Author's note: Thank you so much for the reviews guys! They're really sweet.

I feel like I should clarify that I'm not shipping Scott and Malia in this fanfic. Actually I'm not shipping anyone in this fanfic. Sorry if I didn't make that clear, but this story is about friendship.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Same trigger warnings as last chapter apply.

Stiles didn't use the door. He jumped in through the window, just like when they were kids. He did not wake up Scott's mother though, so Scott just let it slide.

Scott tried to stand again. He wasn't that dizzy anymore, but the pain from his freshly bandaged wound was too much. He groaned and eased him back onto the bed.

"Hey Scott, easy does it."

Scott lay down on his back. He didn't see any blood seeping through his shirt though. He had still been bleeding a bit in the tunnels. But somewhere between Malia and his mom and Stiles, the bleeding stopped.

Stiles didn't sit next to him. He jumped over his legs and lay down beside him on the bed. With the covers pulled over them and the two of them face to face, Scott knew despite everything nothing had changed.

"I'm sorry," Scott said.

"Me too."

"What happened?"

Stiles' gaze wandered to the wall. For a few moments there hung a heavy silence Scott didn't think they had the strength to lift.

"There was a pin, a little metal pin attached to the scaffold," Stiles said after two minutes. "He was trying to pull me down. . ."

"He was trying to kill you." He almost lost him, again.

"I pulled the pin and these, metal braces came down . . . One of them went right through him."

"Why didn't you tell me?" They told each other everything, always. If Stiles hadn't figured out he was a werewolf before he did Scott would have thrown pebbles at his window and climbed up to his bedroom with his claws. It was always the two of them, even when they were part of a pack.

But he hadn't told Stiles he cuts himself. So maybe they were even.

Stiles finally looked at him. "Because I broke your one rule. The way you looked at me that night in the rain, it was like I attacked you, not him. Ever since the Nogitsune part of me wonders if maybe there's a darkness in me. That I'm evil. And that night. . ."

Scott scooted over and rested his head under Stiles' chin. The scent of his skin, the beat of his heart, the heat of his breathe, steadied him. Stiles was here, he was safe. They were safe. Stiles wrapped his arm around Scott's waist and held him tight.

Stiles laid his head on Scott's chest. It felt awkward because they were in high school now and high school guys don't cuddle, but Stiles was actually asleep for a change and so Scott did his best to ignore the drool seeping through his shirt and the cramp in his arm and just let Stiles be. It was a week after the Nogitsune and Stiles either slept in his dad's room or Scott's. It would be another few days before he was ready to go back to school.

Scott was drifting off to sleep himself when he heard Stiles' heartrate speed up. His breathing hitched. Another nightmare. Scott ran his fingers through his friend's hair and mumbled some stuff about how it's okay, they're safe now. He sensed Stiles' pain and took it into himself. If only he could do that for everyone.

After a few minutes Stiles' heartrate slowed back down. Scott drifted off to sleep and tried to deal with his own nightmares.

"It should have been me," Scott whispered into Stiles' shoulder.

"What?"

"It should have been me. I should have been the one to have been put in that situation, not you."

He felt Stiles move his head. "Why?"

"It's my responsibility. I'm supposed to protect everyone."

"What about my dad? What about all the police in Beacon? Isn't it their job too?"

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"And don't other people, like FBI agents and hunters and other packs, also do their fair share of fighting evil?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"And isn't the whole point of the pack supposed to be working together and sharing responsibility?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"So then why is it all on you, Scott?"

"Because . . ." He searched for the right words. Of course it was all on him.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think you're not healing that fast?"

"Because Theo poisoned my inhaler."

"He did wha-okay, besides that. Remember that time we were on our way to the murder motel? You didn't heal because you wouldn't let yourself heal. It was psychological."

He remembered waking up to Allison. Stiles must have realized that, because he sucked in his breathe.

"The point is you aren't healing well because of your mental state. Your mom told me you haven't been sleeping or eating enough. She thinks-"

"I'm not going to therapy, Stiles."

"It isn't a sign of weakness to ask for help Scott. It fact it can be a sign of strength. I went to see a counselor before. I even checked myself into, okay that's a bad example because of severe malpractice, but I mean in general psychological help can be, you know, helpful."

"I'm not crazy." That was debatable.

"What did I just say? I went to see a counselor. Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No." That was also debatable. "But we have so much on our hands already. I don't have time."

"I don't want you to hurt yourself again Scott."

He understood then when people said their blood ran cold. For a second his blood didn't run at all. Scott lifted his head and tried to stop the quiver in his voice. "What?"

"At the motel. You were about to, to burn yourself." Stiles chewed on his lip.

"Oh. Yeah."

"What did you think I meant?"

"Uh, nothing. Nothing."

For a second Scott hoped that that would be it. But this was Stiles, and Stiles never let him hide anything. He closed his eyes to avoid his friend's prying eyes, but felt a hand stroke his hair again.

"Scott," Stiles said softly as though talking to a timid animal, "have you ever done self-harm?"

Shit.

"No. Why would you ask that?" Scott tried to turn over but Stiles grabbed his shoulder. Of course he wasn't usually strong enough to stop him but Scott was so weak at that moment that Stiles pushed his back onto the bed.

"Hey, Scott, hey, it's okay." Gently he placed a hand behind his shoulder and helped Scott up to sit. He gripped his shoulder and pulled him into a sideways hug.

"Talk to me."

"Ever since Allison . . ." Scott took a deep breathe. "And in 7th grade . . . I just, I don't know. It's like I'm mad at the world and I'm getting revenge on myself."

"7th grade?"

"Only for a couple months. Remember, Kyle Arden? After he moved away I stopped."

Stiles made a clacking sound with his tongue. He didn't ask who Scott was talking about, Five years and a lot of shit later and a bus stop bully was still one of the worst enemies either of them could name.

"I didn't know. How could I-why didn't you. . ." Scott knew he must be wracking his mind and thinking of times Scott wore long sleeve shirts.

"It wasn't that bad. I hardly ever did it before I turned and I almost never bled. More scratches than anything. I'm fine, really."

"No you're not, Scott. No you're not."

"Yes I. . ." A denial caught in Scott's throat. It was as though he was rubbed raw. Too tired to hide behind anything. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I keep trying to save everyone. I don't want anyone to get hurt. But everyone keeps dying." The back of his irises burned.

"You did save people. Remember with Peter? He tried to hurt Jackson and you mom and Allison. You saved them. Those were your plans. Or what about when you gave Gerard mountain ash? I didn't even know about that plan and honestly I was kinda jealous that you thought of that all on your own."

He remembered Peter had also said he was impressed, but Scott had thought that was his way of trying to get him on his side.

"You've always been so nice to everyone. A lot nicer than me, that's for sure. You got all these people ready to listen to your plans-hunters, kitsune, psychopaths-you know people that you wouldn't expect to listen to you. That takes a lot of, uh, something. Leadership stuff." Stiles grimaced. "See this is why I'm not a therapist."

Between the lull of Stiles' voice and the lack of sleep, Scott actually found himself giggling. Stiles smiled at him.

"Come here." He pulled Scott into a full on hug. They sat there for several minutes with Scott's head resting on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles waited for Scott to let go before he did, and the two boys lay down again.

"Can you promise something Scott?"

"What?"

"If you think you're going to hurt yourself again, I want you to call me. Call me anytime day or night, okay?" He sounded so soft and gentle. It made Scott feel safe.

"I'm a werewolf. I'll heal."

"That's not the point." He took his hand in his. "You need to take care of yourself."

"Why?"

"Because you matter."

"I'm not going to kill myself Stiles."

"Self-harm doesn't always equal suicidal ideation. But it's still bad and you can't do it anymore. So when you think you want to, talk to me. Please?"

Scott thought about it. He wasn't sure if he would follow through, but he wanted to reassure Stiles.

"Okay."

"Good."

"Please don't tell my mom."

"I won't if you agree to see a therapist."

If his mom found out he was going to have to see a therapist anyway. "Okay."

"Okay. Now let's get some sleep."

He stood in the library, completely healed. There was no sign or sound of anyone, but when he turned around Lydia was leaning against a table and flipping through a book.

"Lydia." He walked over to her, convinced she would disappear. The light of the half-moon lit her red hair like a halo. She threw the book aside and gave him a "really now?" look.

"Scott, what are you doing?"

"We're going to save you-"

"Not that." She grabbed his forearm with unnatural strength. The shirt sleeve slipped back and bleeding cuts crisscrossed over his skin. How did they get there?

"This isn't good, Scott," she said. She released his arm. Scott yanked the sleeve back down.

"I, uh. . ."

Suddenly they weren't in the library anymore. They were in the aisle of the auditorium and they were watching themselves. It was the night they found out about Jennifer. Scott saw himself try to reassure Lydia.

"Lydia I swear, you give me the time and I swear to God I'll do something." He took her hand in his.

"You don't know how much I needed to hear that," the Lydia next to him said. She watched the scene before them, lips trembling as she spoke. "All that time I kept finding dead body after dead body and I didn't know why. I didn't know if I could handle it." She turned to him. "And then you said you would handle it with me."

She reached out and took his hand. Both Scotts and both Lydias intertwined their fingers, each giving and drawing strength.

"I know you're going to get me out soon Scott. Don't worry, I have a couple of things to take care of first."

"Thing?"

"You'll see. For right now just focus on saving yourself. And know that I'll be here, with you." She squeezed his hand. The music on stage reached crescendo.

Scott was in the hallway now. The door near the staircase was slightly ajar. Soft sobbing echoed painfully in his ears. He remembered this.

He saw himself walk past him. He followed into the room where Isaac was curled up and crying in his sleep. He saw himself gently shake him awake.

"Hey, Isaac, it's me. It's okay."

Isaac woke suddenly and fully alert. With werewolf senses Scott could hear the muscles tense, then relax.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you." It wasn't a question. They varied, but the most frequent consisted entirely of being trapped in an elevator or coffin or, for some weird reason, a blue telephone booth. For the past five days since he'd been living with them Scott had woken up to the sound of childhood trauma.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He brushed off Scott's hand from his shoulder. "I'm fine, really."

Scott didn't bother arguing and flipped over the covers to make space for himself in the bed.

"Scott, you've already given me a place to stay. I can't-"

"Isaac, it is 4 in the morning and we are both too tired for this bullshit. I'm going to sleep here until the nightmares go away and you are going to not hog the covers. Good night." He didn't mean to be so snappish but being woken up every night does that to a person. (And as for the place to stay, Scott preferred keeping a close eye on Isaac. Made sure he had a bed and a half decent home life. From the packed lunches his mom Isaac, Scott guessed his mother thought the same.)

Isaac turned towards the wall. "I don't feel comfortable sleeping next to a guy in his underwear."

"Freshman year I slept in the nude."

Scot watched as he and Isaac drifted off. In the end it only took a few days to stop the nightmares. Before bed they would stay up talking about whether lacrosse would ever be an Olympic sport again and if cold chicken tasted better than cold pizza. A couple times Isaac genuinely laughed. The house felt larger after he left.

"I miss you too you know."

Scott turned around. There was another Isaac leaning against the door frame.

"I needed to get away. To figure out what, who I was supposed to be. Beacon Hills has too many memories."

"I know."

"Besides, I'm not the one who decided to become a superhero." That cocky grin was still there, and for that Scott felt truly grateful.

"Yeah, I'm Spiderman, dead girlfriend and all." It slipped out before he could stop it.

Isaac grimaced. "I miss her too."

"It was my fault."

"You didn't kill her, Scott. And she loved you. You were her superhero."

Next thing he knew Isaac had his hands clasped behind Scott's neck.

"You're my superhero."

Scott woke up to the smell of Stiles' armpit in his nose. He turned over and nearly threw up his nonexistent dinner. Nearly high school graduates and the guy still forgot deodorant. Stiles snuggled deeper into his special pillow he brought, asleep and uncaring.

The stench was soon replaced with the smell of bacon. His mom was home, making breakfast. A rare occasion as of late. He must have really scared her. Scott realized he was hungry, another rare occasion as of late. Not only that, when he attempted to stand up he didn't feel and dizziness. There was a pain from the wound, but it was much milder. For the first time since who knows when Scott was almost content.

His mother heard the staircase step creak and shouted from the kitchen "don't come down, I'm bringing you breakfast in bed."

"What," he shouted back.

"You're home sick from school. Now back to bed." She always gave him breakfast in bed when he was sick.

Scott slipped back into bed without waking Stiles. His mom would just fry extra bacon. And French toast, both of them loved it. The Sheriff could get Stiles excused for coming in late.

As Scott got comfortable he glanced over at his nightstand. He slept 11 hours.

No wonder he felt content.