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If there was one thing Stiles could pride himself on, it would be his intuition. He liked to think he was a good detective; he had good discernment, he was observant and (sometimes) pretty okay at reading people emotionally. He was also extremely nosy which was a great trait to have if he wanted to be a detective. The conclusions he jumped to were pretty often correct or at least on the right track, and even without super senses, he was able to notice abnormal behaviors. He was smart and he was prideful in being smart.
Which is why he felt stupid for not noticing something was wrong sooner.
Something was wrong with Scott. He wasn’t outwardly behaving differently or avoidant or angry; he was just…off. Still extremely passive about everything, softer than necessary, stressing about things that didn’t involve him, and annoyingly understanding but off. He was acting weird, was the only way Stiles could put it, and he had been for the past few months. It was almost as if he was scared of being caught with something.
Now Stiles could read Scott like his favorite book so he knew he definitely was. He knew Scott’s tells just as much as Scott knew his. And if he was hiding something, Stiles wanted to know what it was. What if he was scared or in danger? That was the logic that Stiles used to justify his next actions: investigating Scott. Because it was for the greater good, Stiles swears, not just because he’s a bit nosy and can’t fathom the thought of Scott keeping something from him. Especially not now, not after everything. After a million promises and talks and deals that were just chalked up to the pack being more open and honest with each other. They were moving past the mistakes of the past. They were communicating and sharing their feelings and expressing themselves and all the other things google said to do to make sure nobody succumbs to their trauma. It was his solemn duty as a good friend, no, as Scott’s best friend, to make sure he was okay, lest someone else do it.
Stiles decided to go about the way he knew best: like a detective.
Get the story.
It started a few weeks ago, when Stiles noticed how often Scott was washing his hands. Now, noticing this would be weird if it were anyone but Stiles, but this was his best friend-cum-crush of many years. Stiles noticed almost everything about Scott, or at least he tried to. Plus, Scott was doing it kind of excessively, like far too often. At first Stiles thought that it was just some new thing he was doing, part of one of the million versions of the “be a better Scott McCall” plan he was always coming up with. So maybe that was that; trying to be more hygienic or something.
He would stop to wash his hands between classes, or sometimes he would ask to go to the bathroom in the middle of class. Never raising his hand, just asking to go. And at first, Stiles thought he just had to pee excessively for some reason, but no, he wasn’t using the bathroom; he was just washing his hands. Stiles knew that because of the time they were walking together, Scott tried to break off to go, but Stiles had to actually use it anyway, so went too. He used a lot of soap too, pressing the pump two or three times and washing his hands for up to three minutes each time. But Stiles thought that maybe Scott was just freaked about germs all of a sudden–which would still be strange because he couldn’t get sick– and touching things around the school was freaking him out.
But Stiles knew it wasn’t that, though, just based on the way that Scott was now always finding a bathroom and darting there. Maybe it was an OCD thing where it meant something to him mentally. It would happen when they went to visit his mom at work or after a particularly long car ride with Stiles. To the point where Stiles thought he should keep track and noticed him do it four times in a school day and twice during a hangout. And that was only the times Stiles noticed! Who knew how often he was doing it when he was alone?
It was just…weird. Whatever it was was weird. It was what triggered Stiles investigative mind in the first place.
Verify the facts.
The problem was that Stiles didn’t have any facts. It was actually driving him insane. He couldn’t make a stringed board or even a detailed list because he knew nothing. Well, that’s not true; he knew two things:
1)Scott has been washing his hands excessively
2)He would do it after pack meeting or hangouts but specifically the ones where Malia wasn’t around.
It must have something to do with super senses, naturally. Most of their pack didn’t possess them, Liam did, of course, but Malia was nosy and crass enough that if she noticed something, she would say it. So clearly Scott didn’t want her to know and whatever it was was something that could be sensed; so it definitely wasn’t just a hygiene thing. Stiles had never been so upset to not possess stupid fucking werewolf senses.
So clearly Stiles needed to see whatever it was Scott was washing off, or at least see if it was nothing. He asked Lydia for some help which she reluctantly agreed to. Scott and Lydia had biology together, while Stiles had English, which was close to the bathroom. So got Lydia to tell him when Scott was leaving so he could meet him there. Lo and behold, 35 minutes into class, he got the text: Scott was on the move. Stiles rushed out of class barely waiting for the teacher to give her approval. He waited for Scott in the bathroom until 5 minutes became 8 minutes and thought maybe Scott wasn’t coming to this one. Stiles huffed to himself, mentally rolling his eyes for not thinking of the fact that there are multiple bathrooms in the school. As he marched out of the bathroom, of course, there was Scott on his way in, hands firmly in his pockets.
“Hey man,” Scott shot him a small smile while Stiles sputtered for a second.
“Hey buddy,” He dragged out the word. “Look at us going to the bathroom at the same time.”
It came out very awkwardly but Scott laughed anyway because, of course he did. “Right.”
And then he started going past Stiles, who was still standing in the open doorway. As he goes past, Stiles panics, turning around and grabbing the other's elbow, the strength yanking his hand out of his pocket. Scott immediately snatches his arm back with force, his hand going back into his pocket before Stiles can even glance at it. They both stare at each other in shock with bated breath for a second, neither of them moving, and the silence is so loud.
“Um…Stiles? Are you okay?” Scott asked tentatively and Stiles mentally cursed for how weird that was.
“Uhhh yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just wanted to um,” He tried not to pause for longer than a second, and he prayed Scott wasn’t listening to his heartbeat, which was probably erratic. “Ask if youve talked to Liam yet? He was um, looking for you earlier and it seemed important. I just remembered.”
“Alright…I havent but I’ll find him later.” Scott looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, like he was trying to figure him out. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; Stiles had learned half-truths worked best when lying to those with supernatural powers. He only nodded in return, motioning with his hand that he had to get back to class. “See you later dude.”
And then the door was closed between them, Stiles moping his way back to class at the backfired plan, ignoring the teacher scolding him for how long he had been gone and taking his seat. He couldn’t help but sigh a little, slouching down and picking up his pencil which promptly fell out of his hands and landed on the floor. Now he actually did roll his eyes. The universe was clearly against him right now.
But as he leaned down to reach the object that had fallen by his shoe, he paused. There. At the top of his tan and white sneakers where his toes are, were three little red droplets. Clearly fresh by the way they hadnt even been absorbed yet. He tounged the inside of his cheek a little. He had a new fact.
3) Scott was washing blood off his hands.
Find the piece that doesn’t fit.
But that just didn’t make any sense, Stiles thought later as he paced the space of his room. Why would Scott be washing blood off his hands? Why would there even be blood on his hands? And so many times a day too. It didn’t even make any sense. It wouldnt make any sense unless…
Unless Scott was doing it to himself.
Catch them in the act.
Stiles was anxious. So anxious that Malia had confronted him twice and Scott once. His knee was bouncing and his fingers were twitching but he was waiting patiently. Or trying to.
It had been about a week since he had figured out what was going on. Scott was making himself bleed multiple times a day. Stiles didn’t know if it was a control thing or if Scott didn’t realize he was doing it till it was done, or what, but it was happening. And Stiles needed to confront him. Needed to say something, needed to stop him. So today he was waiting; waiting for Scott to inevitably go to the bathroom. It was during their math class that it happened which only the two of them had together.
Scott asked to go to the bathroom and left. A minute after he left, Stiles faked like Scott had texted him and said he was sick, giving Stiles an excuse to go after him.
Scott was barely in the bathroom by the time Stiles caught up to him, just pushing the door open with his shoulder. He barreled into his best friend, pushing both of them into the bathroom, Scott stumbling forward a bit. Stiles was quick to turn and lock the door behind them while Scott caught his bearings.
“Stiles? What the hell are you doing?” Scott said incredulously. But Stiles had a goal, and he couldn’t stop it now.
“Show me your hands.” He said demanding, eyes flickering between Scott’s face and his pockets. His face dropped in return and Stiles was 100% that if he had werewolf senses he would smell Scott’s anxiety mingling with his own.
“What?”
“Your hands Scott, let me see them.” He demanded again. Scott started shaking his head.
“Why do you want to see my hands?” Scott said accusingly, trying to get Stiles to drop it like it was a crazy theory. That’s how Stiles knew he was right. Stiles moved until he was in front of him, becoming an obstacle between him and the sinks.
“Don’t make me say it Scotty,” he couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice. “I’m not moving until you show me your hands.”
“Or I can just move you.”
“You’d have to take your hands out of your pocket for that.” There were a few moments of tense silence between them before Scott’s eyes turned downcast. It made Stiles feel bad, like he was a bad friend for this confrontation. But in actuality, he felt worse for taking so long to notice the problem.
“Why are you doing this Stiles?” Scott said kind of defeated. It broke Stiles' heart to hear that tone coming from his best friend.
“I just… I’m worried about you. I saw the blood, Scott. I know you’re doing something to yourself.” He said softly. He didn’t want to make Scott feel bad, that was the last thing he wanted.
“It’s not like that,” His voice raised, defensiveness bleeding into his tone. Finally looking at Stiles again. “It’s grounding. Pain keeps you human.”
“But you’re doing it all the time!” Stiles countered fast. “You’re doing it so many times a day and you’re always human during those times.”
“No I’m not.” His voice was low conveying just how upset he was.
“So right now in class? You weren't human? Because you look fine to me!”
“Well I’m not! Okay Stiles, I’m not.” Scott spat out. “I don’t feel human, I never feel human. I haven’t felt human since I got this stupid bite and I haven’t been one in months. I’m one haywire emotion from wolfing out on everyone okay?”
“Scott…”
“No Stiles, you don’t get it. The human part of me died months ago. I’m just teetering, teetering on the edge of everything. And this,” now Scott’s hands were out of his pockets, practically being shoved in his face. Stiles took a sharp intake of breath. He knew werewolves healed but somehow he still expected to see open wounds. But it was just Scott’s hands, the way they’ve always been. Except covered in blood. “This keeps me human. It reminds me I’m human”
“But Scott, you’re hurting yourself.” He said quietly. So quiet, he only knew Scott heard it because of the wolf's hearing.
“I’ll heal,” Scott said pleadingly, like that was supposed to end the conversation. Two sets of watery brown eyes met.
Stiles regretted the day he ever said that. He didn’t like how often he used it as an excuse for getting hurt. How he diminished his pain with it. And yeah Stiles had done it first but he was so angry. He didn’t mean for Scott to start using it like some damn mantra. Like it justified everything all the time.
Stiles let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I noticed, Scott. That’s kind of the problem, actually.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” Scott’s voice tightened, as if he was getting angry. Stiles risked a glance at the way his fingers twitched, like he was ready to sink his claws back into his palms.
“I want you to stop!” Stiles snapped, louder than he meant to. The word echoed off the tile, and for a second, neither of them moved. “I want you to not be–” he gestured vaguely at Scott’s hands, still stained red, “this.”
“You can’t just decide that for me Stiles,” he shook his head.
“No, I can’t ,” Stiles shot back immediately, voice dropping but not softening. “But I do get to say something when my best friend is literally stabbing himself with his claws in the middle of the day like it’s no big deal!”
“It isn’t a big deal!” Scott fired back, stepping forward now, anger finally breaking through the cracks. “It doesn’t even leave a mark or a scar or a fucking memory!”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not real Scott. This is beyond keeping you human, you’re just hurting yourself.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Scott said, quieter now, but sharper. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“Then why are you still doing it?” Stiles demanded. But Scott doesn’t answer, a silence stretches between them. Stiles lets out a huff of air, running a shaky hand through his hair.
“Scott,” he tried again, softer this time, even though his chest still felt tight. “You’re– this isn’t just, like, a one-time thing. You said it yourself. You’re doing it all the time. That’s not–” he exhaled hard, searching for the right word and hating all of them. “That’s not coping, that’s-”
Scott cuts him off before Stiles can do it himself. “That’s what? What is it? Say it.”
The silence stretches between them again before Scott shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.”
“No, I just-” Stiles dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t want to label it, okay? I don’t want to make it worse than it already is.”
“Then what’s this Stiles? Why are we doing this right now? I’m fine,” He put the emphasis on ‘fine’ like it made a difference. His voice going from angry and back to the soft soothing tone Stiles was used to. “You’re making it sound like I’m something to fix.”
“You're not something to fix, you're my best friend.” Stiles said, voice cracking despite his best effort to keep it steady. “And you’re standing here covered in your own blood telling me it’s fine.”
Scott’s hands curled slightly at his sides, like he just realized they were still visible. For a second, something like shame or maybe panic flickered across his face.
“It is fine,” he said again, more quietly now, but just as stubborn. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“Then explain it to me!” Stiles shot back. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to convince yourself you’re still human by–what? Proving you can bleed?”
“At least I can.”
Stiles blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t feel this,” Scott snapped, finally looking back at him. “You don’t feel like you’re about to lose control every second of the day. You don’t feel like your own body isn’t yours anymore. You don’t feel like you have to prove that youre human every. Single. Day. Because at some point, everyone around you has felt like you aren’t.”
“And you think hurting yourself fixes that?” Stiles demanded.
“It helps,” Scott insisted. “It gives me something I can control. Something I choose. Its the easiest way to keep me human, to remind me I’m human.”
“At the cost of–what?!” Stiles threw his hands up. “Yourself? Your sanity? You think this is sustainable? How long have you been doing this?”
Scott goes silent, looking away, which is almost an answer enough. Stiles gestures for him to answer again, and it’s a second before he finally mumbles out: “...a while”
“A while,” Stiles repeated, almost disbelieving. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Scott’s expression twisted. “What was I supposed to say, Stiles? ‘Hey, by the way, I’ve been secretly hurting myself because it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not a monster’? Yeah, that would’ve gone over great.”
“I wouldn’t have–” Stiles stopped himself, because honestly? He didn’t know what he would’ve done. “I wouldn’t have let you deal with it alone.”
“I’m not alone,” He sighs, his eyes finding Stiles again. “This is just something I need to deal with myself.”
This was the same Scott who used to trip over his own feet during lacrosse practice. The same Scott who once complained for an hour about a paper cut like it was life-threatening. And now he was standing here acting like pain didn’t matter. Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.
“You’re acting like this is normal,” Stiles said, too sharp, too fast. “Like it’s just part of your routine, like brushing your teeth or–”
Scott’s expression shut down instantly. “Don’t,” he said.
And Stiles knew, immediately, he’d crossed a line he couldn’t see. That word: normal, was a trigger for something. That Scott didn’t feel normal, the whole point was that he didn’t feel normal.
It’s silent for long enough that Scott finally goes to wash his hands, going for the sink next to Stiles instead of pushing past him. It filled the space between them, loud, constant, grounding in a way neither of them had managed on their own. Scott stood there, shoulders tight, hands under the stream like he could scrub the conversation away with everything else. He pumped the soap three times and washed them thoroughly like Stiles had seen him do at work. The water ran red for a second–too red–and then pink, and then nothing.
Just clear. Like it had never even been red. Like Scott hadn’t done anything at all. For a second, Stiles could understand. It must be so surreal. To experience so many injuries and near-death experiences and even an actual death experience, just for it to be washable in the sink with school-issued soap. Dehumanizing even. To know you're just going to heal. To know everyone expects you to heal. When Stiles has held it against him.
Stiles swallows hard, “...Scott”
Scott didn’t look at him. “You should go.”
He said it in that tone Stiles always hated. Tired and drained and upset but still gentle. Stiles shook his head immediately, even though Scott couldn’t see it. “No.”
“Stiles-”
“No,” he repeated, softer, stepping closer despite the way his chest tightened. “I’m not doing that. I’m not just walking away and pretending I didn’t see it.”
Scott's hands stilled under the water, and for a second, Stiles thought he was gonna argue or tell him that he didn’t want him there. But he didn’t. Instead his shoulders dropped.
“I didn’t want you to know,” Scott said finally, voice barely above the sound of the sink.
“I know. I figured that part out.” Stiles’ throat felt tight. Scott let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, even though nothing was funny.
“It’s not-” he started, then stopped, like he couldn’t find the words. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”
“I know, I didn’t think it was.” He said as gently as he could. That finally got Scott to look at him again. And okay, that might’ve been a mistake, because Scott’s eyes were wrecked. Not crying, not really, but close enough that it made something in Stiles’ chest twist painfully. Stiles reached forward before he could overthink it, hand hovering for just a second before he gently grabbed Scott’s wrist and pulled it out from under the stream. “You’re done Scott.”
“What?”
“You’re done,” he repeated, quieter this time, more certain. He turned the faucet off, and the sudden silence felt loud. “You've had this whole pain keeps you human ideology for years, but you don’t need to keep doing that.”
“You don’t get it,” Scott said, but there wasn’t any heat behind it anymore.
“I know,” Stiles pulled Scott closer, knowing it was only happening because Scott was letting him. He pulls him into a hug, Scott’s arms are stiff at his sides before his arms wrap around Stiles waist. He can feel the dampness of his hands through his flannel.
“Let me be the thing that reminds you,” Stiles said into Scott's shoulder, the words coming out before he could second-guess them. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to prove it. Not when I’m right here. I know you, Scotty, I know you're human.”
“I already know youre there for me, you don’t have to–”
“Scott, I’m here for you in every aspect, okay? Through all of it. I want you to depend on me, to use me like this. I love you, okay?”
Scott pulls back a little, just enough to make eye contact and it makes Stiles panic. Like he’s pushed it too far. “as your best friend, obviously, like best friend duties, very normal, super platonic–”
“Stiles,” Scott interrupts in that soft tone that he loves to hear. He never wanted to hear it tainted by sadness again. His best friend was too soft for this world, to gentle and nice and the type of person who says Stiles’ name like he’s holding it close to his chest. Scott searched his face like he was trying to find a crack in that answer. “Okay.”
Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and the two of them start to untangle from each other. They looked at each, brown eyes on brown eyes like they were taking each other in and seeing everything. And then, because Stiles was Stiles and apparently incapable of leaving anything alone:
“So just to be clear,” he said, voice a little shaky but trying for normal, “the new coping mechanism is me. Which is great, because I’m very stable, emotionally speaking. Super well-adjusted–”
Scott let out a quiet laugh, and it made something, and Stiles' heart cracked. It was barely there but it was real.
“Wow,” Stiles said, softer now, a hint of something lighter threading through his voice. He wanted to get Scott to laugh again, see him smile. “Look at that. I’m hilarious and emotionally supportive. You really lucked out.”
“Yeah,” he said with a shake of his head, a little bit of amusement cracking through the sadness on his face. Stiles blinked, not having expected that response.
“…Yeah?” he repeated, a little thrown.
“Yeah,” Scott shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive. If anything, it looked almost… careful. Like he was choosing his words and not quite finding the right ones. “I did.”
The emotion of it all startled Stiles a little. He looked away first, because obviously he did, dragging a hand through his hair like that might reset literally everything that just happened. Then he took a small step back, realizing how close they still were. He didn’t miss the way Scott’s eyes dropped to the distance between them before going back to Stiles eyes.
“Hey, Scott?” He said, a little more seriously now. “Just know… just know that I… Scott just–”
“I know, Stiles,” Scott smiled, and Stiles felt his mind briefly go to static. Stiles nodded, like that settled it. Like it was enough. It really wasn't, but it was a start.