Eternal || Stiles Stilinski DISCONTINUED

Eternal || Chapter Seventeen

          Later that week, when Roscoe was fixed and Stiles had swiped a bottle of Jack Daniels from his dad's stash, Stiles had taken Scott out to the woods to get him drunk.  But, after nearly the whole bottle of whiskey, Scott was nowhere near the level of drunk that Stiles was, if he was even drunk at all.

          Stiles took another swig of whiskey and collapsed against a rock. "Dude, you know, she's just one girl one . . . one girl.  You know, there are so many -- There are so many other girls in the sea."

          "Fish in the sea." Scott dully corrected his shit-faced friend.

          "Fish?" Stiles asked, "Why are you talking about fish?  I'm talking about girls.  I love girls.  I love 'em.  I love especially ones with long brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, 5'5" . . . "

          "Like Kat?" Scott asked, his mind completely clear and not at all fazed by the large amount of alcohol he had consumed.

          "Yeah, exactly." Stiles eagerly said. "Hey, how did you know I was talking about . . . about . . . What was I talking about?" Stiles let out a silent, drunken giggle.  He looked up to Scott, "Hey, you're not happy.  Take a drink." He grabbed the bottle and held it up to Scott.

          "I don't want any more," Scott said, no emotion in his voice.

          Stiles shrugged and placed the bottle back onto the hard ground, "You're not drunk?"

          "I'm not anything." Scott heavily stated.

          "Hey, maybe it's like . . . " Stiles started, his words slightly slurred, "Maybe it's like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know?  Maybe you can't get drunk as a wolf." Scott looked to Stiles with slight confusion before Stiles continued. "Am I drunk?"

          Scott continued with the same monotone, heavy voice, "You're wasted."

          "Yeah!" Stiles drawled, raising his fist for a fist bump from his best friend.  Scott remained motionless from his perch on a large stone, "Aw, come on, dude, I know it feels bad.  I know it hurts.  I know.  Well, I don't know," Stiles laughed, "But I know this.  I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse."

          Stiles paused, a chuckle under his words, "That didn't make any sense." He laughed again, "Ah, I need a drink."

          He reached for the bottle again but it was scooped out of his reach by a tall black man. "Well, look at the two little bitches gettin' they drink on."

          "Give it back," Scott demanded.

          "What's that, little man?" The man asked, trying to look intimidating.

          "I think he wants a drink." The black man's friend said from behind him, snickering at Scott.

          "I want the bottle," Scott demanded again, his words slow and spaced out.

          "Scott, maybe we should just go," Stiles drunkenly said, staring at the two men with wide eyes and shifting further up onto the rock he laid on.

          "You brought me here to get me drunk, Stiles.  I'm not drunk yet." Scott said.  The black man scoffed and took a swig from the whiskey bottle.  Scott slowly stood from the rock, keeping his eyes on the man as he stepped up to him. "Give me the bottle."

          The man cockily shook his head, and Scott felt his eyes shift from brown to yellow.  The man's cheeky smirk dropped from his face as Scott said in a distorted voice, "Give me the bottle of Jack."