Hello my loves, and I apologise as this took me slightly longer than I thought it would. Ran into a bit of writers block, but that's all fixed now.

I'm sure by this point all or most of you have guessed who it is (I'm not very good at suspense, sorry), and try to keep in mind that this is sort of an AU, dark!character type thing. Please don't mistake this as my actual view of that character.

Also, a note. This is not a romance story (though Allison could make an appearance briefly), and it's safe to assume there will only be canon ships. Feel free to interpret this as slash if you like, but it wasn't my intention.

With that said, enjoy this chapter and please review and tell me what you think!

Melissa waited expectantly for the answer. Neither Scott nor Stiles were apparently going to offer one, though. Scott because he didn't actually have stated answer, Stiles because he wouldn't (or couldn't, yet) tell.

"Never mind," Melissa said, tone softening as she took in the light purple that shaded Stiles's jaw. "It can wait. Right now why don't you let me take a look at you, okay?"

She was using her Victim Voice, Scott realised. As a nurse, she had seen people before who had encountered unimaginable violence, and the voice she used to talk to them was the one she was using now, on his best friend. The idea that someone had badly hurt Stiles hadn't quite sunk in yet, and neither had the face that Stiles hadn't told him. Someone had beat the ever living crap out of Scott's best friend, the boy who was more like a brother to him, and he hadn't known about it. The idea that it took something like this happening for him to find out was a shocking wake up call.

Lately, he had to admit that his friends (well, friend, he'd only really got one) had sort of fallen to the side. In light of recent events (the whole bite thing and what followed, Allison, the Hunters...) it

was understandable that he had maybe not been paying as close of attention to Stiles that he normally would have.

But to think that he had missed this, not noticed him coming apart at the seams, bearing what looked like dozens of bruises of various ages all over his pale torso... That was terrifying. What if he hadn't found out?

What if the incident in the locker room hadn't happened, and Danny never burst into his science class? What if...

Scott swallowed hard, fighting against the prickling behind his eyes.

What if he hadn't found out until it was too late.

What if he had never found out until Stiles died.

Suddenly feeling like the world was spinning too fast on it's axis, and Scott had to sit down again, back on the couch to the right of where Stiles currently perched, his left shoulder being looked over by Melissa. In an impulsive move, Scott reached out and grabbed his friend's hand in his own. All of a sudden he was reminded of a small boy who talked eighty miles an hour, sitting on the side of his best friend's hospital bed after a particularly bad asthma attack, holding his hand and chattering on about whatever came to his mind.

Stiles looked at him, and for the first time Scott saw it. The endless depths of pain behind those kind hazel eyes, and the silent cry of 'please, someone save me' that was never voiced.

Now it was his turn, he thought as he squeezed the hand that suddenly seemed so fragile. This time he would step up and be the kind of friend Stiles deserved.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. Stiles glanced over at Melissa, who was walking off to rummage through the bathroom for their extremely well stocked first aid kit.

"I'm fine."

Scott raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, I'm clearly not fine. My shoulder hurts, and the entire team got to see my little 'episode' just there. When I go to school on Monday everyone is going to stare and whisper and I really don't need that right now. So no. I'm not okay."

Neither of them spoke again. They didn't have to. Their eyes did the talking.

You know that's not what I meant.

I'm sorry, I can't.

Please tell me.

I can't.

Please.

Not yet.

It was then that Melissa re-entered the living room, holding a sling in her hand.

"Here, honey." She helped him get his arm, which had been recently dislocated and coincidentally was the reason behind his terrible performance during practice. "That should take care of it. Now why don't you two go up to Scott's room, I'll make dinner."

"You're not going back to work?" Stiles asked, confused. She sent him an empathetic look, lightly shaking her head.

"No. Not tonight."

Several hours later, after dinner was over and the sun had gone down, Scott and Stiles were lying side by side on Scott's duvet. The room hung seemingly suspended in time, silent and heavy. So many minutes crawled slowly by that by the time Stiles' still unusually soft voice permeated the still air his friend had thought he'd dozed off.

"He doesn't mean to hurt me."

It sounded unsure, even to Stiles himself.

Scott made no response, couldn't force himself to turn his head and look at the boy who was like a younger brother to him. Instead, always one to be better with touch than words, he once more reached for his hand, holding it tightly, trying to convey through that simple gesture what he couldn't find the words to say.

"Scott."

It wasn't a prompt for a reply, or a request for his attention. It was an affirmation. It was Stiles, hand clutching back impossibly hard, reminding himself that here was his best friend, his brother, who did care, and whowould never hurt him.

"Scott."

This time the name was choked out in a thick voice that splintered and broke into a half sigh, half sob at the end of the monosyllabic word.

"He doesn't mean it. Right? He... He doesn't... Scott..."

No more words passed between them that night, just the silent suffering of two boys whose childhoods were over, due to a mistimed venture into the forest to investigate a dead body, and an as-of-yet nameless, faceless monster.

Eventually when Stiles really had fallen asleep, Scott stumbled back down to the living room and right into his mother's waiting embrace. It was a few seconds before his apprehensive words, spoken in a voice that was two inches tall, went a long way to confirming the fear hanging like a dark cloud over Melissa's heart. She wouldn't truly believe it until she heard it from Stiles himself, but what Scott had to say left almost no doubt as to who, regrettably, had hurt one of her boys.

"Mom, I don't think it's safe for him to go home."