A/N: I felt peer-pressured to write something for Scottuary, and in my typical fashion, a small idea turned into kind of a monster. This will be a series of four one-shots that all go together.
This one goes with the prompt "First Time Taking Pain."
Umm, also, spoilers for Lord of the Rings?
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. If I did, it would just be a lot of angsty scenes between Scott & Stiles.
While the Company is True
By: Minnicoops
The first time Scott watches the Lord of the Rings trilogy is the summer before junior year of high school. After a year of fighting alphas who turned out to be psychotic, supposedly comatose uncles and kanimas who were being controlled by psychotic kids and then even more psychotic grandfathers of ex-girlfriends, the summer has proved to be pretty uneventful. So uneventful, in fact, that Scott has been looking for anything to distract him from said ex-girlfriend, who completely and utterly shattered his heart before running off to France to possibly never be seen again.
Which is why when Stiles asks him to finally sit down and watch what he calls "the greatest movie trilogy ever made—yes, possibly even better than Star Wars," he agrees.
Well, that and Stiles just had his wisdom teeth removed and looks absolutely pathetic, his blanket bundled up over his head and shoulders like a cloak to hold the ice packs tucked against his swollen cheeks.
"Thanks again for staying with him," the Sheriff says when Scott shows up after summer school, duffel bag in hand. "I'm sure he'd be fine on his own, but with the meds…" He makes a face, shooting a furtive glance in the direction of his son who is huddled on the couch like a plague victim.
"It's no problem," Scott tells him, dropping his bag by the stairs. He's actually looking forward to some quality bro time—watching movies, playing video games. All the stuff they used to do before their lives went off the rails.
Dropping into the armchair next to the couch, he addresses his friend. "How you feeling, buddy?"
Stiles narrows his eyes at him, clasping his blanket tighter under his chin. "Ever had someone dig around in your skull with reckless abandon before?" he slurs through the gauze still packed in his mouth.
Scott quirks a smile at his disgruntled reply. Stiles has been whining about having to get his wisdom teeth out for weeks, and Scott has been bragging that now that he's a werewolf, he'll never have to experience that particular procedure. "I thought you were asleep for that part," he says.
"Yeah, well, not the part where they stabbed me a needle or when I woke up feeling like an angry herd of zebras stomped all over my face," Stiles spits back.
"Oh, I don't think you were feeling much of anything when you woke up," the Sheriff interjects, smirking mischievously as he pats Stiles on the shoulder.
Scott's eyes glitter eagerly as he looks up at his best friend's dad. "Tell me you got a video."
The Sheriff doesn't answer, but his grin suggests he has some kind of incriminating evidence of the things his son said while on drugs. Stiles groans, slumping further into the couch.
"We'll talk later," Stilinski promises Scott before glancing at his watch. "For now, I've got to get going. Scott, just so you know, his meds are on the kitchen table, and the instructions are on the bottles. He can have more Vicodin in about an hour and Motrin around six. Make sure he eats something with it so he doesn't get sick. There's some jello, yogurt, applesauce—"
"Dad, I don't need a babysitter," Stiles whines. "I can take care of myself."
"There's a frozen pizza and some other snacks in there for you, too," the Sheriff continues, talking over Stiles as if he didn't hear him. "Uh, let's see, what else? No straws, no solid foods, he should drink plenty of fluids. There's more gauze next to his meds if he needs it, but, really, if it's still bleeding—"
"Oh my God, Dad!" Stiles barks a little louder. "Believe it or not, Scott is just as capable at reading as I am, and you are literally just listing everything that's written on the post-op sheet. Which is on the kitchen table."
"Okay, all right, fine." The Sheriff holds up his hands in surrender. "I'll get out of here. But you call me if you need anything, okay?"
"I'll take good care of him, I promise," Scott says.
Stiles drops his head back against the couch to look up at his dad, wincing as the movement jostles his face. "See you later, Dad."
The Sheriff kisses the top of his blanket-covered head, and Stiles must be feeling pretty awful because he doesn't complain about it. "Love you, kiddo," he says. "See you in the morning." Waving at Scott, he heads out.
"So what do you want to do?" Scott asks once they're alone. "You hungry? I could get you something to eat."
Stiles hunkers down a little further on the couch, shooting an offended glare at Scott. "No. Despite my dad trying to talk up jello and applesauce as appropriate replacements for real food, everything about them sounds disgusting."
Scott tries not to laugh, but he can't keep the smile completely contained. It's terrible, because he knows Stiles doesn't feel good, but he can't help but find his grumpiness amusing. "Okay, how about a movie then?" he asks. "You said something before about using this as an opportunity to make me watch some of these classics I still haven't seen." Plus, a movie might make Stiles fall asleep, which would probably be the best thing for him right now.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees halfheartedly. "I guess we could do Lord of the Rings."
"Okay, great," Scott says, hopping out of his chair to dig through the DVDs underneath the TV. "Which one's first?"
"Fellowship," Stiles mumbles. "I think it's the green box."
Scott locates the hefty box, his eyebrows furrowing as he reads the cover. "Special extended edition? What does that mean?"
"It means you're about to experience twelve hours of cinematic perfection," Stiles says smartly. "Now shut up and put it in."
Scott isn't exactly sure what he was expecting—he knows enough about Lord of the Rings to have a general idea of what they're about—but he actually enjoys the first part of the movie more than he thought he would. Maybe it helps that he can tell how much Stiles enjoys the movie by the way he randomly quotes along or watches Scott in what he probably thinks is a sneaky way whenever something big is about to happen. Scott's mostly just glad that it's distracting Stiles from his aching jaw, and in turn distracting Scott from thinking about Allison for a while.
They pause a little ways in to get Stiles' meds and some snacks (which end up just being giant bowls of ice cream, because that's all that sounded good to Stiles). Not long after that Stiles finally lays down and dozes off, right around the time Frodo gets stabbed on top of Weathertop. Scott smashes the volume down when the ringwraiths start screeching, afraid the noise will wake Stiles, but he's out.
Scott's not sure he's entirely following the story—there are a lot of characters to keep track of and they keep mentioning things that he's not sure whether or not he's supposed to understand—but he's intrigued enough to pop in disc two when it gets to the interlude (seriously, an interlude?), after he grabs some more food from the kitchen.
The Fellowship is deep in the Mines of Moria when Stiles starts getting restless. Moaning, he wiggles around to readjust himself, but gives up after a few minutes and sits up, sliding back to prop his back on the armrest.
"You okay, dude?" Scott asks, concerned at the miserable look on his friend's face. They still have another hour before it's time for more meds. He hits the pause button and studies his friend worriedly.
Stiles is taking deep, even breaths, hunched over with his eyes closed and brow furrowed. He slowly shakes his head. "I feel sick," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around his stomach.
Despite Stiles claiming he could take care of himself, Scott had read the post-op form on the table while he was making the frozen pizza, and he remembers that it said something about how some people could have a bad reaction to anesthesia. And, in retrospect, maybe the ice cream hadn't been the best idea.
"You think you're gonna throw up?" he asks, dropping his feet to the floor from where they'd been curled on the chair so he's ready to get up if needed.
Stiles is still focused on his breathing. "I dunno," he finally says, shaking his head again. He moans, scrunching up his face. "I really hope not. I can barely even open my mouth." Watery eyes peek over at Scott. "This sucks, dude."
Scott presses his lips together sympathetically, wishing he could do something to help. He hates seeing his best friend so miserable. If only he could…
Wait a second. Maybe he can.
"Hey, Stiles," he says, getting up purposefully. "Can I try something? I-I don't know if it'll work, but… Just let me try, okay?"
Stiles eyes him warily as he perches himself on the couch next to Stiles' knees. "Give me your hand," he says, holding out his own.
Stiles is obviously confused, but he hesitatingly offers his hand. It feels warm when Scott takes it between his, and Scott wonders if he might be running a slight fever. According to the paper, that wasn't all that uncommon either.
Well, he can't do anything about that, but he might be able to help with the pain. Hopefully the nausea, too.
Scott has only done this once before, and never with a human, but he remembers Deaton's instructions well. "It's all about intention, Scott, and a desire to help. If you're open to it, it will happen naturally." Intention. He can do that.
He sucks in a surprised breath when the first tendrils of pain crawl up his arms. It feels different than it did with the dog, sharper, like fire spreading through his veins. Before it had been more of an ache, but this is… Intense. Setting his jaw determinedly, he concentrates on being open to the pain, relaxing his muscles and letting it wash up his arm and over his body.
"Scott, what the hell—?!" Stiles starts to pull his hand away, but Scott tightens his grip.
"It's okay, dude," he assures, forcing his voice to stay even despite the burning pain searing through his body. He can see the questions swirling in Stiles' eyes. "Just relax."
"What…?" Stiles repeats a little quieter. The lines of pain on his face go soft, the tension going out of his body. "What are you doing?"
The pain is throbbing now, swirling sickeningly through Scott's stomach and jaw in time with his pulse. He lets go, hoping that was enough because he's not sure how much more he can take. His hands are shaking, and he balls them into fists to hide the tremors. Immediately, the pain begins to back off, the waves waning slowly with each beat of his heart, like the tide going out.
"Scott, what… What was that?" Stiles asks again, blinking slightly glazed eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the couch. "How did you do that? That was…" He lets out a relieved sigh. "Wow."
Scott takes a slow breath as the pain settles to a deep ache. "Doctor Deaton taught me," he explains with a tired smile. "He showed me how to do it, but that was only with a dog. This is the first time I've done it with a person."
Stiles blinks and then snickers like he's drunk, and, well, maybe he is. Scott doesn't really know how this works. "Are you saying I took your werewolfy flower, Scotty?"
Rolling his eyes, Scott punches his friend lightly on the shoulder. "Shut up, dude. Did it work?"
Stiles is still smirking drunkenly. "Oh yeah," he slurs. "You're way better than Vicodin. Hey, I bet we could make a bunch of money selling hits of… Whatever you want to call that. To kids at school. It's real nice."
"We're not using my wolf powers to get rich, Stiles," Scott says with an exasperated sigh.
"Why not?" Stiles asks indignantly. He suddenly gets that look on his face like he does when he figures something out, and he picks his head up sharply. "Wait, you made a face. Did doing that hurt you? Scott, were you, like, taking my pain somehow?"
"It wasn't that bad," Scott assures him. "I heal faster, so the pain doesn't last very long. It's already gone." That's not entirely true. When he'd done it with the dog he'd been sore the entire next day, and he's assuming based on how much worse this pain was that it will stick around longer. But it's a bearable kind of pain. Totally worth it.
"Oh," Stiles says somewhat suspiciously. "Well, thanks. Seriously. I feel way better."
"Better enough to watch the rest of the movie?" Scott asks hopefully. He'd rather not talk more about this and risk Stiles doing that thing he always does where he overthinks something simple. "I… kinda want to see what happens."
Stiles blinks at the TV like he'd forgotten it existed. "Mines of Moria? Dammit, that means I missed my favorite line," he says, swinging his legs around to face the screen and make more room for Scott on the couch.
"Wait, I thought your favorite line was the one about wizards never being late." Scott snags the remote control from the arm of the chair he'd been sitting in earlier so he can stay on the couch. He wants to stay close—he's not sure how long his pain-taking will last.
"They're all my favorite lines, Scott. I told you. This movie is amazing."
Scott chuckles, pressing play. "Yeah, I think I'm starting to see why you like it so much."
"Shh! This is the best part!"
Settling down next to his friend, Scott smiles contentedly. He still misses Allison fiercely, that's an ache that won't heal for a long time, but right now, he knows he's exactly where he needs to be.
Drop me a comment if you enjoyed this! It will make my day. :)
