Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 9

"A what?" Scott whispered, looking up at Stiles with wide eyes.

Scott knew there was no way he had heard his best friend correctly, no way that the boy he had been getting in trouble with since they were in Kindergarten was asking him to suddenly believe in supernatural creatures of the night. But here he was, letting shit spew out of his mouth that was absolutely insane. Certifiable even.

Scott continued to stare at the crude picture of a werewolf, not sure where he should go from here. Stiles finally dropped it on the bed after another few seconds of his stunned silence and started to wave a hand in front of his face.

"Hey, Scott," he said, snapping his fingers. "Hello? Earth to Scott. Please say something. Anything."

Scott couldn't reconcile how sincere Stiles sounded. He seemed to genuinely believe this werewolf stuff he was trying to sell Scott on, which made no sense to him. Stiles was one of the smartest people he knew. If you didn't count Lydia, of course.

He finally shook his head and blinked. "What do you want me to say, Stiles?" Scott asked quietly, treading as lightly as possible.

Stiles threw his hands up and then put them on his hips. "Gee, I don't know," he scoffed. "How about that I did a great job. That I'm the best friend a werewolf could ever have?" He paused and stared down at Scott as he paced in front of him now. "I should be running and screaming for the hills, dude, or haven't you seen a movie before?"

Scott tried to keep his face passive as Stiles ranted. That was always the best tactic with him. Make no sudden movements.

"But here I am," Stiles continued. "And I'm hoping I can help you through whatever comes next."

Again, the sincerity was there, but it didn't fit the situation at all. It was too much, in fact. Too misplaced. Too out of touch with the words he was saying.

Scott kept staring at Stiles, waiting for him to finally break character and tell him he had some weird reverse mono or something, but when he didn't change his stance at all, Scott burst out laughing. He couldn't help it.

"Are you laughing at me?" Stiles whispered, appearing mortally offended. "You are. You're fucking laughing at me, dude." He threw up his hands again. "I can't believe this. You have no idea what's about to happen to you, dude."

Stiles ran his hand over his face and shook his head again before he lurched forward, causing Scott to jump slightly at the unexpected motion. He scrambled to pick up all his research that was now scattered all over Scott's bed, but he kept dropping it and picking it up repeatedly as his hands shook.

The entire scene was absurd and Scott was finding it harder and harder to stop laughing. Now that he knew Stiles believed this, like honestly believed it, it made the entire thing even more ridiculous.

"Yeah, keep laughing, asshole," Stiles mumbled. "When you turn into a giant dog at the scrimmage on Friday, or during your date with Allison, don't come howling at me, okay?"

The mention of Allison's name, though, made him stop, and his laughter died as quickly as it had come.

"What... what do you mean my date with Allison?"

Stiles stopped too and stared at him in disbelief. "Umm, it's a full moon on Friday," he explained easily. "Don't you know anything about werewolves? They change during the full moon."

"Why would I know anything about werewolves, Stiles?" Scott insisted. "And how was I supposed to know it's a full moon on Friday? Who knows those things?"

"Well, I looked it up when I thought my best friend might be turning into one," Stiles countered. "But since you don't care about that, like, at all, I'm just gonna leave you to figure it out on your own. Cool?"

He nodded once and then started back through the still open window, falling twice before he actually made it out. Stiles never failed to make Scott smile, even though what he was saying was crazy.

He stopped and poked his head back in one more time. "Text me when you're ready to talk. If you're ready to talk," Stiles added.

He didn't wait for Scott to respond, so he didn't bother yelling down after him. It was way too late to have a shouting match from his window right now, even if they weren't technically yelling at each other because they were mad.

He didn't figure his neighbors would appreciate it either way, and it didn't actually matter because by the time he moved to his window, all he could see was Stiles' retreating form. His shoulders were slumped, instantly making Scott feel like shit about the whole thing. It was never his intention to make Stiles feel like the kid no one listened to, no matter the topic. He got enough of that from literally everywhere else in his life.

Scott pulled out his phone quickly, not sure what he was going to say, but knowing he should say something. Anything. Stiles shouldn't go to bed with all that swimming in his head.

But as he looked back to his own bed and saw every bit of Stiles' research still strewn about there, he knew he was fine. Stiles had a knack for using the same tactics. And this was one of them. He knew exactly what he was doing. He'd left it all on purpose while simultaneously making a dramatic exit to distract from that fact.

Scott shook his head again, put his phone back on his desk, and started to scoot everything to the end of his bed in a neater pile. He refused to look at any of it, of course, knowing it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

Scott McCall did not now, nor would he ever, believe in werewolves. End of story.

When he got it into a neat little stack, he put it on the floor, knowing if he left it there, he'd kick it off and have a bigger mess to deal with in the morning. He yawned wide again when he had finished tidying everything enough to go to sleep.

As he slipped off his shirt and shoes, still on from where he'd fallen asleep at his desk studying, he couldn't help but think about that damned picture. The red eyes and the jet black fur would've been enough to fuel his nightmares, but he knew what did him in was the fact that Stiles thought he was capable of that kind of monstrous behavior. Even against his will. The kind that maimed. The kind that destroyed lives.

The kind that killed.