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“Scott hates me.”
The words come out in a rush, without so much preamble as a hello, like if Stiles didn’t say them the very moment Derek answered the phone, he’d never be able to.
Derek had just reminded him last week how Scott could never hate him, especially for killing someone in self-defense, and Stiles had seemed to finally accept it. It doesn’t make any sense that-
“He hates me, he hates me, he hates me, and I’m calling you like a fucking little kid and- and crying-” which he is, gasping and sobbing, his breathing shallow “-like you’re my therapist and I’m sorry but Scott hates me and I can’t, I- I can’t, I can’t, I-”
“Stiles,” Derek says, calm but firm. “I need you to calm down. Is everyone okay?”
“Okay?” Stiles demands, managing to sound incredulous even through his tears. “Scott hates me, Derek. And- and he’s the only reason I get through half this shit, and now- and now he fucking hates me, and-”
“Stiles, I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know how he found out,” Stiles mumbles, almost to himself. “I don’t- I was so careful. He found the wrench, I don’t- he found the wrench, Derek. He- there was shit going on as usual, and- and we were gonna meet at Deaton’s, but he- he stopped me outside.” Stiles sniffles loudly, like he’s trying to forcibly stop himself from crying. It doesn’t work. “He pulled out the bloody wrench, and I don’t- I don’t know where he got it from, but it was the one I had when I killed Donovan, and he asked why I didn’t tell him. I said I was going to, and- I said I had to do it, said he was going to kill my dad, and what- what else was I supposed to do, right? But then- I don’t, I don’t fucking even know, Derek, it just happened so fast… He said we aren’t supposed to do things like that, and suddenly I was yelling at him, saying how of course he wouldn’t do it, because he’s a stupid true alpha, and- and how the rest of us have to get our hands bloody, even though I’m the o-only one who’s ever killed people, and how some of us- some of us are human.”
“Okay,” Derek says slowly, trying to process. “Is that all?”
That’s not… that bad. They’ve yelled at each other before. They can easily come back from this. They’re Scott and Stiles. That’s what they do.
Stiles huffs out a wet, bitter laugh.
“No- no, of course not, because- because I’m such a fucking idiot, Derek. He said that- that there’s a point where it’s not self-defense anymore. And I didn’t- I still don’t- don’t know what he was talking about. I mean, I fucked up, I know I did, but- but he was trying to kill me, and he died instead,” Stiles says, echoing Derek’s words from the last call. “But then-” he swallows sharply, “-God, I’m so fucking pathetic, Derek. I start fucking begging him to believe me. I asked if he did, and he said- said he wanted to and I- like a fucking five year old, I’m like- ‘Say it then. Say you believe me. Say it.’ And then Scott’s like ‘we can’t kill people we’re trying to save’ and I’m- I’m so fucking pathetic. I- I’m like ‘tell me what to do. Just tell me what I should do’ because I’m that fucking sad. I mean, I- I just fucking screamed at him, y’know? And- and now I’m begging him to forgive me? To give me advice? And Scott, he- he says I should talk to my dad, and—because Lydia and Malia are missing—that I don’t need to help look for them anymore. And then- he just- he walked away. Went inside. And it’s pouring rain and I’m- I’m standing there and- and that was a few hours ago, and I’m home now and I can’t stop thinking about it and- and I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay,” Derek says quietly. “It’s fine, Stiles. I know you’re upset, but that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no reason Scott wouldn’t understand that it was self-defense.”
“It doesn’t- that doesn’t matter!” Stiles snaps. “Who cares? He hates me. Scott hates me. My best friend hates me. I- I knew he was going to hate me, and he does and it’s even worse than I thought and- Aren’t you fucking seeing what I did? He doesn’t want to be a true alpha! He never asked for any of this! And I fucking yelled at him like it’s hisfault! Do you think he wanted Deucalion coming after him? Or- or his name on a fucking deadpool? No! The last thing on the fucking planet Scott wants- or deserves, shit- is to have the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders, and I yelled at him like it’s his fault, and-”
“Stiles,” Derek says steadily. “Listen to me. People say messed up things when they fight, but that doesn’t mean he hates you, or that you’re never going to make up. How would you feel about…” he pauses, unsure how Stiles will take it, “about me talking to Scott to see what’s going on?”
“It’s not going to matter,” Stiles says, voice barely above a whisper. “He hates me. I made him hate me. This is my punishment.”
“What?”
“For killing Donovan, this is- this is my punishment. I knew I was going to lose Scott, and- and I was right.”
Derek wants to tell him that that’s not true, that that’s ridiculous, but- well, who would believe it from a guy like Derek? He’s had plenty of shit heaped on his plate, and felt—still feels, most of the time—like he deserves all of it. There’s not really much someone can do to convince you otherwise.
Instead, he says, “Just let me talk to Scott, Stiles. It can’t do any harm, if you don’t think you’re ever going to talk again, right? So let me figure out what’s going on. Okay?”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the line.
Finally, Stiles, voice small and defeated, says, “Okay.”
“Okay. I’m going to call him now,” Derek says, starting to pull the phone from his ear.
“Wait!” Stiles says, in a strangled whisper. “Call me back, okay? Even if he still hates me, just- I need you to call me back.”
“Okay,” Derek promises. “It’s going to be fine, Stiles. I’ll talk to you soon.”
There’s a hitching breath when Scott answers the phone, like he was sniffling and pressed the answer button a second too early.
“Hey, Derek. What’s up?”
The easy cheerfulness in Scott’s voice is very clearly forced, and Derek’s certain he’s been crying too. How did all their lives reach this point?
“You’re fighting with Stiles,” Derek says, getting right to the point.
He doesn’t want to leave Stiles alone too long.
“Oh.”
All the easiness drops from Scott’s voice, leaving it small and sad.
“What happened?”
“He- he killed someone,” Scott practically whispers. “He killed someone we were trying to save.”
“And you would prefer that Donovan killed Stiles?”
“What? No, I- of course not. Why would you say that?”
“Because Stiles was going to die, Scott.” He’s not trying to sound harsh, but there’s something else going on here that none of them seem to be understanding. “How can you be upset that he killed someone to save himself?”
Scott lets out a shaky exhale of breath.
“You don’t know what happened,” he says softly. “You don’t- Derek… Stiles smashed his head in with a wrench. After Donovan went down Stiles- he just kept going, Derek. Over and over and- Theo said he’s never seen anything like it, never seen someone so violent or so- so angry. And- and I just… I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know how to deal with anything that’s happening anymore, and I-”
His voice is trembling now, and Derek can easily imagine the silent tears pouring down his cheeks as he tries to stay strong in front of Derek, like he does in front of everyone.
“Scott,” Derek says slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“He killed someone, Derek. And I- I love him, but I don’t… I just don’t see how he could do that. I told him it wasn’t self-defense at that point and he just- he kept saying that Donovan was going to kill his dad. He was going to kill his dad, who wasn’t even there, so Stiles killed him.”
He sounds like the words pain him, and Derek isn’t surprised. Of course he can’t believe Stiles would do that, because he wouldn’t.
“That’s not what happened, Scott.”
“Derek-” Scott starts, and his voice is so horribly despondent.
“Who told you that? Theo?”
Derek’s heard very little about Theo, aside from a few texts from Stiles his first few days in town about how he didn’t trust him. He’s not going to say Stiles’ suspicions are right all the time—he still remembers the time these two got him arrested, after all—but once he starts gathering information, Stiles really is pretty perceptive.
“Yeah,” Scott murmurs. “But Stiles backed it up. He didn’t even- he didn’t even deny it, Derek. He thought he did the right thing, and he kept asking me to say he didn’t have a choice, but- but I don’t know. The way it happened…”
“Stiles called me the night he killed Donovan, Scott,” Derek says, “and-”
“What?”
“Just- listen to me. He called me, and he was sobbing and panicking, because he killed some kid. Some kid with fangs in his hands, who was trying to kill him. And you know how he died? He came up behind Stiles while he was working on his Jeep, and chased him into the school, threatening to kill him and his father. Stiles climbed some structure you guys have, I don’t know what, and Donovan followed him up. Stiles knocked him off, because Donovan was going to kill him, and he was impaled by something Stiles knocked down. It wasn’t malicious, or violent, or anything, Scott. He called me, completely devastated, because he felt guilty, and he was afraid this exact thing would happen if he told you. Based on what Stiles said, it sounds like you were both talking about your own version of the incident but thought you meant the same thing, so you agreed on what happened, but you were really talking about different things, and it sounds like this Theo guy set you up. Does that sound possible? You believe me and Stiles over this guy, right?”
Scott is silent for a moment, and if Derek listens hard enough, he can hear his heartbeat getting faster and faster as he pieces it all together.
“Oh my god,” he says finally. “Oh my god, Derek,” he breathes, sounding horrified. “I- I left him standing alone in the rain. I- I- Derek-”
“Hey.” Stiles is right—if you told them all a few years ago that Derek would be the one talking everyone through their problems… “Don’t freak out, Scott. You guys are going to be fine. Just go talk to him, okay?”
“Talk to him. Yeah, I’ll- I gotta go, Derek, I-”
The line goes dead, and something deep in Derek’s stomach twists with pity.
“Theo told him,” Stiles repeats numbly.
“You were right about him,” Derek says, more than a little pissed off. He might have to storm back to Beacon Hills just to kick this guy’s ass. Something tells him Scott and Stiles will take care of it, though. “It’s not that Scott believed him over you, Stiles. It just sounded to Scott that you were agreeing with Theo’s story, and it sounded to you that Scott already knew the actual version of the story. Okay? He doesn’t hate you, or-”
“Scott’s here,” Stiles interrupts, sounding awed and nervous and happy all at once. “I- I gotta go.”
Derek is left with a dead line again.
Scott’s perched in Stiles’ window, eyes wide and sorrowful, mouth slightly agape, like he’s trying to say something but can’t, and soaking wet, like he ran all the way here. He probably did.
They both stare at each other for a long moment.
Finally, suddenly, Stiles pushes up from his bed and Scott practically launches himself from the window, the sob that escapes him muffled in Stiles’ shoulder as Scott grabs him in a crushing hug.
“I’m sorry,” Scott is mumbling into his shirt, voice quiet and tremulous and desperate. “I’m so sorry, Stiles, I’m so- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”
“It’s okay,” Stiles says, because it is now. The argument was awful, but it’s hard for anything in the world to not be okay when he’s wrapped in his best friend’s arms again. “It’s okay, I’m sorry too, Derek explained it, I’m gonna fucking-” he almost says ‘kill Theo’, but catches the terrible word choice just in time.
Scott seems to pick up on it anyway though, because he adds it straight into his rambling, “I know, it’s okay, we’re gonna kick Theo’s ass, Stiles, he’s- he’s not gonna hurt anyone anymore. I’m sorry, I should’ve- should’ve asked for your side, should’ve-”
“You thought you had my side,” Stiles says, trying to be logical like Derek, but his voice is still trembling, and he’s crying every bit as hard as Scott. “And I thought- thought you had my side, that’s why- that’s why I was agreeing with you, I- I thought I was going to lose you, Scott, and then I- I did, and-”
“No,” Scott says, squeezing him impossibly harder. “Stiles, you could never lose me, I’m sorry, even if- even if you had killed him I shouldn’t have just left you standing there, and you didn’t even do anything wrong and I abandoned you, and- and it wasn’t even you, it was just Theo making stuff up, and- and he just sounded so convincing, and then you agreed with him, or I- I thought you did, and I didn’t know what to do and I was a jerk but I could never hate you and- and-”
He lapses back into incoherent sobbing, and Stiles doesn’t even know the last time he saw Scott this upset and guilty. The weight of this, on top of everything else, is too much for either of them to bear; it took two years, but they’re finally starting to crumble.
“I could never hate you either,” Stiles manages. “Never, Scott, and I know- I know I said some shit, but I know you don’t want all this responsibility, and it’s not fair, and-”
They go on like that, murmuring desperate apologies and reassurances back and forth for God only knows how long. It would be embarrassing if it were anyone else, but this is Scott. This is his best friend. His brother.
Sometime later—and really, Stiles isn’t even sure how—they end up curled together in Stiles’ bed, and he tells Scott the story of what really happened with Donovan, firsthand.
Scott hugs him the entire time.
Around midnight, Derek receives two texts.
Stiles Stilinski [12:03 AM]
Scott wants me to thank you for him. He left his phone on his rush over here
Stiles Stilinski [12:04 AM]
And I wanted to thank you too <3 We’re gonna be okay
That’s all they can really ever ask for, isn’t it? Nothing in Beacon Hills will ever be perfect, or great, or even good, most of the time.
Maybe okay is the best they can hope for.
But if they are okay? That’s all the really matters.