Heavenly. Teen Wolf (s.s)

xvii. the walking dead

Stiles' eyes flickered back to his iPad, seeking the definition.

"Nice," he hissed with a nod of approval. "Okay, next word...incongruous."

Scott hesitated. "Um, can you use it in a sentence?"

"Yes, yes I can," Stiles confirmed, a slight edge appearing in his voice. "It's completely incongruous that we're sitting on a bus right now, on our way to some stupid cross country meet after what just happened. Incongruous."

"Out of place, ridiculous, absurd," Scott gave him a pointed look. Stiles gave him a thumbs up.

"Perfect," he wasn't going to stop trying to get Scott to talk about anything. "Okay, next word...uh, Darach. Darach, it's a noun." Gracie just rolled her eyes, meanwhile Scott didn't say anything. At the annoyed look he was giving the Stilinski boy, he defended himself. "We have to talk about it sometime, okay? And we're gonna be stuck in this freakin' bus for, like, five hours so why not?"

Scott's tired expression was answer enough. He just gave up and moved on.

"Okay, next word," he cleared his throat in annoyance. "Intransigent."

"Stubborn, obstinate," Scott said slowly.

The bus went over a rough bump, jostling them. Gracie winced, holding in a moan. Beside her, Scott grunted in pain and grabbed his side where he had been injured the night before.

"Oh, buddy, are you all right?" Stiles asked worriedly. Scott winced and gently laid his head back on the window. "We shouldn't have come. I knew it. We shouldn't have come."

"We had to," Scott disagreed. "There's safety in numbers."

"Yeah, well, there's also death in numbers, okay? It's called a massacre," Stiles swiped onto the next word, only to find that 'massacre' was waiting for him. "or bloodbath––"

"––Stiles," Gracie groaned, but continued as he listed the other synonyms.

"...carnage, slaughter, butchery...wow, that's..." The Stilinski boy swiped onto the next word as the bus rode over another bump again and Scott let out a pained noise. "All right, Scott, I'm telling Coach to pull over."

Stiles had stood up to walk the aisle up to where Coach was sitting but Scott grabbed his arm.

"No, no, no," he stopped him. "I'm all right."

Stiles sat back down and gave him a worried look.

"Well, you don't look all right," he leaned forward toward him, trying to grab his shirt to look at his wound. Scott slapped his hands away.

"Would you just let me see it?"

"I'm okay."

"Just let me see it," Stiles said firmly yet convincingly.

Scott gave in with a sigh. "Okay."

He slowly lifted his gray t-shirt and showed Stiles the wound he received the night before. Gracie's eyes widened when she glanced down, seeing the familiar claws marks that were deeply carved into his right side, uncleaned and still bleeding.

It wasn't healed, which concerned them. Unlike the Hale girl or Stiles, with his healing abilities, he should have been healed and okay by now.

"Dude..." Stiles shook his head with a worried expression.

"That's not good," Gracie said through her teeth, holding her side as she tried not to breathe too deeply.

"I know it's bad but it's because they're from an alpha," Scott excused his wound as he put his shirt back down. "It'll take longer to heal."