Hey! I have to say, I really love it that so many people commented on my remarks regarding Scott/Stiles, mainly because it means that people are actually reading my author's notes, which I never actually expected people to do so! *snergles all of you for eternity* I also want to clarify – mainly because I think some of you brought up an excellent point – that I'm not denying that Scott sometimes wasn't the best friend (although, I think that phase has passed now that he's more used to the whole wolfy thing), but I agree with the cast when they say that the foundation of the show is their relationship. Plus, they give me all the feelings…

I'm thinking of delving into a Stiles/Danny friendship, mainly because I think (and this may just be how I think) after experiencing something so traumatizing, it's refreshing to be around people who weren't necessarily involved, but know what you were talking about.

Let's get started, shall we?

Chapter 2

An Imprint, A… Shadow

Scott can't bring himself to be strong in this moment.

He's standing outside the door of Stiles' hospital room, a sickening sense of déjà vu striking him. He wants to go in, make sure his best friend is okay, but his hand hovers above the handle. He can't bring himself to have a repeat of last time. He can't hear his best friend say he hates him again. Scott doesn't think he could bear it a second time.

His entire pack surrounds him, not making any move to usher him inside. No one even goes in before him. He wonders if it's an Alpha-thing, that they're all waiting for him out of a respect, but he kinda wishes someone would take the initiative because he's tired of being the one to do so. So tired.

"—Dad, I told you, I'm fine!" Scott hears through the door. Stiles' voice is a little pained, but hard.

"Stop saying that, Stiles! Because it's obviously not true!" Mr. Stilinski yells back. Scott uses this argument as an excuse for his hesitation, stepping back from the door for a less-volatile moment to enter the room. "Last time you were here, telling me that you were fine – even though both of us obviously knew you were not – you almost died. I'm not going to pretend everything's fine when it's not, Stiles. I'm not losing you again. That's not happening, I won't allow it. Do you hear me, kid? I won't allow it."

"I know, Dad." Stiles' voice is small, scared. Human. It's like his humanity is shoved away in the corner of his mind, and only small moments reveal it. Why would he try so hard to cover it up? It's what made him Stiles. "I know that."

Neither of them say anything after that, but Scott can hear their shallow breathing. There's a squeak of pain and Scott knows that the Sheriff must've pulled Stiles into a tight hug. Scott looks to the ground. He, of all people, understands the sheer dependency of a family of two. Sometimes he wonders if he's the one breaking the Stilinskis apart. Maybe he is. If that's the case, he definitely too selfish to do anything of the matter.

After no one speaks for a moment, Scott takes this moment to open the door. The Stilinskis are apart, Stiles sitting sheepishly on the bed, bandages running up his side and the Sheriff looking intently at a couple prescriptions in his hand. Stiles looks up at Scott and for a moment, Scott forgets everything that's happened between them.

The corners of his mouth turn up and Stiles breaks into a small smile, that darkness evaporating from his eyes. It's fleeting – the smile falls only a few seconds later – but it's there. Scott takes that as a victory, so much better than the last time he walked into a hospital room with Stiles in it. He lets go of the breath he doesn't realize he's holding and moves so everyone else can enter the room.

Lydia's far against the wall, as if she wants to put as much space between herself and Stiles as possible, but Scott hears her soft voice pipe up, "So, are you okay, Stiles?"

Stiles lifts an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think so."

The Sheriff snorts.

"Don't listen to my Dad," Stiles rolls his eyes. "It may not seem like it from his appearance, but he has a flair for the overdramatic. They've given me enough pain pills to stun a large horse, so I'll be more content than if Derek's ex-girlfriend didn't just try and disembowel me."

A low growl comes from Derek's corner of the room. "Stop calling her my ex-girlfriend."

Stiles impish grin falters. "Sorry. Habit, I suppose."

Scott wants to slap Derek, even though he knows that's not fair. But for a second, the old Stiles was back. He doesn't want anything chasing that away. "Seriously, man." Scott says, his eyes pleading. "How are you?"

Stiles refuses to meet his eye. Anyone's, really. Instead he focuses on the ground, his eyes brimming with tears, as if he's willing himself to remain steely. "Not sure," he answers honestly, which startles everyone in the room, including his own father, who almost drops his prescriptions in surprise. Even though he's not looking at them, he lets out a weak chuckle. "Don't act so stunned. I can talk about my feelings sometimes. It's more of a seasonal thing."

Stiles bites his lip and he just looks so vulnerable. Sure, his physical appearance has changed, the lines in his face have deepened, and his words have an air of sadness. But he looks small. Like something that needs to be supported – protected. Scott vows in this moment to make sure he is, from this point on.

"I'm so sorry, guys," Stiles says so quickly, Scott isn't sure he heard him correctly. He finally looks up, his eyes dry, but reddening around the corners like he's using every force of will within him to keep from crying. "I gotta say this before I lose the nerve, so just let me get through this and then you can ask all your questions and I can pretend not to hear them and be frustratingly deflective.

"W-What I said to you, what I did—" Stiles grits his teeth like the memory is actually hurting him, but then Scott realizes, it probably is. "I didn't mean it." It's like he can't bring himself to say the 'hate' word. Maybe he can't. Scott desperately wished he could see what's going on in his head. "I-I found out something after I went away.

"Apparently certain things leave marks." Stiles shrugs. "Like scars." He absently touches some of his tattoos on his back, but then Scott realizes he's tracing the lashes. "Like when your heart's broken, when people… die." He chokes on the last word. "Those are scars that slowly fade away. But I guess that with the Nogitsune, they do more than that.

"Did you know there aren't many documented human survivals of Nogitsune possession? There's really only enough to count on one hand," Stiles shrugs, but Scott can tell he's cursing that group that he never wanted be a part of. "And when Nogitsune's leave, they leave a sort of… imprint. A… A…

"A shadow."

When Stiles says the word, his entire body freezes. Scott knows exactly where his mind is going and what he's playing in his head. Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it, Stiles? What is it? Scott instinctively reaches out to him, but stops. Does this new Stiles respond well to that? Or would he retreat back into himself?

"Kinda like handprints," Stiles continues after he collects himself. "On the soul. Places where the Nogitsune touched that stay with you. That you feel. That darkens the world just that little extra that makes it unbearable.

"After I… left the clinic I went to," Stiles says, his jaw clenching and eyes hardening. The sudden change is so powerful, Scott can feel the waves of anger rolling off of Stiles like waves on a beach. Scott looks stricken at the Sheriff, who without wolf powers can clearly tell the change. His eyes narrow as he looks at his son, clearly struggling to bite his tongue, wanting the ask the one question everyone wants to know.

What the hell happened in that clinic?

"I tried to find the people who survived a Nogitsune possession." Stiles shrugs. "They're all dead."

An uncomfortable silence settles in the room.

"They all killed themselves." Stiles says hauntingly, a small part of his voice seemingly wistful, as if he's slightly jealous of their success. And it's positively terrifying. "Every last one. Most within a month of being free of the Nogistune. Isn't that the most ironic thing?" He says with a hard laugh. "It's like the last move played by the Nogitsune. A Plan B, if you will. All these people worked so hard to save them, and he takes them away when they think their safe. One final move that destroys all the players. Game. Set.

Match."

"So it wasn't you, then?"

Everyone turns to Lydia, who's still pressed up against the wall, but her skin even paler and tears running down her cheeks. Stiles stares at her, as if he didn't understand the question, even though they all heard it. But she pushes further. "So it wasn't you who… who tried…"

"I don't know," Stiles answers with mercy, cutting her off before she starts weeping. "And I'm not saying that to be difficult or whatnot, but I genuinely don't know. Sometimes – especially back then – it's difficult to separate what I'm thinking and what it wants me to feel. I'm inclined to say no, but I don't know if that's true. I wish it is, but the fact that I'm wishing it to be true is pretty clear evidence that it isn't.

"But I didn't mean what I said. That I'm completely sure of. I just—" Stiles exhales in frustration, running his fingers through hair.

He doesn't continue.

Just like he said, every question they ask is soon deflected somewhere else. Stiles was always good at that.

XXX

The Sheriff doesn't say anything when Scott gets in the car with them to leave the hospital. He doesn't say anything when they stop by the pharmacy and Scott stays in the car with Stiles as he fills the prescriptions. And he doesn't say anything when Scott runs and opens the door as the Sheriff is helping Stiles into the house. The only time he says anything is when the three of them reach Stiles' room.

"Make sure you call your mother and let her know you're staying over."

Scott agrees to do so.

When the two reach Stiles' room, Stiles hesitates. Everything's the same. Scott understands. He had the same reaction when Allison died. He went in his room and everything was exactly as he left it. There were the same posters on his wall and homework on his table. It should've been different. He couldn't help but feel like it should've been different, after everything.

But everything's the same.

It's an awful reminder that sometimes times doesn't care and simply leaves you behind.

Taking in a deep breath, Stiles steps into the room and looks around. He looks over to his bed and extends a shaking hand out. Scott watches him curiously as he runs his fingers up and down his comforter. "Wow," he breathes, sitting down on the bed. "I forgot how soft it is."

That sentence alone is enough to make tears come to Scott's eyes. Scott follows suit and sits next to him, making sure they're close enough to touch. The bed isn't really anything special. If anything, Scott thinks his is much more comfortable. It's a weird thing to be thinking about, given the circumstance.

"I missed you, man." Scott says quietly because he knows Stiles isn't going to address the tension.

"Yeah."

Scott touches his shoulder with his and Stiles freezes, but Scott refuses to move. At this point, he simply does not care. "I have to know. I know you mentioned it at the hospital, but I need you to tell me." Scott pleads, Stiles looking at him curiously. "Did you mean it? Did you mean what you said?"

Stiles' eyes soften. "Scott. I have never and could never hate you."

Scott can't take it anymore. He takes the opportunity to wrap his best friend in a hug, careful not to shift him or his slashes, clutching the folds of his shirt. He can't help but feel like this is too perfect. That it has to be a dream. And if it is, if this moment is but a mere dream and his best friend will drift away when he opens his eyes, he's going to spend every second with him until they do. "Please don't leave," he whispers in Stiles ear. "I know you've been thinking about it since you saved us, but please, please don't leave."

When they break apart, Scott sees the pain in Stiles eyes. And the weight of what he's asking of his best friend. But he doesn't care. He's going to ask it because he needs it. And in this moment, he's going to allow himself this spot of selfishness.

Stiles looks out the window, then back to his hands. "I promise," he says softly, each syllable coming out as if they are piercing him. They probably are. If Scott was a better person, he would retract his favor. But he can't. He simply can't.

The two lay back on Stiles' bed, Stiles letting out a pleased noise when his head hits his pillow. "My pillow," he says wistfully, a childish smile tugging his lips. "Oh how I'm missed you, you feathery friend."

Scott snorts and considers telling him he should question his life if his most intimate relationship is with a pillow, but decides against it. Instead, he focuses on something else. "School starts in a few days. Senior year."

Stiles lifts an eyebrow. "Wow," he breathes. "Sometimes I forget normal things happen."

Scott grins. "Yeah, it's weird, right?"

"So weird."

Scott looks at him. "Are you going?"

Stiles frowns. "I never finished my junior year."

"Stiles, you were on track to graduate early. You had senior status in your junior year. They wouldn't hold you back."

The frown doesn't disappear. "I suppose not."

"Will you go?"

"I don't know. It seems sort of weird to go back to high school. After… everything."

Scott rolls on his side to face him. "Stiles, what happened to you? What happened in the past five months? What's with the tattoos and scars and suddenly being all Die Hard with weapons? What happened?"

Stiles doesn't answer for a moment. Scott thinks he's ignoring the question and when he's about to call him out on it, Stiles sucks in a breath. "I-I can't talk about it," he mumbles, absently rubbing his arms. "I-I just… can't. Can't relive it. Not right now."

Scott can read between the lines.

Not right now, when I'm trying so desperately hard to keep myself together.

XXX

In the end, Stiles agrees to enroll for his senior year. As Scott thought, he has no trouble enrolling as a senior and even has the possibility to graduate early still. No one questions his five month absence, mainly because they assume he went to a clinic after his suicide attempt. Scott supposes they're right, for the most part.

Scott still is trying to adjust himself to this new, secretive, collected, and reserved Stiles, but he knows he can't complain. Because, fact of the matter is, he's here. Physically, at least. Sometimes Scott can see his mind wander off into other worlds and it takes time to get him back. He never acknowledges it.

The oddest thing though, isn't the still body or the thinking before he speaks. It's the fact that he is outright avoiding Lydia. Lydia, who casually tried several times to get together with him, always called Scott after in frustration that he either A) cancelled at the last minute or B) invited other people along and then chose to ignore her. It wasn't until Isaac rolled his eyes at the two of them did the two of them realize why.

Isaac huffed. "Isn't it obvious? Last time he was around Lydia, his demonic alter ego kidnapped her, locked her in a facility that had a massacre, and murdered her boyfriend. I think, if anything, he's afraid she'll slap him."

Scott isn't sure how one goes about starting a conversation of 'remember that time you kidnapped me? I'm not really mad because it wasn't you,' but Lydia makes it her goal to corner him on the first day of school.

The first day comes, eventually. Scott offers to go with Stiles, but Stiles says that he's walking to clear his head, so he'd see him there. Before Scott can offer to walk with him, he hangs up the phone.

Scott's so nervous about this first day that he's actually buzzing with excitement. "Calm down there, fella," Kira laughs endearingly at his side, patting his shoulder. Scott tries to simmer his nerves, but it doesn't help. "He'll show up. He promised he would."

"The thing is, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't." Scott says. "I shouldn't have asked him to stay. What if it just gets bad again?"

"I don't think it will," Kira chirps. "He's so much better than he was."

"That standard is impossibly low, considering." Scott groans.

Lydia struts toward them, her outfit perfectly planned out per the usual, her eyes darting around the school halls. She looks like she simply taking in all the new students, but Scott chuckles. "He's isn't here yet."

"I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Sure you don't."

She opens her mouth to retort, but pauses when the school doors open again.

Stiles trudges down the hallway, his head down and his hands clutching his backpack. It doesn't help – people stare at him anyway. Scott can tell that he's struggling to keep it together, but he finally approaches them. He's wearing one of his old hoodies, but it barely fits anymore and Stiles sighs once he approaches them.

As if he can read their minds, he glances at the tight fabric across his chest. "Nothing I own fits me anymore."

Scott snorts. "No, really?"

"I know I look like a douche, no need to stare." Stiles grumbles, moving to open his locker. "I didn't realize it until this morning."

"Maybe you should've gotten out of sweats one day in the past week," Scott offers.

"First of all, screw you," Stiles says good-naturedly. "Second of all, how was I supposed to know that somehow I expanded twice my old size?"

"How could you not know?" Lydia exclaims, turning a bright red when everyone looks at her in surprise. She tilts her head upward, as if willing her embarrassment to filter out of her system. "Stiles, you and I are having lunch together today. By ourselves."

Stiles eyes widen and he says, "But I—"

"No arguments. A note, just in case you bring anyone else along: I know five ways to murder you and not leave a trace."

Stiles looks like he's going to retort again, but then they notice Coach Finstock walking toward them and they all grow quiet. "Stilinski," he says with a note of surprise in his voice. "You're back."

Stiles grimaces at the statement. "Looks like it."

"Holy crap, kid. Did you spend the past five months in a gym?"

Stiles smiles weakly. "I played the piano, mostly."

Coach Finstock rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, Stilinski. Just make sure you make it to tryouts on time."

Stiles frowns. "I'm not trying out, Coach."

Scott stills. This déjà vu is too strong. Stiles must see his apparent panic, because he backtracks. "Not like… like that, but I just don't think I can right now. I'm not sure… it's not really for me, you know?"

It's obvious that Coach does not know. "It's your senior year."

"I know."

"You can't leave me with Greenberg."

Stiles laughs, like really laughs. It's warm and startling. Scott can't help but grin. "Sorry Coach. I was never much good anyway."

"It looks like you've probably improved."

Stiles puts his backpack in his locker. "Your confidence in me is very touching."

"Stilinski—"

"Coach, I gotta get to class."

"Wait," Coach says, grabbing his shoulder. He seems startled and mutters to himself, "Crap, biceps. Dammit Stilinski." But then shakes his head. "I was sent here to tell you that you've been scheduled for weekly counseling appointments. Mainly because… you know…"

"It's school policy," Stiles nods. "It's okay, Coach. I get it."

Coach is relieved that he doesn't have to dwell on it further. "Good. And good news, you won't have to see anyone new."

Stiles frowns. "Anyone new?"

Just then, Ms. Morrell rounds the corner, holding a few books in hand. She catches Stiles' eye and he freezes. "N-No," he stammers, taking a step back. "Is this a joke?"

Scott looks at him, confused. "Dude, what's up?"

Stiles ignores him. "No. Hell no. No." He repeats this over and over, the books in his hands tumbling to the floor as the trembling in his hands increase.

Ms. Morrell approaches them, a reproachful look on her face. "Stiles," she says, her voice filled with warning.

"You stay away from me," Stiles snaps, his words laced with venom. "Don't you fucking come near me!"

"Stilinski!"

"No! I won't!" Stiles shouts, his legs faltering as he tries to retreat. People have stopped in the hall to watch, but Stiles continues to back up. "You can't make me. I'll literally talk to anyone else. Fuck, I'll talk to Greenberg!"

"Stiles," Ms. Morrell says again. "This is neither the time nor place."

"What? You need a specific place to threaten me or is it more of an audience thing?" Stiles cries. "How long do I have to talk to you before you give me another 'gift,' or was that a one time thing?"

"Stiles—"

"Don't worry, Ms. Morrell. No need to 'maintain balance.'" Stiles says bitterly. "I haven't been going to sleep. In fact, I haven't slept like a normal, function person in five months, so I think I just graduated your counseling. So thanks for all your help." Stiles spits bitterly. He whirls around, his entire body quaking and his breathing heavy.

As he rushes out of the hall, Scott can hear him shout, "Next time we speak, I expect more illicit drugs."

A/N: Ta-da! I want Stiles to be super calm on the surface and then basically waiting to collapse on the inside. Because, let's be honest, Beacon Hills is essentially a trigger-playground for things that happened. Poor boy.

Please leave a note/review if you have the time! Much love!