He didn't see Stiles for the rest of the weekend, and when he spotted him on Monday his heart clenched painfully in his chest. A tan-colored bandage was pressed against Stiles' neck from where Scott had slashed his claws across it. It was an eerie contrast against the rest of Stiles' pale, un-shredded flesh, and was bound to garner questions. The bandage was visible, despite Stiles wearing his grey hoodie, which was undoubtedly chosen to cover up the other various wounds that currently ransacked his body.

Allison had rounded the corner at that exact moment, and her eyes widened when she got closer to him. "Oh my God, are you okay?!" Allison asked worriedly, gently touching Stiles' neck. Scott felt a burst of envy and shame as Stiles nodded carefully, giving her one of his easygoing smiles.

From across the crowded hallway, Scott was able to hear every single word of their conversation without his presence intruding on the flow of dialogue.

"What happened?" Allison asked.

Stiles shrugged casually, wincing from the movement. "Just the usual," he replied, and Scott heard his heart rate spike momentarily. "Friday night was kind of a bitch, that's all."

Allison frowned, biting her lip as her eyes lingered on the bandage. Stiles scoffed, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Don't worry about it," he told her, grinning for reassurance. "Don't make a big deal about it, especially around certain people."

Allison nodded slowly, and her eyes wandered away from Stiles' neck, and suddenly locked onto Scott's from across the hall. She looked sad, and Scott watched her go as she walked into the classroom. He wished that they were on the same level like they were before, before she and her father left for the summer and Allison had returned withdrawn and guilt-ridden.

Scott had also noticed how Allison always watched Stiles, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something to him. He wondered why that guilty look was always
directed at his best friend. It was only recently that she had mustered up the courage to directly talk to Stiles.

"You grew it out," Allison said, gesturing at Stiles' hair with one of her hands. Stiles blinked, and ran his fingers through its messy expanse, as if surprised by it.

"I had a busy summer," he told her, his tone friendly and polite. Scott had noticed from afar Stiles' tense posture, looking unsure of himself. "I didn't have time to shear it off."

"You should keep it," she said, giving him a small smile. "It looks nice."


Chemistry was torture, because all Scott could focus on was the dull thud of pain echoing from Stiles' hidden wounds. He remembered how the blood congealed down the sides of Stiles' neck, slowly turning black and sticky as the night had worn on. How more blood beaded and poured from his wrists from where Scott punctured them with his claws. How his palms were torn from smacking into the concrete.

Dark Scott had momentarily returned, becoming more physically violent with every gesture.

Physical, as in the sensual sense.

He dragged his elongating claws across Stiles' chest, baring his fangs as he leered at him. He let them trail down, making their way to Stiles' sides and eventually gripping his hips.

Scott had crowded Stiles in against the northern wall of the warehouse, pressing their bodies together. Stiles was staring at him, his eyes wide and focused on Scott's golden ones. Scott grinned viciously, and plunged his claws into Stiles' hipbone. Stiles hissed in pain, and Scott elicited a low chuckle as a few hot tears escaped from his friend's eyes.

Stiles didn't cry out in pain or sob as Scott ripped his claws out, and brought their bloody tips to the human's face. Scott trailed them across Stiles' cheek, catching a few of his angry tears as he streaked the warm red against the pale flesh. Scott brought his claws to his own mouth, slowly licked away the mixture of salt and diluted plasma. With his other hand, he gripped Stiles' chin, forcing his mouth open as Scott shoved his blood-slick tongue into it. He explored its interior, feeling Stiles' body stiffen against his. Scott grinned against his lips, and thrust his tongue in deeper, forcing a small moan from Stiles. His mind—the sane part of it—screamed at his body to stop before he could choke him to death.

The dark part of him, on the other hand, was fascinated and turned on by the idea, and thought of a more vibrant part of him that Stiles could swallow down instead…

Stiles then tried to move, causing Scott's vision to bleed red, and he gripped both of Stiles' wrists, slamming them into the metallic wall behind him.

"Don't move," Scott hissed, digging his claws into the soft, thin flesh. He felt the rapid throbbing of Stiles' veins, and nudged deeper in, grinning maliciously. Blood welled up from where his claws had lodged themselves in, and began to trickle down Stiles' long, white arms. "We don't want to tear them open, now do we?"

Stiles managed to roll his eyes, despite all of this. He squirmed as Scott tightened his grip on him, and Scott shuddered against him. There was barely a breath of space between them now.

"Hey, dialling the real Scott now," Stiles muttered, glaring at the werewolf.

Scott laughed, a growl humming in his throat. "Line's busy," he replied darkly. "You'll have to put up with me until he gets back."

"How about some breathing space then?" Stiles said calmly, but his heartbeat was thundering in his ears, and Scott could practically hear the blood racing through his veins. It was exhilarating.

"But we're used to sharing everything with each other," Scott said softly, and licked a messy line down Stiles' blood-smeared cheek. "The answers for our homework, the same clothes, and sometimes our beds…"

"Well, that completely jumped from somewhat innocent to downright creepy."

Scott smiled savagely, and dislodged his claws from Stiles' wrists. Stiles hissed in pain, but kept his eyes fixed on Scott's.

That look was constantly a challenge, and right now the werewolf needed a challenge.

Scott grabbed Stiles around the middle, and brusquely tossed him. Stiles' body flew through the air, smacking into the hard concrete. He broke his fall with his palms, and Scott could smell the blood from the fresh wounds. When Stiles finally struggled and got to his feet, dark handprints were stained thickly on the floor.

Scott's blared red when he advanced toward Stiles, fangs bared and fully wolfed out.

The pen in Scott's hand snapped in half, and he stared dumbfounded at it as ink poured from the shattered remains. It spread across his knuckles, and snuck onto his palm, dripping wetly onto his notebook's open page.

He had to get out of there. Scott stood up, quietly gathering his things. Harris' back was to them as he wrote some overcomplicated formula on the blackboard. Scott managed to close the door behind him before hearing Harris' sharply call out his name.

He headed to the washroom, dumping his backpack at his feet. Warm water from the tap ran across his hands as he furiously scrubbed the ink out of his skin. His hands were a faded blue when he heard someone else enter, softly closing the washroom door behind them. He breathed in the scent, and his stomach heaved from guilt.

"Scott?"

Scott spun around, seeing Stiles awkwardly standing there. His hands were at his sides, and his eyes were roaming Scott's face, obviously looking for a reaction.

"Hey," Scott managed to say, because what else were you supposed to say to your best friend after spending the full moon—

"Why'd you leave?" Stiles asked. He sighed, and blinked rapidly, like he had had too much Adderall. It only made Scott most restless and aggravated that Stiles couldn't figure it out.

"I couldn't take it, that's why," Scott began, forcing the air in and out of his lungs. He could feel the tips of his claws eking out of his fingers, and after a few seconds they retreated. "I can hear your blood pumping while your wounds stitch themselves together underneath your clothes."

"You can hear my skin heal?" Stiles asked, and he looked impressed by that. Scott wished that he wouldn't; it was horrifying and he couldn't shut off the volume, no matter how he distracted himself from the noise.

"It's like an orchestra in my head!" Scott shouted, and looked toward the door. Nobody was coming in, thank God. He whipped his head back to face Stiles, who had paled a little.

Good, he should be afraid, said a seductive voice in his head.

"Shut up," growled Scott, clamping his hands over his ears. "Shut up, you're not here."

"Scott?" Stiles whispered, and Scott vaguely felt him grabbing his shoulders. "Scott? Hey, listen to me!"

I—no, you enjoy his fear, don't you? said the voice. You have to admit, it is delectable, having your prey at your mercy, with nothing but your mood deciding on whether or not he lived. But I don't think we scared him enough during this full moon, did we?

"Shut up," Scott repeated, and it soon became a mad mantra of banishment. "Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…"

The dark voice chuckled softly, echoing off the walls of his mind. There's always the next full moon, Scott, and you know that he's too stubborn. He won't abandon you, and thus the cycle will continue—

"SHUT UP!" Scott screamed. He shoved Stiles maliciously away from him. He'd forgotten his own strength, and Stiles' body slammed into the opposite wall, rebounding and hitting the floor from the force. Stiles managed to get himself into a half-sitting position just before Scott, eyes golden and bloodthirsty, drove him onto his back as he straddled his hips. His claws snapped out, and were digging into Stiles' biceps, pinning him down. Stiles' heart rate had skyrocketed, and he was watching Scott with wide, concerned eyes.

"Breathe Scott," Stiles said as Scott's fangs protruded from his mouth. "Come on, don't let that asshole control you. Remember how you stopped yourself from killing all of us that one night? You refused to be Peter's little Beta puppet then; you can cut yourself from his strings now."

Scott snarled at him as his vision turned into an overwhelming crimson field. He heard Stiles wince from pain as the werewolf dug his claws into his flesh. He felt his mouth open of its own accord, twisting the corners into a sneer.

"But don't you remember, Stiles?" he said, grinning down at his friend. "I wanted to kill you that night. I wanted to kill all of you."

"But you didn't," Stiles said, gritting his teeth as Scott ripped his claws out of his arms. Stiles reached out, and grabbed Scott's wrists, causing him to growl. "You reined it in, which is good. So kindly tell Dark Scott to fuck off; it's hard to breathe when he's on top of me like this."

Scott felt his fangs and claws retreat, and his fiery vision pulled out, revealing his human-like view once more. Stiles' grip on him slackened, his arms falling limply onto the floor above his head.

Scott gasped, swallowing mouthfuls of air. He looked down at Stiles, who was watching him nervously. He gave the werewolf a small smile of relief, just as the washroom door opened.

"Oh shit!" said the guy entering, nearly backpedaling right out the door. "Sorry, I swear I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt you two!" Scott suddenly realized what the scene must've looked like with himself positioned on top of his best friend like this. He was still shocked from his loss of control moments before to feel any sort of embarrassment.

"Ah, come back!" Stiles shouted at him as the kid retreated, most likely to another washroom. "You're going to miss the climax!"

Scott sighed heavily, and his head fell forward, resting his forehead on Stiles' shoulder. "It's not getting better," he murmured, "I think it's getting worse."

"Hey," Stiles replied, reaching out to ruffle Scott's hair. He winced as blood bubbled up from the clawed gouges on his arm, and Scott felt a wave of guilt crash over him. "We'll work it out, alright? We'll send that asshole packing!"

No, Scott thought desperately. I can't get you involved. You keep getting hurt because I can't get control over him.