Warnings: description of injuries. Spoilers for season 5 episodes 10 and 11.
Description: my take on what should have gone down between Scott and Stiles after the events of 5x10
The elevator hummed as it ascended, dim lights doing little to illuminate the lone figure hunched against the wall. This figure, none other than Scott McCall, stared at the carpet. A notch of worry pulled his eyebrows together, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
What will I find when I get there? He grimaced. A tightness squeezed at his chest that had nothing to do with the blood stain spreading over his sternum.
The elevator bumped to a stop as it signaled its arrival, heavy doors gliding to the side to reveal a gloomy hospital hallway.
Scott clenched his jaw as he pushed away from the wall, a sharp intake of breath hitched in his throat; pain and exhaustion pulsing through every inch of his body.
At the end of the hall, a group of people were huddled on the other side of a pair of double doors. Stiles was among them, surrounded by doctors and nurses, melissa McCall included. Scott listened in on the conversation. A doctor was informing Stiles that there had been a complication with his dad.
Shit⌠Scott hung his head. This was the result of his stupid decision. This was all his fault. He trudged to the door of a room where a heart monitor could be heard and peered through the window. Mr. Stilinski was unconscious, hooked to all kinds of machines and medicines. Scott could smell that something wasn't right. The pungent, rancid odor of infection ravaged the room, the source clearly visible. Black veins traced their way across the sheriff's body and up the side of his neck. He couldn't look away, couldn't break his gaze from his carnage.
âSomebody needs to tell me what's happening to him!â Stiles demanded.
Melissa sighed. âWe don't know.â She sounded so defeated, so worn and tired.
The double doors flew open, pounding the walls as Stiles barreled through them. Scott turned to look just in time for Stiles to claw at the front of his shirt and throw him against the wall. Bursts of light pulsed over his vision as Stiles then dragged him to the floor, beating his chest without restraint. Beating the injury that Scott had desperately tried to heal that morning, the injury that was still bleeding.
âWhere were you?â Stiled demanded, âYou trusted him. You believed him. Right? So where were you? WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!?â Despite his fury, Stiles noted the lack of fight on Scottâs part. The ease in which he had subdued the alpha.
A couple of nurses and security guards pulled Stiles up and away, holding his arms back to restrain him. A guard heaved Scott to his feet, a hand on his shoulder.
âOk! All right, all right...â Stiles settled enough for the nurses to release him.
âYour dad's not the only one who got hurt.â Scott panted, trying desperately to stay upright.
Stiles almost laughed, an enraged apathy preventing him from really caring whether Scott was ok or not. Regardless of the red patch on his shirt. Regardless of how he was swaying. Regardless of how out of breath he seemed. No, Scott was a werewolf, injuries were the least of his worries.
âOh, you'll heal.â He seethed.
Scott looked down at his chest and pulled the edges of his jacket together. Of course he would heal, this was nothing compared to what Stiles was dealing with. He was fine. But that wasn't what he meant.
âI'm not talking about me.â
Stiles stilled, dread settling sourly in his stomach. Scott turned and trudged to the elevator, and Melissa stepped around Stiles to catch up to her son. She put an arm around his waist, Stiles noticed, and Scott leaned into her.
Whatever, he'll be fine. He thought before following the McCalls.
The ride was spent in silence, the only sounds were those of Scott's labored breaths and Melissa's quiet comforts. When the door opened, Stiles waited for Scott to take the lead and settled in step behind. This was a particularly grimm floor of the hospital, one for individuals who were deemed stable, but not enough so that they could return home. Not an enjoyable place to spend one's time. Scott stopped at a closed door. Placing a hand on the frame to steady himself, he motioned for Stiles to enter. A despondent shadow fell over his face. Stiles didn't wait for him to elaborate, but shouldered his way in and swiped the curtains aside.
Mrs. Martin turned around, eyes wide with surprise. Eyes that were swollen and red-rimmed. Eyes that had let many tears fall. Stiles glanced from Mrs. Martin, and down to the bed against the wall. Lydia. Beautiful, genius, powerful Lydia. She was laid out on the bed, her head turned towards the window with eyes open and unseeing. His stomach recoiled, threatening to expel the little bit of food that he had managed to keep down. Theo had done this, he was sure of it. A pressure built in his head, a frustration that made him want throw things, rage against anyone and anything. Made him want to bring a reconing upon one werewolf in particular, a werewolf with a crooked jaw and a tendency to trust people he shouldnât.
Stiles knew that Theo would have needed to use Lydia for her powers. If there were punctures from his talon, he could prove it.
Mrs. Martin shook with fury, pointing out the door. âNo.â She shook her head. âNo you donât. Youâre not coming in here. Get out!â Stiles held out his hand, desperate to get the words out. âJust wait, wait. I think I know who did this, ok? I just need to look at the back of her neck.â
âI know who did this. You. All of you! Get out!â She shoved Stiles back.
âCome on, please. You just gotta listen to me. You just gotta check the back-â
âJust get out!â She screamed.
âJust check the back of her-â
âOut!â She slammed the door as he retreated and covered her face in her hands. âOh, godâŚâ she whispered to herself.
Stiles stood just outside the door, resting against it for a moment. Scott was waiting for him, quiet as the grave. Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, he seemed so small and innocent. But that was far from the truth, Stiles pondered bitterly. Scott had the potential to cause massive damage, as he had already proved. The dead air hung between them, neither really knowing how to segue into anything resembling a conversation.
âWhereâs Melissa?â Stiles asked finally, wiping his nose.
âSheâs still working, she had some patients to seeâŚâ Scott trailed off. He looked so haggard. Whatever happened must have been bad if he still seemed so run-down. Stilesâ eyes were drawn to Scottâs chest, where the blood was peeking through his jacket.
âScottâŚâ He hesitated. Did he want to know? Yes, of course he did. âWhat happened?â
Scott sighed. What could he tell him? The truth? Yes, that would bode well. Stiles, I died. Liam tried to kill me, but then stopped at the last second. And then Theo showed up, and actually did kill me. This wound is from his claws when he practically gutted me. I was dead for fifteen goddamn minutes before my mom brought me back. But Iâm not sure Iâll ever be the same. Oh, and Hayden is dead, too.
Maybe that would be fine. At least he would know. Maybe Stiles could even help him navigate this ever-changing universe they all traversed. He didnât hold out hope for that, reconciliation seemed to be the last thing on Stilesâ mind.
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with fatigue. The world tilted as he collapsed against the wall, his hand moving to his sodden shirt. Stiles was at his side in an instant, heart racing.
âScott! Scotty! Whatâs wrong? Whatâs happening?!â He shook Scottâs shoulder slightly, not wanting to jar him.
Scott stared at Stiles, confused. His ears were ringing and he couldnât hear what he was saying. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. He was cold, though. Cold and⌠wet? He glanced down as he unzipped his jacket. The whole front of his shirt was soaked through.
It was official, Stiles was panicking. Very rarely had he seen Scott like this, not for anything but the gravest traumas. He was an alpha, stronger than anyone else he had ever encountered⌠But he knew that Scott had a habit of brushing aside his physical health so that he didnât worry those around him. Stupid jerk. He recalled one such occasion after a battle with the alpha pack. Scott had watched Derek fall to his presumed death, and, feeling responsible, he wouldnât allow himself to heal. He told everyone he was fine right up to the time when Allison had been forced to stitch him up with Lydia's sewing kit. Stubborn asshole.  Maybe this was the same, maybe he really didnât want to feel better. Stiles certainly didnât mind if he was a little sore for a while after thisâŚ
Scott jerked forward, blood spattering the floor as he coughed. No, Stiles decided. This wasnât what he wanted. He couldnât sit here by himself and watch Scott struggle.
âHold on, Scotty. Iâm gonna go find your momâŚâ Scott peered at him through heavy eyelids. Stiles squeezed his shoulder before running down the hall, hands shaking. The anger was still there, of course. It burned through his veins and flared dangerously under the surface. But it was tame, for now. He could hold it back until Scott could take it.
Scott watched Stiles go, guilt and shame suffocating him. I failed you, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back. I wasnât there. I wasnât strong enough to save the person you love most. Iâm sorry.
Every breath brought spears of agony that threatened to engulf him. He swallowed and tried to calm himself. He would heal. He was fine. He wasnât allowed to be anything else. He was, after all, the alpha.
What pack did he have to be alpha of now? Liam had very nearly succeeded in killing him, he would never willingly come back. Who knew where Kira was and what she was doing. She was probably happier without having to deal with him anyway. Malia was off looking for the Desert Wolf, she didnât need any of them anymore. And Stiles⌠His best friend in the world, his brother. Stiles would never forgive him. Scottâs actions had brought about the attack on Noah, and that was an unredeemable offense. One that Scott knew he would be paying for the rest of his life.
I deserve it. If only I had listened to Stiles...
Melissa knelt down beside her son and took his face in her hands. He stirred, startled by the contact. Another fit had him doubled over, his entire frame trembling. When he settled and fell against Stiles, a black ooze dripped from his lips.
âOh, ScottâŚâ Melissa rubbed a thumb over his cheek.
