They become ScottandStiles the moment they meet, chubby-cheeked four-year-olds playing in the sandbox a few feet away from each other until Stiles manages to trip over thin air, forehead colliding with a bony knee.
Scott squeaks and apologizes right away, as if it were his fault somehow that Stiles has yet to learn how to control his limbs, and he looks so much like a small, kicked puppy that Stiles can only shake his head feverishly, an excited grin on his face because hi there new person, and proceeds to proudly show Scott all of the bruises he’s acquired over the last week or so.
When Stiles introduces himself, Scott gives him a smile so bright it could probably light up the whole town and very possibly all of California and maybe the entire universe. He says he likes Stiles’s name, with the honesty that only a child who doesn’t know yet what making fun of someone means could manage, and Stiles thinks you and me and finally and forever.
The call comes in the middle of night. Stiles is supposed to be sleeping but of course he isn’t. When he peeks through the door he sees his dad sitting on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face, looking equal parts angry and concerned.
His mom notices him standing there and motions for him to come over, wraps him in her arms as soon as Stiles jumps on the bed.
“But he’s okay now?” his dad asks, which makes Stiles frown up at his mom because what’s going, what’s wrong, who is daddy talking to. His mom kisses the top of his head.
His dad finally hangs up, looking very much like he does when he has to deal with missing children cases – and Stiles would know, because he loves spending time at the station helping his dad solve mysteries, but not as much as he loves it when Scott is there too – and suddenly Stiles knows this, whatever it is, it has to do with Scott.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep, buddy?” his dad asks with a weary smile that makes him look older than he is, but his voice is full of warmth and affection and not at all stern. He doesn’t even try to chide Stiles, not even jokingly.
Something’s definitely wrong.
His dad kisses the top of his head too, shares a look with his mom, and Stiles can only look up a bit confused and a lot worried as the two of them have another wordless conversation. He’s going to learn how to decipher those one of these days.
But then his mom smiles, and it’s a genuine one but at the same time it isn’t, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially, “How do you feel about spontaneous sleepovers, sweetheart?”
Stiles grins, rushes downstairs to grab his winter boots, and five minutes later they’re all in his dad’s car. Stiles is wearing his pajamas under the thick brown jacket that actually belongs to Scott and a knit hat with a big blue pom. Actually, that’s Scott’s, too.
Melissa welcomes them with a sad smile and red-rimmed eyes, and Stiles suddenly wants to hug her really, really tight. So he does.
She hugs back, letting out a watery laugh, and tells him to go to Scott. He takes off running, stumbling twice on the stairs on the way to Scott’s room.
There are two large suitcases in the hallway.
Scott has a bump that still hurts on the back of his head, but he says he can’t remember how he got it.
By the time they wake up, tangled up with each other because they’re growing bigger and taller but Scott’s bed isn’t, the suitcases are gone.
Stiles gets a buzz cut. Scott thinks it’s hilarious and keeps running his fingers over the short bristles. Stiles pretends to be annoyed for half a second before he starts purring like a kitten, which always makes Scott laugh like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Stiles decides he’ll keep making the strangest noises for the rest of forever if that’s what it takes to make Scott happy.
Stiles thinks Scott and Melissa are better off without his dad, but Scott misses him, so he doesn’t tell him that. He can be cruel to the other kids at school if he has to – he does – but not to Scott. Never to Scott.
So he also doesn’t say how happy and grateful he is that both his parents still come to tuck him in every night. He doesn’t want to hurt Scott by reminding him that Stiles has something that Scott doesn’t anymore.
It’s 2003 and Stiles doesn’t know that’s the last Christmas he’ll get to spend with his mom.
Scott holds his hand as the casket is lowered into the ground.
Stiles keeps breathing.
They find a red hoodie that’s way too big for Scott but it’s the only size left, so Stiles decides to buy it for him anyway.
Scott tells him he’s an idiot, but he’s grinning like he’s trying to say something else and Stiles blushes, mumbling shut up, dumbass, you only turn twelve once.
He starts calling Scott Little Red.
One day it will stop being funny.
Playing lacrosse indoors sounds kinda fun and is fun for exactly seven minutes. But then Scott falls on top of the glass table trying to catch the ball that Stiles threw at him, and Stiles freaks the fuck out when he sees the blood on Scott’s cheek.
Fuck, that’s his fault. Scott is hurt because of him.
Melissa is going to eviscerate him.
He rushes Scott to the hospital, feeling absolutely terrified when they run right into Melissa. Her eyes go wide and worried, but she doesn’t panic, of course she doesn’t, just patiently waits for them to explain what happened. Her only comment is a deep sigh and an eye roll.
She doesn’t kill Stiles. Instead, she asks if he’s okay and, after he nods, warns him to stay away from the vending machine until she and Scott return.
Scott needs three stitches and he’s probably going to get a scar, but he looks happy about it. It’ll be a reminder of their adventures, he tells Stiles, grinning like it’s the best thing that could have happened.
Then he leans forward and plants a loud kiss on Stiles’s mouth, which sends Stiles straight into gaping fish-mode for a minute or so until Scott begins to giggle, and then it hits him.
“Oh, buddy. What did they give you?” His voice is too soft, but Scott won’t remember this anyway, so it doesn’t matter. The stupid stutter of his heartbeat also doesn’t matter.
Scott’s still giggling. “Dunno.”
Danny comes out and, surprisingly, Jackson is very supportive – meaning that he’s throwing death glares and the silent promise of an epic beating to anyone who dares so much as look at Danny the wrong way. Maybe Jackson Whittemore is a human being after all.
But he’s still a total douche.
And for some reason Lydia is still dating him, so Stiles has no choice but to keep trying to woo her. If he can get her to acknowledge his existence first.
He claps Danny on the back, giving him a smile he usually reserves only for his dad and Scott and Melissa. But if Danny can be honest about something so huge, Stiles thinks the least he can do is offer a genuine smile.
Scott hugs Danny because of course he does, grinning like he’s proud of Danny – and knowing Scott, he probably is. He likes honest people.
It’s a mystery why Stiles is his best friend. More often than not Stiles doesn’t even manage to be honest with himself, let alone others.
He supposes he could admit that he has a bro-crush on Scott. It’s not a big deal. Scott is very crush-worthy and Stiles feels sorry for all the girls – and boys, screw it – who don’t notice that.
Scott is awesome and Stiles loves him very much. He always has.
Stiles also stole a bottle of whiskey from his dad. It’s a good bottle. It listens to Stiles’s every complaint and doesn’t interrupt once. They should become friends. Besties. BFFs. He thinks he’s going to name the bottle Muriel.
Stiles goes from innocent bro-crush to holy-shit-I’m-totally-fucked over the span of twenty-four hours.
But he’s got a killer headache and he needs a distraction, so he wraps his fingers around his cock and tries to think of strawberry-blonde hair and pretty green eyes, but instead ends up with images of caramel skin that he’s touched so many times but never the way he wants to, and thick dark brown hair and stupidly endearing dimples and, shit, the way Scott bites his bottom lip sometimes –
He comes picturing himself on his knees in front his best friend, Scott’s head thrown back, his eyes closed, white teeth sinking into a plump bottom lip.
So. Yeah. Stiles is fucked.
Of course Scott notices that something’s wrong. But Stiles can’t exactly tell him that lately he’s been thinking about his dick in Scott’s mouth and Scott’s dick inside of him, so he says something about Lydia not paying attention to him, and it doesn’t sound as believable as it used to.
Scott gives him a look but they leave it at that.
Scott is wearing the hoodie Stiles gave him.
Scott becomes a werewolf.
It’s terrifying and maybe a bit awesome and it’s kind of Stiles’s fault, but. They manage.
Scott gets a girlfriend.
Stiles tries not to like her but he soon realizes that maybe in another life he could’ve fallen in love with Allison Argent too.
Still, he’s jealous. Because Allison’s Scott is his Scott and Stiles has never had to share Scott before and he really doesn’t like it, but that’s something he has to keep to himself.
Age sixteen and a half:
Stiles sets a homicidal Alpha on fire.
Okay, Jackson helps too. And Allison. And Derek is the one that finishes the job in the end.
So maybe there’s a bit of teamwork involved, but still. It’s Stiles who throws the Molotov cocktail at Peter.
He can’t say he’s surprised that he’s willing to kill for Scott.
He’s going to strangle Isaac with one of his fucking scarves if he keeps looking at Scott the way he does.
At first, Isaac smirks like he knows something that Stiles doesn’t want him to.
But then the looks become less unkind and the smirks turn into understanding half-smiles and –
Stiles sighs. Of course Isaac gets it.
Scott is drenched in gasoline, holding a road flare in his hand, and Stiles says, you’re just gonna have to take me with you.
Because yes, he’d kill for Scott and he’d die for Scott and he’d die with him.
And he will one day. He knows he will. This started with the two of them looking for a corpse in the woods and it will end with the two of them together – somewhere. Someday.
But we’re not dying tonight, Scotty, and Scott is crying when Stiles kisses him before the sun comes up, Isaac and Boyd sleeping on the seats in the back, Allison and Lydia looking out the window to let them have this moment, and it’s so far from perfect but Stiles is grateful anyway.
Who needs perfection, he wants this boy with the crooked jaw that he’s been in love with since he tripped over him in a sandbox forever ago.
The too-bright lights in this too-white room are blinding him so he focuses on Scott instead. He notices the tear that Scott wipes away immediately, how could he not.
I love you too, I love you too, I love you too.
Scott says he’ll do something and Stiles hears everything he’s not saying. And he still doesn’t want it, and Scott doesn’t want to do it either, but if that’s what it takes –
Stiles nods once.
Stiles is not himself for a while and of course it’s Scott voice – howl, damn it, they’re actually doing the whole pack thing – that brings him back.
Miraculously, they all make it out alive even though it’s a close call and they would have lost Allison if it hadn’t been for Deaton and his never-ending supply of herbs and knowledge.
But in the end they’re okay. Alive. He tries not to pay too much attention to the difference between those two.
He sleeps in Scott’s bed wearing Scott’s clothes, and Scott wears Stiles’s plaid shirts at school and nothing’s changed, except for the part where now I love you means you’re my best friend but also I’m in love with you.
Scott kisses him and holds his hand like he never wants to let go, and Stiles thinks you and me and finally and forever.