your bitch? Ah, fuck! Jesus! 'Cause you know—Fucking hell, man!—it's going to take a lot more than that to make me submit to whatever sick fantasies you have going around in your head."
He could feel rather than see the twisted smile on Scott's face. "Is that so?" he replied as he ripped his claws out of Stiles' back. Stiles felt his warm blood run down in rivulets, staining his skin, jeans, and whatever remained of his T-shirt.
"I can be patient," Scott breathed into Stiles' neck, and Stiles felt himself shudder against his will. He was trying so hard to stay level-headed and to snap Scott out of the moon's influence. He whimpered as Scott slid his hands down Stiles' sides, making his way down to his hips. He gripped them possessively, and pressed himself closer to Stiles. "We got all night, and there are so many tactics that I would love to try out on you." He pressed a kiss to Stiles' throat, and Stiles' stiffened against him. Scott chuckled darkly, and snaked his arms around Stiles, pulling him from the wall. Stiles' survival instincts immediately kicked in, and Stiles struggled uselessly, feeling the wounds on his back reopen with searing pain.
"Scott, SCOTT!" Stiles screamed. The corners of his vision began to darken, and Stiles forced himself to stay alert as the werewolf dragged him away with ease. "Scott, you've got to wake up and fight this asshole! Come on Scott, this isn't you! Scott?! SCOTT!"
Stiles didn't remember what happened next because he'd woken up in the hospital with an impossible amount of stitches closing his wounds and a white-faced Scott sitting next to his bed. His doctors told him that he'd lost a ton of blood, and was lucky to get into surgery when he did. He'd been close to dying.
But he was alive, and Stiles had repeated that an insane amount of times to Scott, who looked guilt-ridden for weeks after the fact. Scott tried avoiding him, but Stiles wouldn't have it, and hid in Scott's room one night while waiting for him to return from whatever bullshit errand he was running. He nearly gave his best friend a heart attack when he opened his bedroom door and flicked on the lights, only to see Stiles lying on his stomach on his bed in order to keep the weight off of his healing back.
They argued, going on back-and-forth with the conversation going around in circles: Stiles insisting that Scott needed him while Scott pointed out that Stiles had just gotten out of the fucking hospital because Scott hadn't been strong enough to hold his aggression back. In the end Stiles won, which wasn't a surprise because he always got his way with Scott.
"Those don't look pleasant."
Stiles froze, and closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. He slowly turned his head to face forward before reopening them. Seriously, how did he not hear the door open?
Peter was standing there, smiling as he softly closed the door behind him. Stiles watched him warily, wishing that he had some of his mountain ash on hand. He and Lydia had been secretly stockpiling it, trying to find a way to infuse it into everyday items and weaponry. Peter could tell that Stiles was defenceless, because he picked up Stiles' discarded shirt and Scott's jacket with such ease from the ground; he didn't spare Stiles a glance as he completed this task.
"What are you doing here?" Stiles demanded, and he hated how his voice sounded shaky. Peter continued to smile as he fisted the clothing. He brought it up to his face, and inhaled the bloodied material of the shirt.
"I was in the neighbourhood," Peter said calmly, lowering clothing from his face.
"Bullshit."
"And I thought I should check in on my former beta," Peter continued, as if Stiles hadn't interrupted him.
"Scott was never yours in the first place," Stiles snapped, his heart now beating against his ribcage.
The werewolf stilled, his eyes fixed on Stiles. He wasn't blinking, and he slowly cocked his head to the side, observing the teenager before him. Stiles felt like squirming under his scrutinizing stare, but he stayed put.
"How did you get in here?" Stiles demanded. "I doubt that you signed in at the office to get a hall pass."
Peter rolled his eyes, as if Stiles was being insolent on purpose. "I walked in through the back doors."
"Of course you did," Stiles muttered. "How many school visits does this make it now? Four? One of the last times were you around here you nearly mauled Lydia to death!"
"Technically, that was outside of the school," Peter said loftily, waving his hand casually. "But you don't seem to care about the details about that little mishap." He shook his head. "Sometimes you can be a one-track mind."
"You were saying that you were here for Scott," Stiles said, carefully measuring his words. He wasn't much of a match against a powerful werewolf like Peter Hale, but he'd be damned if Scott came back now and got involved in whatever was going on now. He willed Scott to stay away, praying that a mental link between them would suddenly spring open.
Peter nodded slowly. "I regret not being able to teach him properly," he said. He took a step toward Stiles, making Stiles backpedal into the sink. He gripped the edges of it, trying to keep his shaking hands occupied and steady. He suddenly realized how exposed he was with his naked chest, and wanted to snatch his shirt back. He instead held his breath as Peter got closer, his eyes glinting in that malicious fashion of his.
"His first lesson should've been control," said Peter, stopping just in front of Stiles. "I should've been the one to instruct him. Receiving second-hand information from my nephew and your own research could only provide so much help." They were nearly the same height, but Stiles suddenly felt small and insignificant under his gaze. He wanted to avert his sight, but forced himself to stay focused on Peter.
"But we got the gist of it," Stiles said back. "He has an anchor—"
"Had," Peter corrected, and now he was so close that Stiles could barely get an inch of breathing space from him. He reached around, and pressed his fingers against one of scars on Stiles' back. "Your body is very telling about his lack of it."
Stiles' body shuddered involuntarily as Peter's burning fingers traced the claw mark that curved down his spine. "Wait, have you been spying on us?" Stiles asked angrily. "And how long have you known about this?!" He tried to push Peter away but the older man was as quick as blinking. He grabbed both of Stiles' wrists in his hands, keeping a firm grip on them. Stiles hissed in pain as his wounds throbbed across his body.
Peter leaned in close, and smiled. His thumb was circling the pulse on Stiles' right wrist as he held the teen's hands close to his face.
"A while," he replied coolly. "It was a very dull summer, and Scott's struggles, however violent, were very entertaining. But it's gone on long enough." Peter pressed his mouth against Stiles' ear, and Stiles felt his hot breath as the werewolf spoke. "I think it's time for me to aid my beta and tutor him, don't you think?"
"We can handle it on our own," Stiles said.
Peter huffed softly, and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. But you two are joined at the hip, aren't you? You can't of one without pairing them with the other. Scott will need some motivation to create a new anchor, and you can help with that part."
Stiles' eyes widened in realization just before Peter smashed his head into the countertop and he quickly blacked out.
