So ten months later and I come back with a teeny one shot that was originally posted as a Spiderman fic. I can't promise another chapter any time soon, I've lost the inspiration so to speak. So if any of you guys have any prompts or ideas, I'll try and give it a go. I don't want to finish this, it's something I love so drop me a review or PM if you have any prompts for this fic xoxo

"Hey, are you okay? You're not looking too good…" Scott McCall asked his best friend, Stiles Stilinski, as he sat in an empty classroom doing his homework.

Stiles swallowed thickly before plastering on a particularly fake-looking smile.

"I'm fine, Scott, why'd you ask?" Stiles said, clearing his throat before pulling his hoodie even tighter around him.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Well for starters, you're paler than a damn ghost, even more so than usual. You're shivering, even though its 65 degrees out, and I know you, Stiles, and I know when you're sick but too stubborn to admit it."

"I'm not sick…" Stiles said, feigning surprise at the accusation.

"Oh yeah?" Scott asked with a smirk, "What did you have for dinner last night?"

Stiles swallowed harshly as he paled.

"Um… uh… Chinese food," he mumbled.

"Ooh, nice, we had to have sushi again, all that raw fish-"

Scott, stop," Stiles mumbled, an arm snaking around his abdomen.

"But I thought you weren't sick?" Scott asked innocently.

"I'm not, but…"

"Hey, completely unrelated topic here, you remember when we were nine, and you pushed me off of the slide in the park?"

Stiles' eyes widened as he realized what he was doing.

"And I cut my knee open," he continued, "and then a couple of days later it got infected?"

Stiles fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

"And then that led to blood poisoning? And I almost died? Do you remember that, Stiles?"

"Uh-huh…" he mumbled, jaw clenched as his forehead glistened with sweat.

"Do you remember how it looked before I went into the hospital? With those red lines of infected blood trailing up and down my leg?"

Stiles didn't reply.

"All that black blood caked around the open cut… And all that pus-"

"God, I hate you," Stiles mumbled, hand shooting to his mouth as he launched himself from his chair and to the bathroom across the hall.

"I told you you were sick!" Scott called after him, pulling his phone out to call the Sheriff.