Evening, readers! So here's the next chapter. It would appear this is gonna be a leeetle longer than a two shot. You guys don't mind another couple chapters do you? I hope not.

This is set before the whole kanima thing happened, and thus pretty early in the series. Also, bear in mind that who the character who was hurting Stiles ends up being, this is not how I actually see them. It's an AU what if that kind of focuses on my irritation with Scott for being a bit of a neglectful friend. Because let's face it, Stiles probably deserves a little better from him by now.

Review and tell me what you think!

Scott McCall was worried.

No, beyond that. He was scared.

Something had happened to Stiles and whatever it was, it was bad. Bad enough to leave his friend a crumpled heap on the floor, trembling in his arms. Scott had never seen him this afraid before, not even when he himself was about four seconds from tearing Stiles' throat out. How had he missed it? Damage like this didn't just happen overnight. Something or someone had been hurting him for a while now.

Letting out a low whine from the back of his throat, Scott held on tighter. Some part of the Wolf recognised Stiles as Pack. And nobody hurt his Pack.

Except someone had, very badly, and therein lies the cause of Scott's fear.

"Do you want me to help you get him to his car?" Danny's question reminded Scott that they weren't alone in the locker room and he flushed. But turning to look at him, he realised that of all the people who could have just witnessed that, Danny was probably the safest option. His expression was concerned and understanding, kind in a way that was a relief. Danny made no judgements, jumped to no conclusions. He was merely offering to help get Scott and his traumatised best friend somewhere safe.

"Yeah. Sure. Thanks." Those generic, one word sentences were about all he could manage at the moment. He glanced behind Danny and saw Jackson, still in the doorway, making sure no one got near. Danny noticed this.

"It was his idea to get you, you know. Stiles started losing it and Jackson took care of the situation. He got Finstock away from him and told me to run and get you."

Scott frowned at that, not quite believing it.

"That doesn't sound like him."

Danny walked over and sighed.

"I used to have really bad anxiety. Got panic attacks all the time. And the teachers didn't know what to do with me, so whenever it happened, someone just called Jackson. I guess he remembered what it was like for me and figured it was time to act like a human being. He really isn't all as bad as he seems. We've all got our stories, Scott. Even Jackson. He's a good guy."

A contemplative, slightly uncomfortable silence fell over the locker room as Scott worked on processing what Danny had just told him. Maybe they would never be on good terms with each other exactly, but from here on out he would look at Jackson Whitmore with a shred more respect than before. For all the things to be said about him, he was a good friend. And he had protected Stiles when Scott hadn't been there, a fact for which he was infinitely grateful.

"Come on," he said eventually, looking down at his still consciously catatonic best friend. "Let's get him out of here."

They passed Jackson on the way out, and as they did, Scott paused for a second, meeting his eyes and nodding. Jackson nodded back, some unspoken understanding passing between them.

"I'm gonna help Scott get Stiles to his car, alright? Wait for me, I need a ride home."

Jackson waved a hand at him and went back in to grab his lacrosse things.

It took a bit, but eventually Danny and Scott got Stiles out into the parking lot and to his Jeep. It took a bit of coaxing, but they managed to get the keys from him, handed with uncooperative, shaking fingers from one boy to the other.

"Thanks for your help, man," Scott told Danny as he left.

"Yeah. No problem. I don't expect some kind of explanation, just so you know. I mean, if he wants to tell me it's his choice, but as far as I'm concerned it's his secret to tell. Just... Make sure he's okay."

Scott nodded solemnly before looking at Stiles, sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep, legs drawn up to his chest, chin resting on his knees, and taking a deep breath. First things first. He was going to need some help, at least when it came to whatever injures Stiles was hiding.

"Hi mom," he said, unable to disguise the fragile note in his voice when his mother answered her cellphone. "Um, is there any way you can... can come home."

"Scott, honey, what happened." Melissa McCall could tell even just from his tone that something serious had happened.

"It's, uh, it's Stiles. Something really bad happened to him, mom, he's really hurt."

"Alright, I'm on my way out now. Don't worry, I'll be home soon as I can. Have you called his dad yet?"

"No!" Scott almost shouted, loud enough for Stiles to hear it in the car and jump, head smacking into the window.

"Whoa, whoa, why not?"

"I'm not calling anyone. No one but you. Not until I know... I'm not gonna let him go back to... Not until I know. Please, just trust me."

"Okay. Alright. I trust you. Just get him to our house and I'll take a look at him as soon as I'm home."

Scott nodded, only moments later realising that nods don't exactly translate well over the phone.

"Right. Got it."

"Hey. It's all gonna be okay. We're going to figure it out. Stiles will be okay. Whatever happened to him, you and I will work it out. Just keep your head, okay? It's all gonna turn out fine."

He nodded again, then shook himself.

"M hm. Thanks." Scott closed the phone and stood there, fingers around the door handle, not getting into the car. His head listed forward to rest on the cool metal of the Jeep's frame. He was allowed these few moments. Something had broke Stiles, his world had become confusing and frightening enough already, and he didn't know what to do.

So Scott McCall was allowed to have a couple of seconds to quietly fall apart, before taking a deep breath and getting into the driver's seat. He turned the keys in the ignition with a hand that was definitely not shaking, say what you will. For the first time since Scott had first walked into the locker room and seen Stiles on the floor, his friend actually spoke. Just one word, hoarse and nearly silent.

"Sorry."

And that, more than anything, was the worst part.

"Don't apologise." Scott's voice had the same waver in it how that it had possessed on the phone with his mum. "Whatever happened to you, Stiles, I know it wasn't your fault. I saw those bruises. No one deserves that."

Stiles gave no indication that he had even heard him.

"If anyone should apologise it should be me."

"Wasn't your fault," Stiles rebuked quietly, eyes still trained downwards.

"I should have noticed that something was wrong."

Now that he thought about it, though, Scott had noticed that something was wrong. Stiles talked. (Actually, Stiles talked a lot.) But lately he had gone quiet. He kept his head bowed and did his school work, trying his best to help Scott deal with the werewolf thing, but having much less sarcastic commentary to offer. The longer he looked for clues the more he found. Perhaps the most glaring was the quiet.

Stiles talked all the time. About school and the sky and the cool things he heard on the police radio. Lydia, Jackson, Danny, that boy on their team Isaac, unfair teachers, cool teachers, boring teachers, and most recently, Derek. He talked about books and movies and TV shows he liked to watch. Stiles even talked in his sleep. Recently though... Recently he had stopped.

Without another word Scott reached across the seat and laid a gentle, calming hand on Stiles' shoulder. They both pretended the flinch hadn't happened.

Upon reaching the McCall household, Scott noticed that his mother was already there. By now Stiles had recovered substantially, though he was still disturbingly quiet. Melissa was waiting for them nervously in the living room. The call from her son had shaken her. She hadn't heard him sound that scared in a very long time, and what he had said worried her. In many ways she loved Stiles like he was her second son. They were her boys, and one of them was hurt. Historically when one of them was hurt the other didn't fare too well either.

So when the door opened and she saw Stiles standing there, pale and thin with an expression that was two parts embarrassed and ninety eight parts fearful, the first thing she did was sweep him into an embrace, holding him close as only a mother can. Melissa then moved on to Scott, hugging him as well, feeling him return the gesture with even greater desperation than she felt.

Finally Melissa had both of them sitting on the couch in front of her, her arms folded and dread rising in her heart.

"Alright. Now will someone please tell me what's going on?"