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Scott’s mouth burned with the bitter iron of blood. It tainted the air and covered his hands, drenched his clothes and coated the brown autumn leaves in a grotesque parody of life. Blazing alpha red eyes looked from behind veiled lids and beneath his skin a wolf howled and clawed and tore, trying to bite and claim and mark.
But still, he didn’t let his hands slip, didn’t let his attention stray from the precious task that lay below him. Even his ears were only vaguely attuned to what threats could come, focused more on his forced breaths and the stuttering, agonized gasps, interspaced with murmured words and wet, drowning coughs that he felt vibrating through his arms.
The moonlight gleamed on the torn chest of Stiles Stilinski, illuminated the pale skin and rich ruby, the white of bone even. It gave a demented spotlight to the tears on his cheeks and the sweat glimmering on his face. It enhanced the flesh of his shoulder, broken by a neat line of fang marks. And the only thing that made the macabre sight bearable, it showed the broken ridges of muscle mending, becoming stronger than they had ever been previously.
“You- you shouldn’t have done that. Hunters-“
“I don’t care, Stiles. You were dying.”
“But-“
“No. You remember back at the hotel, with Jennifer? You said I was your brother. Stiles, you’re my brother too. And after All- After everything, I couldn’t just let you die in my arms, never again.”
Letting a slight sigh slip, Stiles gave a pained grimace and nodded. It was silent for a moment as Scott held his injuries closed for a long moment before Stiles spoke again.
“You remember me telling you about my mom, about what she said about me near the end?”
“Stiles, that wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, I know, it’s just… What color are they, Scott?”
“What?”
“What color are my eyes?” He let them flare and Scott froze.
It was enough of an answer for Stiles. He let out a bitter laugh that froze the warm, Californian nighttime air.
“Looks like the supernatural wolfie gods disagree with you, Scott. Not suprising. You-“ He shuddered as a tremor shook his frame. “You should know to listen to me by now.”
“Not about this. Never this.” Isaac ran into the field, skidding to a stop next to Scott. What had been a gaping wound on Stile’s chest was a cut that required stitches at the moment, but wasn’t life threatening. Soon it wouldn’t even need stitches.
“So… you lived.”
“Really? Didn’t realize, thank you so much for telling me.” Isaac rolled his eyes.
“You’ll be such an awful werewolf, Stilinski.” Isaac scoffed, flashing his golden eyes. Stiles stiffened and a snarl slipped from his lips as ice blue eyes ignited. Scott stared grimly on as Isaac stuttered to a halt and Stiles’ still glowing eyes lowered. And a grim rock fell in his stomach as realization hit. Stiles would never believe him about Claudia Stilinski or the Nogitsune again.
Stiles Stilinski would forever believe that he was a murderer, accountable for lives that he never ended. Every day would become a living nightmare when he saw a mirror and everything, all of it, all of it was due to him. Scott McCall made his brother think that he was a killer and he could never change that.