Teen Wolf One Shots

You still got me (Scott & Stiles-No Ship)

"So where were you Scott?! Where the hell were you?!" Stiles screamed at the werewolf.

Scott didn't have the strength to fight back. Stiles had him pinned to the cold, hard floor, seeming to be seconds away from breaking his nose. He knew he deserved this, for what he had done; all the pain he had caused his best friend. Stiles had a right to be furious.

He just laid there limply; tired of holding himself together; tired of fighting back; just...so so tired. He sighed defeatedly and listened to the furious accusations echoing in his ears, each one felt like a knife twisting in his heart. Before long, his mom had rushed over in time to drag Stiles off him.

"Okay!" Stiles yelled at the nurses holding him back, in frustration.

"Your dad's not the only one who got hurt Stiles" Scott said, searching for just a glimpse of sympathy in his friends eyes.

He found none.

"Oh you'll heal" Stiles scoffed.

Scott had to admit, that stung. He cast his eyes down to where the blood was soaking through his shirt. He almost threw up at the feeling of the gaping hole in his chest that was oozing blood. He had attempted to heal himself but his efforts had proved futile; he no longer possessed the strength or the incentive to get better. Now, his best friend's venemous words felt like Theo's claws ripping into his chest all over again.

He pulled his jacket tighter, to cover the growing bloodstain. "I'm not talking about me" He gritted.

Something flashed in Stiles' eyes and he found himself feeling relieved to see the slightest of emotion in them, other than anger. Even if it wasn't for him.

"Lydia" he answered Stiles' silent question, his voice strained.

His mom had walked off to give them some privacy, but not before giving them both a suspicious and warning look.

His best friend's eyes displayed obvious worry. "How bad?" He asked quietly.

"I don't know" Scott answered honestly.

Suddenly, he let out an involuntary groan of pain, his blood felt like acid searing through his veins like acid and his damaged heart burned in his chest. This time his legs gave in and he desperately held on to a small ledge in the wall to avoid collapsing.

Stiles' eyes widened a little at the sight of Scott looking so weak and vulnerable. He wondered what had happened with Theo for him to be so worn out. Clearly it couldn't have been that bad, as his dad had received the worst of it, and Scott was still very much alive.

Instinctively, he inched forward, hands readied just in case, but was not about to intervene to help the werewolf. He was still furious.

"S-Sorry" Scott strained as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Shakily, he let go of the wall and turned around. He looked back and beckoned Stiles to follow him, knowing how important the banshee was to his friend.

Stiles followed, although kept a few steps behind. After an incredibly awkward elevator ride, they arrived on the floor, and Scott decided to stay behind, so not to aggravate his friend anymore.

The elevator doors shut, but not before Scott caught a glimpse of Stiles looking back at him. He could've sworn there was a look of the slightest worry in his eyes, but quickly dismissed it as false hope.

He limped out of the front glass doors, moving unsteadily towards his motorcycle. He tried to swing a leg over, but stumbled backwards as a crushing wave of nausea washed over him. A strangled yell of pain ripped from his throat and he clutched his torn chest, where the wound was now bleeding alarmingly. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and his head felt like someone was hitting it with a sledgehammer.