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Scott felt completely numb as he walked back up the motel staircase, letting himself be tugged along by Stiles, who hadn’t let go of his hand since he threw the flare on the pavement. Lydia and Allison were back on the bus, agreeing that nobody would be sleeping in any of the rooms the Glen Capri has to offer after the events of that night. Stiles had to go back in to get Isaac and Boyd, and it was clear he wasn’t letting Scott out of his sight, so they went together. Not that Scott minded, he didn’t really want to let go of Stiles either.
When Stiles opened the door of room two-sixteen, it revealed the other two werewolves sitting side by side on one of the beds, shoulders just barely brushing. Dried tear-tracks were visible on Isaac’s cheeks, and his eyes were still glassy and wild. Next to him, Boyd was staring straight ahead with a haunted expression, frozen in place. Isaac’s darting eyes eventually found Scott and Stiles standing there, and in an instant he was jumping up and then Scott had an armful of shaken sweaty seventeen-year-old.
Scott was glad he seemed to have a reflex to hug people back, because he wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to make himself move consciously. Isaac’s chin dug into his shoulder, and his fingers into Scott’s back, but instead of uncomfortable it was oddly grounding. Isaac seemed to remember himself after a second, pulling back so fast it might have been a flinch.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–” he choked out, nails digging into his own arm now, hard enough to leave a mark. Then Isaac’s eyes went even bigger if it was possible, horror flooding into his scent. “You smell like– it’s everywhere–”
Stiles stepped in then, grabbing Scott’s hand again and squeezing it. “Look, we can talk about this later,” he said, though Scott didn’t miss the way his voice shook a little too. “We’re sleeping on the bus tonight with Lydia and Allison, and unless you two feel like staying in this shithouse, you’re coming too.”
Isaac nodded mutely, still staring at Scott with a funny expression like nothing and everything made sense at the same time. Boyd didn’t reply, but stood up, turning to where the other boys were standing by the doorway. Stiles must have taken that as an affirmative, because soon Scott was being gilded back out the door and down the stairs. Isaac was walking so close Scott was almost tripping over him, like having an overeager dog underfoot. Boyd hung back a bit, though Scott couldn’t tell if it was because he was unsure if he was welcome, or if he just wanted the space. He didn’t have enough energy to try and figure it out.
When they got back on the bus, Lydia and Allison were still awake, sitting silently with Lydia’s head resting on her best friend’s shoulder. Stiles sat down in one seat, and Scott took the one in front of him all but collapsing into it. He heard Boyd settle somewhere in the back of the bus, barely audible under the sound of Stiles shuffling around behind him. Scott opened his eyes—he didn’t remember closing them—to see Isaac still hovering near him, examining Scott with an anxious look on his face. Scott was about to try and say something comforting, unsure exactly what had happened to Isaac in the past few hours, before realizing with a start that that’s not why Isaac was hovering. His anxiety wasn’t for himself this time, he was worried about Scott.
“I’m okay, Isaac, really,” Scott said finally, trying to give that warm smile that always seemed to put Isaac at ease. It must not quite have come out right though, because Isaac’s frown only deepened, sliding into the seat across from Scott.
“I don’t think any of us are okay,” Isaac replied, crossing his arms tightly, protectively, over himself. He was doing that thing again, where he dug his nails into his forearm. He said, quieter this time, “I’m not okay.”
Scott felt something in his chest soften, and he reached out, gently pulling Isaac’s sharp nails away from his pale skin. He ran his thumb over Isaac’s knuckles, feeling some of the tension melt away under even the slight touch. “We’ll figure out everything in the morning,” he murmured. “Just get some sleep, Isaac. Go lay down.”
Isaac’s eyes lingered a second longer on Scott’s face before nodding, getting up and heading to the back with Boyd. Scott sat back in his seat, letting out a shuttering breath. He was trying hard not to breathe through his nose, because the second he did he would be overwhelmed with the smell of the gasoline that still clung to his body. As if sensing the nausea that rose in his stomach at the thought, Stiles got up from his seat and slid into Scott’s alongside him. For a moment, Scott could almost imagine that they were back in elementary school, and Stiles was slipping out of his assigned seat on the bus to talk to Scott. He could imagine a time when they both fit in one seat with plenty of space left to lay out comics and action figures, when Scott still had an inhaler stuck in his backpack, and when Stiles’s mother was still alive.
But things had changed since then, and it was a tight fit now, and it was dark out and it wasn’t beginning-of-school jitters coming off Stiles; it was a deep set anxiety that something horrible was going to happen any minute, along with the knowledge that it probably actually would.
“You aren’t okay,” Stiles whispered into the dark.
Scott didn’t have the strength to look at him. “I’ll be fine, Stiles.”
“Scotty,” Stiles begged, although neither of them were quite sure what for. Scott didn’t respond, he didn’t know how. He wasn’t fine. None of this was fine and they both knew that. Because the thing that hung between them, the horrible fact that was clear to both of them, was impossible to talk around. The wolfsbane may have started all this. But the second Scott lit that flare, its influence was burned out with the purple powder. It hadn’t been the Darach in his head that Stiles had to talk him down from. It was just him.
For those few minutes, it had been no one but Scott McCall that wanted to set the parking lot aflame, and himself along with it.
“Scott,” Stiles repeated, a little softer this time. Scott managed to lift his head, despite the fact that it felt ten pounds heavier than usual. Stiles was looking back at him with warm brown eyes, still shining with unshed tears. He shifted around, opening his arms in invitation, and Scott barely thought before falling into them. Stiles had always been lean and boney, maybe not what most people would consider comfy, but to Scott it was his Stiles and that was the only thing that mattered.
Stiles hugged him closer, despite the smell that even with his human senses was sure to be sincerely unpleasant. With some warmth finally breathed back into his body, Scott felt exhaustion washing over him like a tsunami. Sleep was coming quickly now that his ear was against his best friend’s chest listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. It was a little faster than it should be, but it was familiar, and it put Scott at ease regardless. He felt Stiles relaxing too, along with the evened out breathing of the rest of his friends—no, his pack—throughout the bus. Even Isaac seemed to have fallen asleep, curled up in a ball in the back seat.
They weren’t okay. But as Scott listened to the heartbeats beating steadily around him, he thought maybe they would be.