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Scott’s life had been a whirlwind ever since he was bitten. One day he was a random high school kid whose biggest worry was making it up a flight of stairs without collapsing from an asthma attack, and the next, he was the popular co-captain of the lacrosse team who spent every spare moment fighting for his survival.
Practically the only constant in his life at this point was Stiles.
He and his mom were on better terms now than they were when she first found out what he was, but it was still a bit awkward between them. He and Allison were mostly stable, but there were always ups and downs with them. He truly loved the pack, but they were still getting used to each other.
Stiles had been his best friend since forever: things with him were as easy as they always were. They just understood each other on a level no one else could. For a lot of reasons, Scott was glad Stiles had never taken the bite: he liked having a constant.
However, consistency came at a price— vulnerability.
Scott had nearly forgotten Stiles wasn’t like them when it happened. They were fighting a group of hunters, and not a particularly strong group at that.
It was after a few weeks of not-so-subtle scouting (that Derek had ordered them all to non-reactively keep an eye on) that the pack found themselves surrounded inside the recently rebuilt Hale house.
They spent a long time debating what to do:
“There aren’t that many, we can take them,” Jackson said.
“We can’t just kill that many humans,” Derek said.
“Why not?”
“Because murder is bad?! Why the fuck do you think?”
Jackson rolled his eyes: “They started it.”
“Real mature.”
Scott was watching them fight, trying and failing to come up with a plan of his own when Stiles spoke up:
“Let me talk to them.”
Everyone stared at him.
He shrugged. “I’m human, they won't kill me, and if they have a code anything like Chris Argent’s, they might be open to reasoning.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Derek said.
Stiles rolled his eyes: “It really isn’t. And none of you have a better plan.”
“I do,” Jackson countered, but they all just rolled their eyes.
“I’m gonna go,” Stiles declared, walking into the kitchen and coming back with a roll of paper towels.
"What is that for?" Derek asked.
“White flag,” he explained before making his way to the door and opening it just enough to stick the roll out.
“Don’t shoot; I’m human,” he yelled.
Looking out the window, Scott noticed the group pause, guns hesitantly lowering.
Stiles opened the door the rest of the way while they all stared, not quite daring to intervene. The last thing they needed was for this situation to escalate.
Stiles stepped out onto the porch, arms raised in surrender.
He then, very slowly, reached one hand into his back pocket, causing all guns to raise again.
“Don’t shoot,” he repeated, slowly bringing out a pocket knife Scott didn’t know he had. He brought the knife up to his arm and made a small nick, no larger than what could be excused as a paper cut. “See? No healing; I’m human,” he said after a long moment. “Can we try talking this out?”
The man who appeared to be their leader stared for a moment, considering, before nodding, signaling everyone to lower their weapons.
Stiles gave him a grateful smile and crossed the yard, taking one paper towel to press to his arm and leaving the rest on the porch.
“What are you doing with a wolf pack?” The man asked, quiet enough that Scott wouldn’t have heard if not for his enhanced hearing. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”
“They’re not dangerous.”
The man laughed. “Kid, if you think werewolves aren’t dangerous, you are in way over your head.”
Stiles shook his head: “Oh, trust me, I’ve faced enough to know that’s not true. But these ones specifically? They’re my friends: I promise they’re peaceful.”
“Maybe for now, but not forever.”
“They’re mostly teenagers,” he tried to argue. “I’m only here because my best friend is.”
“So the alpha is turning kids? That’s more reason for us to kill him and the rest of the freaks he created.”
Stiles winced. “He’s done now. He needed a pack to take down a bigger threat, so he got a few people to volunteer. Everyone Derek turned knew what they were getting into. The threat is gone now, so no more turnings.”
“And what will you do when the next threat arrives?”
“We’ll deal with it, and as the only people who can deal with it, you’re gonna do a lot more harm than good killing us.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Wrong answer: if they’re gone, there won’t be any more threats.”
“That’s not true.”
“Listen, kid, I have a lot more experience with this than you do. I’m telling you: the presence of a pack is what attracts ‘threats.’ We’re doing this town and you a favor. You shouldn’t be mixed up in all this anyway; go do normal teen things. Let me buy you a beer after this, yeah? Just don’t tell your folks.”
Scott instantly got a tight feeling in his stomach— this was about to go downhill, fast.
“A beer?” Stiles asked, incredulous. “To make up for you killing all of my friends? Aren’t you guys supposed to have a code? Only killing wolves who’ve hurt people?”
“All wolves hurt people eventually, we’re just being proactive.”
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“That’s a law for humans. A monster is a monster no matter how well-behaved it acts.”
Scott chose now to whisper his warning: “He’s about to do something stupid.”
“What do you mean?” Derek asked.
Before Scott could begin to explain the sixth sense that let him know what Stiles was thinking, it happened:
“Well, you and all your creepy friends, most of whom, might I add, have heavily illegal weapons, are attempting to massacre a group of teenagers who've never done anything wrong. So, who's really the monster?”
The man growled and Stiles held his hands up in mock surrender: “Hey, I’m just saying. It’s all about perspective, and from mine, you’re one hypocritical son of a—“
The main punched Stiles square across the face, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Instantly, Scott was out the door and the pack was following. It was only a matter of minutes before they’d chased off the entire group of them, snapping all their weapons like plastic and hurting them just enough for a good scare.
It ended with Derek holding their leader off the ground by his neck:
“This is your one and only warning,” he said, eyes glowing alpha-red. “We don’t hurt humans, but if you even think about touching my pack again, I won’t hesitate to make an exception.” He dropped the man to the ground. “Now get the fuck out of my town. If any of you are here tomorrow, we won't be so kind.”
The hunter didn’t need to be told twice, apparently, quickly scrambling away and running after the rest of his group.
“Bye!” Stiles yelled after him, eliciting a confused laugh from most of the pack.
Derek turned to their resident human: “What the fuck is wrong with you?” There was no heat in his voice, only a tired exasperation.
Stiles shrugged. “I’m just being polite.”
The alpha rolled his eyes. “Is anyone hurt?” He asked the pack at large.
“Boyd is gonna need help fishing a bullet out of his side,” Isaac said.
Derek nodded and moved to support his beta on the short walk into the house.
Stiles was the one to do first aid, rolling his eyes all the way through Derek’s lecture about safety and stupidity.
The night ended with pizza and a movie turned on in the background while the pack did their homework, the incident with the hunters practically forgotten: they all severely doubted they’d be back any time soon.
— — — —
The incident was not, however, forgotten about the next morning, when Stiles showed up to school with a massive purple bruise across his left cheek.
Scott spotted him in the parking lot and quickly rushed up to walk beside him, causing Stiles to jump:
“Jeez, warn a guy next time.”
“What happened?” Scott asked.
“Well, if my dad asks, Jackson beat me up at lacrosse practice.”
Scott rolled his eyes: it was the same excuse he’d been using since they were twelve; he really didn't know how it still worked. “But seriously?”
Stiles gave him a weird look, laughing a little. “Dude, you were there: I got punched in the face.”
Scott thought back to the night before, remembering the punch. It was true: Stiles’s collapse to the ground had been what prompted the wolves to finally fight the hunters.
“Yeah, but…” Scott trailed off.
Stiles just laughed, shaking his head. “Did you forget not all of us are bulletproof?”
Scott didn’t laugh. The remark hit a little too close to home to be funny: he had forgotten Stiles wasn’t like the rest of them. He was such a constant in Scott’s life, it was hard to imagine him as anything other than invincible.
“Chill out, dude, it’s just a bruise,” Stiles said, as if reading his mind.
“We shouldn’t have sent you out alone.”
“You didn't ‘send me,’ I volunteered, and it was our best shot. They were never going to listen to a wolf.”
“They didn’t listen to you either.”
“They also didn’t shoot me, unlike Boyd.”
But they could have, Scott thought. And you wouldn’t have healed the way he did.
“I’m fine, Scott,” Stiles reassured him.
Scott nodded, taking a deep breath and attempting to push it from his mind. “Next time I’m staying with you.”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
— — — —
Over the course of the day, Stiles repeated the conversation he’d had with Scott with every single member of the pack.
It went more or less the same, though the variation with Jackson had significantly more yelling and cursing when he found out Stiles had blamed the mark on him yet again. Still, even he’d said something to the effect of wanting to protect him next time.
Stiles didn’t know why everyone was so surprised by the bruise.
Well— he did: they’d clearly all forgotten he wasn’t like them, but it was still odd. He didn’t fully understand why it was affecting them so much: they had always known he was human, it wasn’t exactly a secret.
Maybe the reminder was jarring? He didn’t really know how he felt about it. It was nice that they were concerned, he supposed. It felt a little good to know they cared.
But as the weeks stretched on and the bruise deepened before slowly getting better, he found himself unnerved by the constant stares.
He wanted to ask, but held back. Stiles was in no way above admitting he was terrified of wolves— he’d been on the wrong side of a few too many claws not to be— and, contrary to popular belief, didn’t like pissing them off.
But it was all getting to be too much, and one day he finally had to ask—
“What?”
Derek raised his eyebrows, not averting his eyes from where they’d been locked on his face. Scott and Isaac, the only other people in the room, also turned to look at him.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Derek frowned. “You have a bruise on your face.”
“Yes, Derek, an astute observation as always. It’s been there for weeks, you can stop looking.”
“Is it supposed to last this long?” He asked.
“For humans? Yes.” He tried not to sound exasperated, but wow was the pack out of touch with what it meant to be human. In Derek’s defense, it wasn’t an experience he’d ever had, but he’d at least known humans his whole life, and the others had no excuse.
“I usually healed faster than this,” Isaac chimed in, incredibly unhelpfully in Stiles’ opinion.
“Good for you?”
“How much faster?” Derek asked. “Should we be worried?”
“I have a feeling you’re gonna worry no matter what.”
Derek responded to the quip with his signature disapproving glare.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing, everyone heals at a different pace.”
“Why is yours slower?”
“How would I know that, Derek?” Then he thought about it: “I’m anemic?” It was technically true, though not something he really thought about often.
“You never told me that,” Scott said, disproportionately worriedly as always.
Stiles shrugged: “It’s never been important before.”
“You should be on medicine for that.”
“If you say so, nurse McCall.”
Scott stood, grabbing his keys from the counter: “I’m going to get you medicine for that.”
“Scott—“
“Be back in twenty.” And then he was gone, before Stiles could even attempt to reason with him.
“Why is he like this?” Stiles asked to the room at large.
Derek shrugged: “He’s a werewolf, you’re in his pack. It’s killing him that he can’t fix this, you can’t blame him for jumping on the chance to fix something.”
“It’s one bruise, there’s nothing to ‘fix.’”
“One bruise is more than the rest of us get,” Isaac said. “Even Lydia heals fast now.”
“What about Allison?”
Both wolves gave him a pointed look, almost in sync, and Stiles relented: she may have been pack, but things between her and them were far from perfect.
“It’s not just him, though, it’s all of you. I just don’t see the big deal.”
“l don’t know what you want me to say: you’re not a wolf, you don’t get how upsetting it is to see your pack hurt.”
“Whatever. Next time I’m gonna learn how to use makeup.”
Derek practically looked pained: “No next time please.”
“No promises.”
— — — —
Scott sped more than was perhaps necessary to get to the store, only to be instantly overwhelmed in the pharmacy aisle.
He did the only rational thing a responsible almost-adult would do. He called his mom.
“Scott? Is everything okay?” She asked.
“What’s the best brand of iron supplements?”
“…What?” She sounded exasperated already.
“Stiles is anemic! And he has a bruise that won’t go away and I need to fix it!”
“Honey, he’s not like you. Humans get bruises, it’s not the end of the world.”
But it was. Stiles getting hurt was the end of Scott’s world, or it might as well be. He didn’t care that it was just a bruise; it was an ever-present reminder that the only constant in his entire life was one infected paper cut away from being taken from him forever. It was a reminder that Scott had dragged him into a life he couldn’t guarantee the human would make it out of.
“Mom, please.”
She sighed. “They’re all mostly the same, honestly. Get him the gummy ones, he’ll like them best. Maybe one that also has vitamin D in it— he looks like he needs it.”
He nodded, scanning the aisle until he found a bottle that matched his mom’s suggestions, reading the name of the brand to her.
“Yes, I’ve heard of that one, I trust it.”
“You know, you could at least try not to sound like you’re humoring me.”
“It’s just a bruise, honey. You had me check it. Three times.” He flushed a little at the reminder: he had done that, much to Stiles’s confusion and thinly veiled annoyance.
“None of my other friends bruise!”
She sighed. “I know, but he’s fine. Stiles is strong, you know that.”
But he’s not. Not the type of strong he needs to be. Not the type of strong the rest of us are.
He didn’t express these thoughts to his mom. “I know,” he said instead. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Call me back if he stubs his toe, okay?” She laughed.
Scott chucked despite himself. “Will do; love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call disconnected, and Scott looked at the bottle in his hands for a moment before grabbing three more and heading to checkout.
One would go in Derek’s house, one in Stiles’s, one in Scott’s backpack, and one in the jeep.
Just in case, so he never missed a dose due to poor memory.
Scott sped back to the Hale house and practically force-fed two of the gummies to Stiles, who humored him with few complaints and lots of eye rolls.
That was fine. If Stiles didn’t want to take his own safety seriously Scott was more than willing to do it for him.
At least the rest of the pack was on his side: he knew they understood, to some extent at least. They watched him with the same intensity as he took his gummies, making sure he swallowed.
It wasn’t much, but Scott felt a little better having done something to protect Stiles’s health.
(He was starting to understand his friend’s obsession with his dad’s eating habits— it felt good to help even just the littlest bit. He knew the positive benefit was exaggerated in his head, but the relief was so sweet it was worth deluding himself for).
One night, they finally had a real conversation about it:
"Scott, you know I'm fine, right? It really is just a bruise."
"I know."
"Really? Cuz you've been freakin' me out with your whole mother-hen act. I'm fine."
"I know, it's just..."
"The crushing weight of human mortality?"
Scott snorted: "That's one way to put it."
"I can't say I'm not aware of it myself. But you gotta calm down, dude. I can handle myself."
Scott started pointedly at the (now mostly faded) bruise on his face.
Stiles pointed to it: "I handled this!"
"The pack ran out to save you."
"The pack ran out on my signal."
"The signal of you getting punched in the face?"
"Yep. Genius plan if I do say so myself."
Scott couldn't quite suppress the upward quirk of his lips as he turned away, shaking his head. "You should be more careful."
"I am careful. If I were any more careful, I'd never leave my room."
"Maybe you'd be safer."
"Please. I give it twelve hours before one of you were-dicks broke through my window for something."
Scott laughed despite himself.
"Seriously, though, dude. You just gotta trust me."
"I do," Scott said honestly.
It wasn't like he didn't trust Stiles; he trusted the guy with his life. He knew he was smarter than anyone in the pack (maybe bar Lydia, though it was hard to tell when they both played dumb so often) and more capable than the vast majority of humans. But that's what he was: human.
"I know," Stiles said when he expressed this. "Trust me, I am painfully aware. Literally. But making yourself sick worrying about me isn't helpful. I mean, I'm flattered, don't get me wrong, but you should probably get a better hobby. Just saying."
"You see why your refusal to take this seriously makes me more worried, yes?"
Stiles sighed, dropping the goofy act: "What would make you feel better then, Scott? Because I'm not taking the bite, so this—" he gestured to himself— "is what we're working with."
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, then, Scotty, how about you take a night to do the most human thing you can: ignore all your problems and have a Marvel movie marathon with me."
Scott stared.
"And next week during pack training, you can beat me up in the name of teaching me self-defense for as long as you want?"
"Okay," He agreed easily.
"You're the worst."
"I'll make the popcorn."
And it wasn't a perfect fix, but it was something. Scott was already planning what training he wanted to do the moment he got the chance— heaven knew Stiles needed it. Ideally lesson one would be 'How to Avoid Pissing People Off by Running Your Mouth,' but he had a feeling Stiles wouldn't take to that one. Maybe he'd start with breaking choke-holds instead.
Either way, for tonight, he was content to block out his problems with a movie marathon.
It wasn’t for another week that the bruise finally completely faded, and Scott finally stopped getting a tight feeling in his chest every time he looked at his best friend.
Scott didn’t know if he’d ever come to terms with his fragility, but at least he could take a break from thinking about it.
And life went back to something as close to normal as was possible in Beacon Hills.