"How much does it really hurt?"

Stiles looks up at Scott briefly before shaking his head slightly and resolutely keeping his mouth shut.

"Stiles, come on. I need to know. I can't help you if I don't know," Scott nearly begs.

Again, Stiles shakes his head. He doesn't want Scott worrying, he has enough to worry about already. Lydia is missing, the nogitsune is out there doing god only knows what and Stiles will be damned if he gives Scott anything else to deal with – another problem to fix.

Scott moves to sit beside him on the couch, grabbing hold of Stiles's hands when he brings them to his mouth in a pathetic attempt to warm them up. Blackness shoots through Scott's veins and Stiles cannot handle the scared expression Scott wears at the intensity of Stiles's pain.

Stiles tries to yank his hands back, but Scott's grip only tightens.

"It's okay," Scott soothes and Stiles wants to scream.

It isn't okay. Lydia is missing. Stiles can't get warm. Pain seems to be radiating from his every pore and only getting worse. He knows Scott's just trying to keep him calm, trying to offer comfort, but nothing is okay.

"Stiles, you'll be okay."

Really? Stiles wants to ask. Do you really think that, Scott? Because Stiles sure as hell doesn't.

"Scott, you're going to hurt yourself," Stiles says as he attempts to pull out of Scott's grasp once again.

Stop. Stiles wants to say it, wants to scream it. Scott shouldn't be helping him. Not after everything. Scott shouldn't be taking his pain when Stiles had caused Scott pain. So much pain. He remembers twisting the sword in, remembers telling Scott "it's okay" while Scott looked at him with the most heartbreaking expression of sheer disbelief. Hurt. Betrayal. And Stiles wants Scott to stop. He wants Scott to get as far away from him as possible because he still isn't sure he's himself and he can't, he can't, hurt Scott again. Not again.

"I'll heal," Scott assures him.

God, he doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve to be comforted when Lydia is out there somewhere possibly hurting, possible dying, possibly already –

No. Stiles can't think of that. Not now.

"Hang on," Scott says, getting up from the couch and finally releasing Stiles's hands.

He grabs a blanket from the hall closet and heads back over to the couch, urging Stiles to lie down. Stiles acquiesces, too exhausted and aching to put up a fight. Scott lies down next to him, forcing Stiles to turn on his side, spine pressed firmly against the back of the couch. It's a tight fit, but they manage and Scott covers the both of them with the blanket he'd grabbed.

Scott inches closer, pressing as much of his body against Stiles as possible, before grabbing Stiles's hands again and holding them tightly between their chests. Scott rests his forehead against Stiles's, noticing the way Stiles's eyes flutter shut. Scott studies the way Stiles's lips part slightly as he breaths out in relief when Scott continues taking his pain. Scott feels his own muscles tighten as Stiles's relax. It's how things always are between them – a constant give and take.

"Thank you," Stiles whispers into the space between them and Scott can feel the hot breath on his skin.

Stiles feels guilty for letting Scott help, letting Scott hurt himself to ease his own pain, but he is just in so much pain that he can't really bring himself to pull away. Not that Scott would let him.

"I'll do anything for you, Stiles," Scott whispers.

Scott's not usually that open, not even with Stiles. They love each other obviously, but it is not and has never really been a part of their relationship to actually voice such things. But the nogitsune is still out there and Stiles looks like he's dying, feels like he's dying, and Scott needs to say this. He knows that Stiles already knows, but he has to say it just in case. Just in case they don't both make it through this. And Scott can hardly handle that not making it through this is a distinct possibility. But Scott will be damned if he is going to lose his best friend, knows he'll do anything to save Stiles – even if that means giving his own life. So he needs to say this, just this once, in case he doesn't get another chance.

"I love you, Stiles."

Stiles's eyes flutter back open slowly and he pulls his forehead away far enough to stare at Scott.

"Stiles, you're my brother."

"I love you, too," Stiles responds, nodding in affirmation.

And Scott knows it. Always has.

Scott releases one of Stiles's hands and maneuvers an arm beneath Stiles. Stiles rolls into him easily, head now pillowed on Scott's bicep. His hands are gripping one of Scott's tightly, holding on like he has nothing left.

And Scott's not planning on letting go.