A/N: I know, I know, there are a ton of fics out there that feature "the conversation" in some way, shape, or form. I've read some really great ones. And yet I still felt the need to add my own to the pile. I just thought, what a missed opportunity to not have the boys stuck in that tunnel together, forced to talk it out (and actually deal with some of the crap they never dealt with in the show). So here's my rendition.
The beginning and ending borrow straight from the episode, and I don't think it really changes all that much canon-wise, minus a couple minor scenes or lines here and there. But I haven't watched season 5 in a hot second, so maybe I'm wrong.
Most of the time when I write something, I get impatient to share it and probably don't edit as much as I should. I spent a bit longer on this. So, still unbeta'd, but I really did try to nail it on this one, and I'm pretty proud of it. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Still don't own Teen Wolf.
Soundtrack: So Far Away by House of Heroes
Damnatio Memoriae Remix (You Rush a Miracle Man, You Get Rotten Miracles)
By Minnicoops
Stiles hasn't said one word to him since they got in the car to go to the communication tower. Nothing. Hasn't even looked at him. Scott supposes he should have expected as much—he'd been surprised that Stiles had asked for his help in the first place. But after he'd shown up at his house, Scott had hoped that maybe…
Well. Baby steps.
The silence is stifling, though. Thick and suffocating, like a heavy blanket. Stiles hadn't even turned on the radio, and Scott sure as hell isn't going to risk the tenuous truce they've managed to reach by upsetting the unspoken balance of power. Even for something as trivial as switching on some music. Stiles invited him on this fact-finding mission. That means, right now, Stiles calls all the shots.
If he wants to sit in awkward silence, they will sit in awkward silence. Scott is not going to screw this up again.
Still. It makes the twenty minute drive feel like an eternity.
When they finally pull up to the tower and Stiles turns off the car, but makes no move to get out, Scott thinks that maybe, maybe he's finally going to say something. But after a minute more of the silence, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it behind him like he's pissed all over again. Was he waiting for Scott to say something? What the hell is he even supposed to say? Scott already apologized. What more does he want?
Stiles is already at the door, jiggling the handle uselessly, by the time Scott gets out and catches up to him.
"Dammit!" Stiles curses, smacking the door in frustration.
"Let me," Scott offers.
Stiles glares at him like it's his fault the door is locked, but steps out of the way, sweeping a hand towards it brusquely. His entire posture is poised like an arrow waiting to be loosed, like claws waiting to strike. It sends a pang through Scott's chest.
He bites the inside of his lip bloody, moving past Stiles and turning the handle down with enough force to break it. The metal door creaks open, and Scott glances over his shoulder with a forced smile. Stiles is pointedly not looking at him.
"It's this way," Scott mutters, leading the way into the building. He only knows Stiles is following because of the flashlight beam bouncing on the floor at his feet.
Scott leads Stiles down the stairs that he took earlier with Parrish, resisting the urge to pull his jacket tighter around himself in the chilly air. Ever since, well… He's been just a little bit too cold. Probably because his body is using more energy to heal itself or something.
It doesn't take long to get to the spot where the attack took place. Scott stands back a little to let Stiles poke around, sweeping his flashlight over the carnage the creature left behind.
"Okay, you see that?" Stiles says after a minute.
Scott follows his eyeline to the blood-stained metal cabinet that had been knocked over in the fight. "I see blood…"
Stiles wiggles the light behind the cabinet impatiently, and Scott can almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Look where it leads to."
Frowning, Scott takes a step closer, noticing where the blood disappears into a hole in the floor. The cabinet is blocking most of it, which is probably why he didn't notice it before. This must be how the creature got in. He glances back at Stiles and then moves to lift the cabinet off the hole so they can get a better look.
Crouching, he gets his hands under the heavy cabinet, and then chokes out a gasp as his attempt to lift it sends shooting pain through his chest. He bites back a moan, taking a couple of breaths to relieve the agony. Behind him, he can feel Stiles' eyes boring into his back, but he refuses to look. He can do this. He's fine.
He holds his breath, bracing himself for the pain as he tries again. The cabinet groans, but doesn't budge, and Scott's frustration builds. It's not that heavy, he should be able to lift it. Why is he having so much—?
Scuffling footsteps startle him, and suddenly Stiles is there across from him, holding the other side. There's a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that almost looks like concern, and Scott feels another pang in his chest.
Nodding, Stiles helps him lever the cabinet up wordlessly. It settles with a thump, and Stiles pulls his flashlight out of his back pocket so he can shine it back on the hole.
Definitely big enough for the creature to have gotten through. And there's even a ladder.
Stiles starts heading down the ladder before Scott can suggest that he be the one to go first, but it gives him a chance to catch his breath. Once he's down, Stiles holds the light up so Scott can see to climb down the rungs, hopping off the last couple and making a tiny splash when he hits the wet, concrete floor. These are exactly like the tunnels Liam was in, from the water treatment plant. They must be connected.
As soon as he lands, Stiles begins wandering off down the tunnel, so Scott follows, searching for more signs of the creature. It's not too hard to find them, the thing wasn't subtle and left behind scratches and cracks all along the walls and floor. But it gets interesting a few minutes later when the flashlight sweeps across a set of words written in smokey mercury.
"What is that?" Scott asks, squinting at the unfamiliar words.
Stiles tilts his head. "I think it's Latin."
Creasing his brow, Scott steps closer, pulling out his phone. "Hold up the light. I'm gonna take a picture."
As soon as he gets his camera open, though, the light illuminating the words dips. "Stiles," he complains, "hold the light still—"
A groan and thump interrupt him, and he spins around to see the flashlight rolling away from Stiles' prone form. Tracy is standing over him, tail swinging. She hisses, her sharp teeth dripping with venom.
Adrenaline floods Scott's veins, and he jumps out of the way just in time to miss her swinging tail. His wolf awakens, claws and teeth appearing, ready for a fight. Tracy is already coming at him again, her own claws swiping for his face, his chest. Blocking her, he throws her off-balance long enough to get his own footing after the surprise attack.
"Scott!" Stiles calls out from where he's lying paralyzed on his back. "Behind you!"
Scott reacts on instinct, trusting Stiles' warning, and ducks out of the way just as Josh shoots sparks where he was just standing. Scott spins and kicks at Josh's knees, knocking him back, but Tracy is already coming at him again.
Getting a sudden idea, Scott snags Tracy's arm, twisting so that her hand plunges straight into Josh's chest. Sparks shoot up her arm as she screams, and at the same time, Josh yelps. Scott releases her as she staggers backwards, leaving Josh to collapse to the floor next to Stiles.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Scott hears Stiles snark at the paralyzed chimera, but he's distracted by another heartbeat he's just noticed.
Arm still tingling from the zap he got holding Tracy's arm, Scott snarls in the direction of the sound. Corey, the other chimera, appears, hopping away from where he was camouflaged against the wall. Unlike the other two, this one looks like he's about to wet himself, so Scott howls in his face in the hopes that it will scare him off.
The pins and needles sensation in his arm sweeps over the rest of his body, and he reaches for the back of his neck, realizing with horror that Tracy must have gotten him when he grabbed her to attack Josh. Howling again, this time in a mixture of fear and rage, Scott drops to the ground, ending up in a twisted heap perpendicular to Stiles.
"All right, all right." Scott whips his neck around as best he can to see an upside-down Theo appearing a little ways down the tunnel. "That's enough."
Tracy looks somewhat disappointed, but Corey's face is pure relief as the two of them back away from the downed werewolf.
"Theo," Scott bites out, cursing to himself. His heart hammers in his chest, wound throbbing viciously. He's completely helpless. Totally unable to protect himself from the werecoyote and his little gang. Totally unable to protect Stiles.
"Scotty," Theo answers easily, sauntering over to smirk down at him. He doesn't look all that surprised that Scott's alive. "Nice to see you up and about. Well, figuratively speaking."
"What did you do?" Scott hisses.
Theo looks at the chimeras, who are picking Josh up off the floor, and shrugs. "What can I say? I don't take rejection well. Had to get creative."
He holds up a placating hand as Scott's eyes flash red with anger, adding quickly, "Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm not here to kill you. In fact, we're actually on the same side now."
Stiles snorts loudly, and Theo glances at him, smile growing. "You don't have to believe me, Stiles, but I promise you it's true. Because this thing?" He walks over to the words on the tunnel floor. "That's what we need to worry about now." Anger flashes across his face and he stomps on the floor with enough force to crack the concrete.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Theo makes his way back to Scott and kneels next to him. "You see, your pack and mine, Scott?" The werecoyote leans in close, and Scott flinches despite himself. "We're gonna go back to school and pretend to be normal teenagers, but at night? We're gonna be fighting for our lives."
Scott swallows. "What is it?"
Something dangerous flashes in Theo's eyes, and he pulls back his lips like a growling dog. "It's not a chimera."
"But," Scott argues, a small part of him still hoping to reason with him, "it's still just a kid underneath. Someone like us."
"Not anymore," Theo says sharply, his eyes glinting in the dim light. He looks… Terrified.
"Well," Theo adds, the momentary fear disappearing under another smug smile, "I'll leave you to it then." He stands and shoos the chimeras away, turning to follow them. "Seems you two could use some quality time together. Work out a few issues." He drawls the last word with satisfaction.
"Burn in hell, Theo," Stiles calls after him as he struts away.
Theo gives no indication that he heard, and soon the two of them are left alone in the damp tunnel.
"God, I hate that guy," Stiles mutters.
The corner of Scott's mouth curls in agreement, but the half smile is short-lived. He knows the drill—kanima venom typically lasts a couple of hours depending on how big the scratch is. From the complete lack of feeling below his neck, he can tell Tracy got him pretty good. He can't be sure about Stiles, but regardless, he can assume they're gonna be stuck here for a while. Completely immobile. Just laying here, waiting for the venom to wear off.
Awesome.
Well, they came down here to see if they could figure out more about this creature. Obviously, Theo knew something about it, enough to be scared of it. So something about those words must have clued him in.
Being mostly on his back makes it difficult to see the spot where the words were, but Scott gets a good enough look to see that Theo destroyed them when he cracked the floor. "Dammit," he says, more to himself than Stiles. "He knew what it meant, and I can't remember the words…"
Scott wracks his brain, trying to remember the letters, but he's always been bad at this type of thing. The first word was something with "Damn" at the beginning, but he can't remember the second word at all—
"Damnatio memoriae," Stiles says, almost reluctantly. Like he doesn't want to share the information.
Scott looks up at him, but Stiles' gaze is fixed on the ceiling above him. "It means 'condemnation of memory,'" he adds.
"Okay… But what does that mean?" Scott is well beyond asking Stiles how he knows these random tidbits of information, but he's really hoping that he also has some insight into how that fits in this context. Because "condemnation of memory" is not really helpful in understanding what they might be up against.
Sighing, Stiles shakes his head. "I think it means that whatever the Dread Doctors created, whatever this last chimera really is? It's not something new. It's something old—like, really old."
Scott chews on this. Something old? "So they didn't create a new creature…"
"They resurrected one," Stiles finishes.
And whatever it is, Theo knows enough about it to be scared shitless.
"Great," Scott says.
"Yep," Stiles agrees, popping the P.
Well, does it matter? New creature, resurrected creature, there's still a teenager under there. Scott doesn't care what Theo says, there is still an innocent life at stake. It's like his mom said, he has to have hope that this kid can be saved. If he doesn't have that, then what is he even doing?
He's not going to give up on this chimera. No matter what horrible creature they become, Scott is not going to give up the hope of saving them.
He's not going to lose anyone else.
But… How? How is he supposed to do this? Theo said their packs would be fighting alongside each other now, but Scott isn't even sure he has a pack anymore. Kira's gone, Lydia's catatonic in Eichen House, Malia's off doing God-knows-what and wants nothing to do with him, Liam tried to kill him, and his best friend of thirteen years is barely speaking to him.
How is he supposed to do this alone?
"So…" Stiles says when the quiet between them stretches well past awkward.
Scott literally can't think of anything to say to him. His mind is blank. Well, no, that's not true. There are a lot of things he wants to say—conversations he's been having in his head since that night out in the rain—but he's afraid of what will happen if he speaks any of them out loud. Afraid it will go exactly like it did the last time. Afraid that everything he's thinking and feeling will just burst out in a nonsensical, emotional mess and push Stiles even further away.
To be honest, he's not even sure he knows how he's feeling. A lot has happened in the last few days, and he hasn't even had time to process it. Doesn't want to process it. He just wants to stop feeling so shitty about all of it. Just wants to stop being so angry and hurt. Just wants…
He sees Stiles making faces out of the corner of his eye and tilts his head up to get a better view. It looks like his face is having a mini-seizure or something.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
Stiles lets out a frustrated growl. "My nose itches. I swear, every goddamn time."
Scott snorts a laugh.
Back to silence.
Dammit, now Scott's nose itches, too. He tries to ignore it, wishing he could come up with something innocuous to talk about, if only for a distraction. But talking about the weather with Stiles almost sounds worse than another knock-down dragout fight.
Another sigh from Stiles, who is evidently on the same wavelength. "Don't suppose you can see your phone? Tell us how long we've been here?"
Scott instinctively tries to reach for his phone, safely tucked away in his pocket, but of course, he can't move. "Nope," he says, mimicking Stiles' sigh.
A few more minutes (or maybe ten or twenty—Scott really can't tell) tick by without a word. This is ridiculous. The two of them have had thousands of fights before. Hell, when they were kids, they practically had a fight every day. Granted, those were more about stuff like who got to play Mario and who got stuck with Luigi, which is a little less important in the grand scheme of things than what they're dealing with now. But still. There'd been some bigger fights, too. They'd always managed to figure it out.
What if they can't figure it out this time?
It's Stiles who finally works up the nerve to start the conversation.
"So, uh." Scott hears Stiles' pulse pick up as he starts talking, the sudden smell of stress, the slight waver in his voice, and he knows it's not going to be small talk this time. "I noticed… Uh, you…" He takes a deep breath and blurts, "How bad is it?"
Scott frowns at the unexpected question. He thought for sure it was going to be an, 'I told you so,' or a, 'Haven't you learned by now that you should always listen to me?' What is he talking about?
"How bad is what?" he asks dumbly.
"You know," Stiles says, his voice strained, like it's physically difficult for him to get the words out. "Your—the…" He jerks his head toward Scott's torso. "That. You said it's taking a long time to heal."
Oh. Scott pulls his lips in between his teeth. "It's fine."
There's a long pause, so Scott assumes Stiles is satisfied with his answer. It's not like he can be all that worried about it. He certainly wasn't a couple days ago when he tackled Scott into a wall, when it was still bleeding through the bandages. It's better now. And anyway, it was never even that bad. He's fine.
But Stiles surprises him and keeps going. "You, um. You never told me…" He swallows loudly. "About what happened."
If Scott could shrug, he would. He really didn't want to rehash it. It had happened and now it's over. "Not a lot to tell. You got the gist of it."
"Scott."
Scott looks up reluctantly to meet Stiles' gaze. The honey brown eyes looking at him are full of curiosity. Concern.
"What happened?" Stiles asks again.
Scott feels a flare of anger, because seriously? Now he's worried? Now that he's ready to talk about it, to think about someone other than himself? Where was that before, when he'd walked away? When he'd—
Clenching his jaw, Scott makes himself stop that line of thought. That's not fair. Stiles' dad had been dying, and he hadn't known everything. Hadn't known that… And it didn't matter anyway. Scott's fine now.
He studies the ceiling intently, tracing the cracks in the concrete with his eyes. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but they're stuck here and Stiles has finally broken the silence. He feels like he owes it to him to say something.
"Liam—" he starts, the word coming out froggy. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Liam was upset because… Because Hayden was dying—died—and I—I wouldn't… I didn't…" His stomach rolls uncomfortably, and he's suddenly very aware of how cold he is. It's worse now that he's not moving.
To his credit, Stiles keeps his mouth shut, waiting patiently for Scott to continue. Scott wishes for once he would interrupt, change the subject.
He takes a measured breath. "Theo trapped me in the library. Mountain ash. It doesn't affect him, but I guess you already know that… Anyway, Liam found me, and the supermoon, it affected him pretty bad, and… Well…"
"That bastard," Stiles mutters, and Scott knows he isn't referring to Liam.
Scott bites his lip. "Yeah. He'd been planning it the whole time. Put the wolfsbane in my inhaler so I'd be weaker—"
"Wait, what?" Stiles interrupts. Scott can hear the frown in his voice. "Your inhaler? Since when have you been using your inhaler?"
Crap. There's a lot Stiles doesn't know. How had they gotten so out of sync?
"Um, yeah. I've just needed it a couple times. Here and there," Scott says.
There's another long silence. Stiles doesn't prompt him for more information, and Scott decides he's said enough.
Once again, it's Stiles who breaks the quiet. "I'm sorry," he mumbles quietly.
Scott can smell the guilt wafting off of him. It's almost funny, really—what does he have to apologize for? Scott's the one who screwed everything up. He's the one who drove his entire pack away and left himself vulnerable to Theo's attack.
"For what?" Scott says bitterly. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. It's all my fault, isn't it? I was the one who said we should trust Theo. If I'd just listened to you in the first place, if I hadn't have been so goddamn stupid—"
"Scott," Stiles snaps. Scott closes his mouth.
"As much as I want to say I told you so," Stiles says through clenched teeth, "—and believe me, I really, really want to say it—he fooled us all. Even me."
Scott sucks in another breath, letting it out slowly. "It's just… This all got so messed up."
"Yeah," Stiles scoffs. "Tell me about it."
The conversation lulls again, each of them lost to their own thoughts. Scott can only wonder at what Stiles is thinking about. He's never had a problem with that before—Stiles isn't exactly hard to read in the first place, and he's always shared everything with Scott. His excitement, his frustrations, his passions… He's always been full of words. But lately…
Scott takes a chance and glances at the other boy. Stiles is staring at the roof of the tunnel, his eyes distant.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Scott goes back to staring at his own spot above him. There's a place a little to his left where a bunch of little cracks in the concrete all come together to form one really deep one. He doubts it was made by the creature—it looks like it's been here a while by the way the edges are starting to crumble around it. He's reminded of fifth grade geology, when they learned about erosion and how even rocks break down eventually, worn away by water, wind, and time. Back to the raw materials they were formed from.
Nothing lasts forever.
The quiet is getting oppressive again. Scott tries wiggling his fingers and toes, concentrating hard on getting any movement at all, but there's nothing. Of course.
Well, Stiles offered the first olive branch. Scott supposes that means it's his turn.
He licks his lips. "How's your, uh, dad doing?"
There's a beat before Stiles answers. "He's good. They said he should be able to go home in a couple more days."
Scott nods. His mom has been giving him periodic updates on the Sheriff's condition (and not so subtly telling him that Stiles hasn't left his side for days and that maybe the two of them should work out whatever is going on between them because she's worried about both of them and a little tired of Stiles constantly being there), but hearing it from Stiles puts him more at ease. It had been a close thing. Too close. He doesn't want to imagine what it would've done to Stiles if…
"That's good," he says.
Dammit, he needs more. It's never been so hard to find something to talk about with Stiles before.
"I, uh, overheard you talking to him this morning." Scott winces, immediately regretting his choice of words. "I mean—I didn't—I wasn't, like, listening in. I just—I was looking for you, but then I heard you talking to your dad, so I—" He closes his eyes, shaking his head at himself. "I'm just gonna stop talking now."
Stiles doesn't say anything for so long that Scott risks another glance at him, but he's turned his head away.
"Dude, I'm sorry," Scott says softly, kicking himself. "I didn't mean—"
"He figured it out." Stiles lets out a harsh laugh, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling. His eyes are glistening with unshed tears. "I mean, of course he did. He's not the Sheriff for nothing."
Scott hesitates, not sure if he should ask how it went. He doesn't want to push, but he can sense the stress and pain coming off his friend. "You okay?" he asks tentatively.
Stiles sniffs, eyes flicking over to Scott before returning to studying the roof of the tunnel. "Theo told him what happened," he says, his voice like ice. "Except, he said it happened to him."
That catches Scott off guard. "What? Why would—"
"I don't know," Stiles snorts harshly. "Because he wanted control? Because he wanted my dad's sympathy?"
That doesn't make sense. How would bashing someone's head in with a wrench gain him any sympathy, even if it was in self defense? Unless… Unless he'd told a different version to the Sheriff. Unless he'd lied.
Scott's stomach twists, though he's not sure if it's because he feels sick or angry. Both, he supposes. He'd suspected that maybe… But Theo's heartbeat had been steady when he'd told Scott what had happened that night. He'd seemed so sincere, so concerned. What if he'd figured out how to lie undetected? Used Scott's compassion and willingness to trust against him? After all, hadn't he been doing that all along?
We've all got to start talking to each other, Scott had said. But Theo was the only one who'd been talking, spinning his web of lies so thick that now it's nearly impossible for them to work their way out of it. He'd used them all, preyed on their insecurities, manipulated them.
Oh God. He'd bought into Theo's stupid lie. Had assumed that…
The full weight of it hits him, squeezes his heart so hard he thinks it might burst. That bastard.
Scott wants to kill him.
Stiles takes a shaky breath. "I don't know why I didn't say anything," he whispers. "If I'd just…"
Scott doesn't need chemosignals to sense the shame and self-loathing radiating off of Stiles. It takes him straight back to the weeks after the nogitsune. Those horrible weeks when Stiles refused to look any of them in the eye.
All of a sudden, Scott can't breathe. After their fight, after he'd died, he'd told himself it didn't matter what had happened that night with Donovan. But that's a lie. It does matter. It matters because, whatever happened, it's crushing Stiles.
Scott needs to hear it from him. The way it should have happened in the first place.
Unless it's already too late for that.
He clears his throat again, trying not to sound as shaken as he is. "Do you want…? I mean, you don't have to," he adds quickly, afraid he's pressing too much. "It's just, I only ever heard Theo's version."
"What? You don't trust him?" The sarcasm stings like a slap to the face.
"No, it's not—" Shit. Scott tries desperately to backpedal, to go back to the common ground they'd just been on. "I already said…" He growls, his frustration building. He's not going to let this devolve into another fight. Not now that they're actually talking.
"It's just… I hate how this all went down, okay?!" A riptide of rage drags the words out of him before he can stop them. "I hate that something happened to you and I hate that you felt like you had to hide it from me. I hate that Theo told me and I hate that I believed him. I hate that none of us trust each other anymore. I hate that you'll barely even talk to me. You won't even look at me." Tears sting the backs of his eyes, his voice cracking. The swell of anger dissipates as quickly as it came, leaving the raw fear exposed behind it. "I hate that I'm losing my best friend."
A hitched breath answers him, and Scott risks looking up at him. Stiles is turned away again, but it's obvious he's crying, too. Or trying very hard not to.
"Stiles, please." Scott's lips tremble, the tears sliding down his temples and pooling in his ears. "You're my brother, dude. I don't care what you say. Just talk to me."
Stiles stops breathing altogether for a few seconds, and Scott has a fleeting fear that he pushed him too far. That Stiles is going to have a panic attack, and he's not going to be able to do a thing to help. But then the ragged gasps are back, desperately trying to be quiet as Stiles fights to contain the sobs trying to break free.
For as long as they've known each other, Scott has always been more comfortable showing emotion between them. That doesn't mean he hasn't seen Stiles cry, because with all that's happened in their lives, there have been plenty of tears, but Stiles has always been more embarrassed by it, more hesitant to let it show. Maybe it's a difference of being raised by a single mom versus a single dad, or maybe it's just their personalities, but Scott knows Stiles won't talk until he feels like he's in control. So he waits.
Eventually, the broken wheezes even out to sniffles and then Stiles goes quiet again.
"It—it was that night we were at the library looking up stuff about the chimeras," he starts haltingly, his voice flat. "Malia and I stayed late, but then she left so it was just me. The Jeep… It wasn't starting again. So—I was trying to… And then—he just came out of nowhere…"
"Donovan?" Scott prompts when he trails off.
Stiles takes a shaky breath. "He—he freaking—bit me with this hand—mouth—thingy. Had his arm around my neck. Wouldn't let go. And so I…" Scott hears him swallow thickly. "I—I grabbed the wrench and I hit him, and I ran."
Scott's jaw is clenched so hard he feels like his teeth might break.
"He was chasing me, so I, uh, went back to the library. I—I thought he wouldn't be able to get in." He lets out a mirthless laugh. "Stupid. Maybe if I'd… Anyway, he—he followed me. Started talking a bunch of shit. Told me he was gonna kill my dad. That he was gonna… I tried to hide, but he found me, and—"
It's the hardest thing, not to say anything in the pauses. Scott's heart is beating almost as fast as Stiles'.
"So… So I climbed up that scaffolding, you know? There was nowhere else… And—and he grabbed me. Had my leg. And there was this pin. Just this stupid little pin… So, I pulled it. And all these support beams came down. And—and when I looked back…" He lets out another barking laugh. It makes Scott's skin crawl. "I mean, how does that even happen? How does a beam fall at the exact right angle to just go through somebody like that? It's gotta be, like, one in a million, right?"
For a long moment, Scott just lays there, listening to Stiles trying to get his breathing under control again. Hearing it from Theo had been one thing, lies notwithstanding. Hearing it from Stiles, even just this broken rendition… God, he must have been terrified. And Scott hadn't been there. Nobody had been there to protect him. What if Donovan had succeeded? What if…?
"He was gonna kill you," Scott murmurs. Stiles had told him before, but he hadn't gotten it until just now.
Stiles sniffs. "Yeah, well, Liam was gonna kill you." And you didn't murder him, is left unspoken.
The icy band around Scott's chest tightens again, pressing the tears out of the corners of his eyes. Liam might not have killed him, but Theo did kill him. He knew that terror, the realization that there was no way out. Nowhere to go. That he was one hundred percent going to die. He'd felt the claws sink into his lungs, tearing through his heart. He'd experienced that awful moment of being and then suddenly not.
He hadn't even fought back. He'd just let it happen.
What if Stiles had just let it happen?
"Stiles, he—it was self defense," Scott says. Hearing the truth now, he can't believe he believed Theo's version, even for a second. Stiles could have never done the things he'd said. Of course he couldn't have. "And it was an accident," Scott adds. "You didn't mean to…"
Stiles huffs humorlessly. "Yeah, maybe."
Scott frowns. "Maybe? What are you talking about, dude? You said it yourself, it was a freak accident." He twists his neck to look up at his friend again when he gets no response. "Stiles?"
Stiles bites his lip, tilting his head away from Scott. "I may not have meant for it to happen that way," he says quietly, his voice hard, "but I was glad it did. I'm glad he's dead."
Oh.
Some of us have to make mistakes. Some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes. Some of us are human.
Scott wants to dig into it more, to reassure himself that that's not what Stiles really means. That he's not happy a teenage boy is dead. That he's just relieved that the threat to his life is gone. But he can't bring himself to ask.
"What did your dad say?" he asks instead.
Stiles takes a long breath. In and out. "He thinks no court would convict me—which, God, Scott, if this goes to trial, I don't even…" He's shaking his head, his heart rate ticking up again. He takes another breath. "He said it'll take a while, you know? To feel like I—I made up for it or something. To balance it out, I guess."
Regression to the mean. But Stiles' tone says he doesn't believe it. "What do you think?" Scott presses.
A pause. "I don't know," comes the unsure reply. Stiles sniffs. "Before, when Theo told me about my dad, he, uh… He said he came back here for a pack. He was saying how powerful everyone was. How powerful we could make him. The werecoyote, the banshee, the beta with the anger issues… And—" He chokes on the words, and when he speaks again his voice is almost inaudible. "And the void version of me."
Shit. How had he even—? That bastard really knew how to target their biggest insecurities, didn't he?
"Stiles," Scott says firmly, a sudden protective rage flushing through his body. He wishes his friend would look at him. "That isn't you. That was never you. It was the nogitsune, and it's gone."
Amber eyes finally flick his direction. "Is it?" Stiles whispers fearfully. "Because, sometimes… Sometimes, I'm not so sure. Sometimes, I swear I can still feel it. Waiting. Just beneath the surface."
"Stiles—" Scott protests.
"Or maybe you're right," he continues, voice strengthening with resolve, like he's been thinking about this for a while. Knowing Stiles, he definitely has. "Maybe it is just me. Maybe that's how I've always been. I—I'm not like you, Scott. I'm not a good person. Maybe that's why it picked me in the first place."
"Stiles—"
"It wasn't just killing Donovan. He made me choose, you know? Theo? He said I had to choose, to save you or my dad. And you know what I thought? The first thing that popped into my head?" Stiles' eyes turn steely, dark. "I thought, Scott deserves this. He deserves to fight this one alone. I didn't even feel bad, Scott. I picked my dad and I didn't even hesitate, not for a second."
Scott feels his heart breaking. Literally—his chest is on fire. Why is Stiles telling him this?
"Your dad almost died," he rasps around the lump in his throat, trying to justify Stiles' decision. To Stiles. To himself. A moment of anger didn't make him Void, no matter how much it hurts Scott. "If you hadn't gone to him—"
"You almost died!" Stiles snaps back. "You almost…" He pulls in a shuddering breath. "God, Scott. I could've lost you. I almost… And I didn't even… What kind of person does that make me, huh?" His voice is wet with tears now. "If you had died, what would I have done then? How would I have gone on without you, Scott?"
He did die.
"Stiles," Scott says. The stench of shame is sickly sweet in his nose, like rotting fruit, mingling with the salty tears. He feels queasy. "Look, I—I'm okay. You made the right call, okay?"
"That's not the point."
"But it is," Scott insists. "You were put in an impossible situation. Of course you had to pick your dad. I'm not—I don't blame you. And you shouldn't either."
Stiles' continued crying, soft and hiccupping, is enough to tell Scott he doesn't believe him.
"Stiles," Scott tries again. He wishes he could wrap his friend up in his arms, make him look him in the eye so he could see that he isn't lying. "Theo is a manipulative bastard. Don't believe a word he says, okay? You're not like the nogitsune. You're not even close. It was… It was chaos and strife, and that's not you. You're my voice of reason, dude. You make sense of things, put the pieces together. It was pain, but… You help people, Stiles. You make peoples' lives better. You make my life better. Does that sound like the nogitsune to you?"
More snuffling.
"Stiles, come on, man. Does that sound like the nogitsune?"
A hesitant, "No."
Scott feels some of the tension dissipate. "Good," he says. "Because it's true. Don't let Theo get into your head, okay?"
It's quiet for a minute longer, and then, "It's just… Every time I think it's over, like, really over, it just keeps coming back. I just want it to be over, Scott." The whispered confession is so vulnerable, so broken.
Scott closes his eyes, feeling those words all the way down to his soul.
"I'm not, like, an expert or anything," he says slowly, carefully. "But… I don't think that's the kind of thing that ever really goes away, Stiles."
To his surprise, Stiles lets out a breathy exhalation of a laugh. "Yeah, guess you're probably right." He sniffs again. "You know, it's too bad we don't know any counselors who specialize in the supernatural. Well, other than Morell, but she basically threatened to kill me, so I don't think she'd be a great person to talk to about my trauma."
Scott frowns. When did Morell threaten to kill him?
"But, seriously, somebody could make a buttload of money off of our sorry assess," he adds.
Deciding to ignore the Morell comment for now, Scott agrees. "Yeah, for real."
They've all accumulated their fair share of traumas over the last couple years. It should probably come as no surprise that things would eventually fall apart. Scott feels like he's been holding on by a thread for a long time—he should've expected others might be in the same boat. All of them doing exactly what he'd been doing. Hiding their brokenness in an attempt not to burden each other with their problems. To pretend everything was okay.
Obviously, everything isn't okay.
If he really wants this to work, for his pack to be whole again, he has to stop hiding. They all need to stop hiding things from each other.
"Theo killed me." The words slip out before Scott can stop them.
Thick silence answers him.
Scott closes his eyes in instant regret. God, why did he say that? It isn't important. In fact, it's just going to make Stiles feel bad again, after all the progress they've made.
"Sorry," he apologizes. "I don't know why—"
"Stop." Stiles' voice is hard. Scott can hear his heart thundering in his chest.
He doesn't say anything else so Scott tries again. "Stiles, I—"
"Tell me what happened." Stiles speaks slowly, enunciating each word carefully, and the betrayal beneath them is hard to miss. Shit, why the hell did he bring this up? He should've just left it, just let Stiles go on thinking that Liam had almost killed him. That Theo had simply thought he was dead. What did it matter anyway? It was basically the same thing. He's alive now, and that's what matters.
Scott swallows thickly. No. No turning back now. He needs to be honest, And anyway, if he doesn't spill, Stiles is just going to be pissed at him again.
"It's, uh, pretty much what I said before," he starts, his face growing warm. He can feel the sweat on his palms, and the tips of his fingers twitch nervously. "Except, after Liam left… Theo came back, and he… He, uh…" Now his heart is hammering, each beat a painful reminder of exactly what had happened. "Well, you've seen it," he finishes lamely.
"How long?" Stiles's voice has gone almost robotic. "How long were you dead, Scott?"
Biting his lip, Scott's eyes wander down the empty tunnel, blurred by tears. Another time, he might have found the question funny—people don't typically go around asking other people how long they were dead in such a casual way. But this isn't the first time they've died, is it? Maybe death is becoming a normal part of their lives.
Add that to the trauma pile.
"Fifteen minutes," Scott croaks, struggling to get his lungs to work properly. The hole in his heart is sucking out all the air from his chest.
"Fifteen…" Stiles repeats breathily. "How…?"
Scott's face twists, trying to stop the emotions overwhelming him. He can't break down, not now. He has to keep it together. "My mom," he says. "I—I don't really know how…" He takes in a ragged breath, forcing back the tears.
"I'm going to fucking kill him." Determination drips from every one of Stiles' words.
"Stiles, it's—"
"No, Scott. Don't you dare. Don't you dare say it's okay."
Scott huffs, his gut churning. He understands the sentiment. Really. "No, I'm not—It's just, ugh. I don't even know why I brought it up. I'm fine now, okay? And going after Theo now… It's not going to do me any good. It happened, and it sucked, but it's not like this is the first time I've died—"
"It's not the same and you know it!" Stiles yells, shocking Scott into silence. Looking at him hesitantly, Scott is surprised at the fury on Stiles' face. "You didn't—It's not the same, Scott."
The words hit Scott right in his wounded chest, wrapping tightly around his heart and lungs until he sees spots in his vision. He knows Stiles is right—he didn't choose this. This wasn't him sacrificing his life to save his family or his friends, this was someone else poisoning him, poisoning his pack, from the inside out. This was someone using him, using his desire to help others to rip him apart and cut out his heart.
"Maybe it's not," Scott says, voice strangled, "but I'm fine now, so—"
"Are you, though?" Stiles interrupts. "You keep saying you're fine, but, Scott, I'm not blind. I saw your chest, dude."
"It's healing," Scott whispers, hating himself for bringing this up.
"Like the last time, when you said you were healing and then you almost died in a rest stop bathroom?"
"That's… That was because I felt responsible for Derek," Scott mumbles.
"Yeah?" Stiles' voice is taking on a slightly hysteric quality. "And what is it this time?"
"I don't—"
"Because I have a theory. I think it's the exact same thing, Scott. I think you feel responsible. For everyone. All the time. And, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but everything's kind of gone to shit lately. You said it yourself, you think it's all your fault, don't you?"
The words slice through his chest, and Scott bites his lip bloody trying to hold back the sobs. Of course it's his fault. It was his pack, and he didn't protect them, didn't…
Stiles isn't done. "Scott, Theo literally murdered you in cold blood." He's practically shouting, the anger bursting out of him like a bottle of soda finally being cracked after it's been shaken all day. "If he was arrested and tried—which, of course the bastard won't be because how the hell would we explain any of this to a jury—he would be found guilty, beyond a shadow of a doubt, of first degree murder. That's the bad one, the one where it's premeditated. With malice intent. He would get life in prison at best. So quit giving him the benefit of the doubt. There's no doubt, Scott. This mess we're in? It's his fault. Got that? Not yours."
Scott can't answer. Can hardly breathe.
He listens as Stiles takes a couple of deep, even breaths, reeling himself back in. "Scott, Look at me," he orders.
He lifts his trembling head obediently, finding Stiles' eyes.
"You are not responsible for everything that happens to us, do you hear me?" Stiles says. "Stop shouldering all of this by yourself."
"But—but I'm the alpha," Scott hiccups, head rolling back and forth. "I'm supposed to take care of you guys."
Stiles looks hurt, like Scott just sucker punched him. "No, Scott," he croaks. "We're supposed to take care of each other." He presses his lips together as another tear slips out. "We're supposed to be a family, and I didn't… I'm sorry, Scott. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I—I should've been there."
Scott can't keep the mask in place anymore, can't hold the sobs inside his torn chest. He doesn't even know at first why Stiles' words set him off, just knows that it feels like the weight that's been pressing on his chest for so long finally shifted and he can suddenly breathe.
Forgiveness.
The word worms its way to the front of his brain, and he knows that's what he's feeling, beginning to stir between them. He's not sure if it's him forgiving Stiles—for not trusting him, for walking away, for not being there—or if it's Stiles forgiving him—for assuming, for not pursuing, for not listening. Maybe it doesn't matter.
All that matters is that he can feel the air between them changing, like it's carrying an electric current. A spark of hope.
He closes his eyes and sees the blinding flash of a flare. Smells the gasoline dripping off his nose. Feels a strong hand close around his, a promise to go with him wherever he goes.
He's not alone. He's never been alone.
"You okay?" Stiles asks as the worst of his crying dies down.
Scott sniffs, his dimples deepening into a smile. "No," he answers honestly, because he's not naïve. He knows one conversation isn't going to fix everything in their screwed up lives. "But I will be," he adds with a conviction he hasn't felt in days. Because now, he has something to hold onto.
He looks up at his friend. Stiles' face is blotchy and tear-stained, and Scott knows he must look just as bad. "Are you okay?"
Stiles smirks crookedly. "Scotty, I haven't been okay in a long time," he admits with a humorless huff. "But… I feel a little better."
Scott will get him there. They'll get each other there.
They fall back into silence, but it's the kind of silence between two people who don't feel the need to fill it. Who are so comfortable with each other, they don't need words to speak.
Movement out of the corner of his eye catches Scott's attention, and he sees that Stiles is lightly drumming his fingers on his chest. He must be getting feeling back, too.
"Hey," Scott says, a sudden smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's dumb, it's so dumb, but it popped into his head and now he has to say it. "You just moved your finger. That's wonderful!"
Stiles freezes, blinking a couple of times before he rolls his head toward Scott and squints at him incredulously. "Dude, did you seriously just quote Princess Bride at me?"
Scott grins back like an idiot.
Stiles shakes his head, but he snorts a laugh, which makes Scott chuckle, which builds into a laugh, and suddenly both of them are laughing—the deep, belly kind of laughter that won't let up. And Scott can't breathe, and it tears at his still wounded chest, and he's crying again, and he can't stop. And it feels so good.
"You know," Stiles says through the residual chortles rippling between them, "as much as I hate to admit it, that bastard was right about one thing. We really did need to talk."
"Oh, uh-uh. No, no, no," Scott says, shaking his head. "He does not get credit for this. This was all us." He flexes his tingling hands and wiggles his toes, wondering if he has enough movement to get over to the wall and prop himself up. He's pretty sick of lying on the wet, dirty ground. "Theo can go fuck himself."
Stiles snorts another laugh at that. "Yeah, you're right. Fuck Theo."
Scott manages to roll himself, getting his arms under him so he can start army crawling toward the wall. His legs are still useless, but he's pretty sure he can prop himself up.
"Oh, hey, what?" Stiles complains, watching him with obvious jealousy. "That is so unfair. I got zapped first!" He starts twitching frantically, trying to follow Scott. He looks a bit like a newborn baby trying to figure out how to use its muscles.
"Benefits of being a werewolf," Scott brags with a smirk, awkwardly pushing himself up and turning around to lean on the wall. Much better.
Stiles manages to flop over ungracefully, catching one of his arms beneath him in the process. "Shut up, dude," he grunts, squinting and going red-faced with the effort of dragging his arm out from underneath him. "Pretty sure your wolf healing powers don't work on kanima venom. In fact, if anything, I should be the one building up an immunity to it since I've been zapped God knows how many times with this shit."
"Guess I'm just awesome, then."
Stiles shoots him a stink eye, and Scott shrugs.
After some serious squirming and overdramatic flailing, Stiles finally makes it to the wall where Scott helps him sit up next to him. The two of them lean against each other, shoulder to shoulder, while they catch their breath. Scott rolls his neck, already feeling a crick, and knows he's going to be stiff later, healing powers or not.
"So, what do we do next?" Stiles asks.
Scott's been considering this, now that his lungs are no longer being constantly crushed by the weight of bearing this responsibility alone. Now that he can get oxygen to his brain to think properly.
"We need help," he says. "If Theo's got his own pack now, then we need ours. We have to get the others back."
"The others?" Stiles side-eyes him skeptically. "You mean Kira, who's currently battling a homicidal fox spirit inside of her, Malia, who isn't even speaking to either of us, Lydia, who's stuck in Eichen House, and Liam, who almost killed you?"
The left side of Scott's mouth curls into a smile, his eyes glittering. Stiles does have a way of putting things. "Also known as our best friends."
Dropping his head back against the wall, Stiles lets out a long sigh. "Okay. How?"
Scott takes a deep breath, lifting his still mostly numb arm and making his finger draw a clumsy circle in the dust on the tunnel's floor between them. The truth is, he's not really sure. But he somehow managed to get his brother back, and that means anything is possible. "One by one," he says.
Stiles watches the movement out of the corner of his eye, his lips becoming a thin line. "Scott," he says, uncertainty bleeding back into his voice. "Do you really think this is going to work?"
"I think I've seen some pretty miraculous stuff before," Scott answers firmly, believing it with every fiber of his being. "I think… I think we have to hold on to hope."
Stiles seems to turn this over in his head for a minute, and then he sighs, reaching over with two trembling fingers to draw a second circle around the first, completing the pack symbol. "You got a plan?" he says, honey brown eyes turning to Scott.
Scott bites his lip and blinks back tears as his heart unexpectedly swells. He's cried enough today, not going to do it again. Clearing his throat, he says, "Uh, I guess first, we go find Kira."
Stiles looks at him dubiously, and for half a second, Scott expects him to disagree, to tell him exactly how stupid that plan is. That Scott should leave the plans to him. But he doesn't. He just nods in agreement. "Okay."
Okay. Good. So that means it's time to get out of here. Grabbing the wall, Scott hoists himself to his feet. His legs are still tingling and half asleep, but enough feeling has returned that he thinks he can make it out of here without falling flat on his face. Now that they sort of know what they're doing, there's no time to lose. He offers a hand and hauls Stiles up after him.
They move like newborn fawns, but with their arms clasped around each others' shoulders, the two of them are able to stay on their feet as they hobble down the tunnel together.
"I still hate that tattoo," Stiles tells him.
Scott smiles, the hole in his heart tingling warmly. It's like he can feel the muscle fibers slowly knitting themselves back together, taking their time to do it right so that when they're done, they'll be even stronger than they were before.
"I know."
"[We] are joined by the bond of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords."
-Princess Buttercup, The Princess Bride
I have a few more ideas of missing scene/episode remixes, so if you liked this, let me know! And, as always, thanks for reading!