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nothing but the angles of my future

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Stiles startles awake, disoriented.

The window clicks open and he stills. Please, his fingers are white from gripping the comforter over his face, no more tonight. He doesn’t hear anyone come in, but the windows audibly shuts. He doesn’t feel nervous anymore, just determined. His dad is home, finally, with only a concussion from the night’s happenings. Stiles will do anything in his power - suddenly, a warm body covers his and his thoughts scatter.

“Stiles,” the body croaks. 

“Scott?” Stiles burrows his head from underneath the comforter, only to be greeted by the sad slope of his best friend’s spine. Scott’s still wearing the clothes he had at the police department, and later at the hospital, collapsed in a ball facing away from Stiles. ”Scott, buddy. Ok?” He lays a hand on Scott’s back, prompting a surprise body rotation by the werewolf. 

“Stiles,” Scott repeats, face hidden in the crook of Stiles’ shoulder and leg slung over the other’s hip. “Nothing’s working, dude. Nothing.” His voice cracks at the end in a sob. 

“Scott… ” He sighs before laying back down, pulling the distraught teen into a sideways hug. “Scott, we’re alive.” He says the only thing that has kept him from thought spiraling into a full blown panic attack. So many people are dead, people he knew, people he loved and who had loved him. The police department had been a second home for him.

“No,” Scott sniffs wetly. He pulls back a little, his words clearer. “Allison’s mom is dead.”

“In the police station?” Stiles hadn’t seen much of the battle, due to being paralyzed.

“No, she… she killed herself.” Scott sniffs again.

“Oh,” and really, what else could he say? 

“She killed herself because Derek bit her when he saved me and she was turning into a werewolf,” Scott elaborates, tensing around Stiles like a vice grip.

“Oh!” Stiles twitches at the reveal. “Oh oh,” He wants to say other words but he can’t seem to find them. 

“Matt’s dead too. We don’t know where Jackson is.” Shit. Shit shit shit. “Peter Hale is alive.”

What?” He actually jackknifes at that and Scott’s hold tightens again, burrowing closer to him. “No, actually what?” 

“He was hiding a piece of himself in Lydia and used the moon and Derek to come back to life.” will wonders never cease?, a wry part of Stiles’ mind murmurs. “A werewolf is only dead dead if cut in half or burned to death.” 

“Derek told you this?” The fact the Alpha would relay this much information in one setting almost tops the list of surprises the full moon has brought. Scott is still shaking against him and it distracts his brain from following through with thought trains about Lydia and Peter Hale and Victoria Argent and Jackson.

“Dr. Deaton told me,” Scott hasn’t loosened his grip at all, in fact Stiles thinks his ribs are starting to creak. What else could there be to tell? “Derek disappeared after the fight.”

Unsurprised, he comfortingly runs a hand down Scott’s back. Stiles has always been the more touchy-feely of the two, Scott never minding the lean of body weight or knee brushes during movie marathons or the hugs and casual arm sling around the shoulders. But after being Bitten, Scott is just as quick to initiate contact with Stiles. In fact, he has woken up to an open window and Scott sacked out next to him more than once in the last three months. Stiles has chalked it up to a Wolf Thing and has managed to keep his mouth shut about it. “What else?” Scott is too tense for that to be all of it.

“She’s not safe.” Stiles pauses his hand, waits for a beat. “Mom. Mom’s not safe. I was trying to make sure she was, but she’s not and now she knows.” Scott is back to almost sobbing and Stiles bites his lips to keep the words in. “She saw me, in the department. She saw and she backed away and she hasn’t said a word! Not one thing- ” Scott cuts himself off suddenly, taking a deep breath. “She smells afraid.” He whispers. “She’s afraid of me.” 

Stiles can only hug him tighter. 

“I’m doing all I can.” Scott is still tense, making Stiles rigid with anxiety. What else could there be? What else has gone wrong?

“You are.” It’s true, Stiles knows that. Even though that out of all the words that leave his lips daily, those have never been it. Yes, the thing with Allison is an awful idea in Stiles’ personal opinion, but honestly Stiles’ personal opinion has never created a damn near permanent dopey smile on Scott’s face, so he tries to keep it to himself. He’s only almost successful, but Stiles has known for a long time that he is not the better half of this friendship.

“I’ve been feeding Gerard information about Derek’s Pack,” With that final piece of information, Scott unfurls instantly. It feels like an ice shelf melting under his fingertips. “I had to.”

“Oh,” and it’s the only word that comes to mind.

“He knows I’m a werewolf. He stabbed me outside the hospital after the lacrosse game.” Oh oh oh. “He said… he said Mom was next.” There are no tears, but Scott sounds hollow and Stiles can feel claw tips digging into his skin. “He would.” He’s barely audible. “I saw him when he cut that Omega in half,” okay, Stiles is missing a lot of vital information these days. “He would hurt her. Hurt you.” Scott pulls back finally, laying face to face with him. Solemn is an expression that hurts Stiles to see on Scott’s face.

“He’ll kill them,” It isn’t the first words Stiles wanted to come out of his mouth, but that doesn’t make them any less true. “Derek first, but the others too.” He’s eye-level with Scott, staring him straight in the face. God, Scott knows that. Scott, more naive than most kids their age, knows perfectly well the consequences of this… betrayal is too strong a word for Derek Hale, considering all his issues. Scott, the biggest hearted person he knows, the guy who took a C in Biology because he wouldn’t catch frogs for dissection, the guy who had sympathy for fucking Jackson, has accepted a trade of lives. His mom and Stiles’ own for Derek’s Pack. 

He squeezes Scott tight. 

“Okay,” Stiles finally answers. “Okay. It’s okay.”

“Really?” Hopeful and relieved sound like the wrong words to describe Scott’s tone, but those are the only ones Stiles has. He looks into wet brown eyes before they disappear as Scott snuggles back into Stiles’ embrace, relaxing into a small spoon.

“Really,” Stiles wouldn’t have hesitated, would have wiped them clean from his conscience if Scott and his Dad were on the line. He wouldn’t have grabbed Erica from the library, wouldn’t have checked on them the day after the rave. But Stiles has long acknowledged his heart is three sizes too small.

But somehow, he can’t help but feel a bit responsible for the tarnish on Scott’s golden one.