It takes almost five minutes for Stiles to get his father to leave. He doesn't blame him; he can see why he's worried. Scott looks like he's on the brink of a breakdown and his father knows how tentative Stiles' current calm is, knows how easily he could be pushed over the edge. But Stiles manages to placate him with promises that he'll speak to him afterwards, that he won't let Scott's despair seep into his own mind again.

His father leaves, and the door hasn't even shut properly before Stiles is feeling a dark panic crawling up his spine. Sharp claws digging into his skin, whispering that he is incapable of helping anybody, that he is a mess and his best friend deserves so much better. Stab him in the stomach again, Stiles- let's see how much your friend bleeds this time. The nogitsune's barbed words still sit in Stiles' memories, smug and immoveable.

He turns to face Scott again, then moves to sit beside him. Scott is wearing his pyjama bottoms and his lacrosse jumper, his feet bare and pink from the cold. His hands sit clenched beside his legs, and his eyes stare ahead, fixed determinedly on the opposite wall. Stiles can't remember seeing his friend this upset before, because Scott is always so measured, so collected. Stiles remembers that when Scott's dad finally left, he politely asked Stiles not to talk about it and then challenged him to a Pokemon trading card duel. Maybe when Allison died, Scott lost it properly but Stiles was not there to see that, too lost in the battle between a dark-edged fox.

"So…what's going on, bud?" Stiles manages to ask after a moment of awkward silence in which his brain almost creaks with the effort of working out the best thing to say.

Scott picks at the corner of his left eye, which Stiles knows to be a sign that his best friend is on the edge of crying. "I found something of hers; in my cupboard…Don't even know how I missed it. It was just lying underneath one of my jackets…one of her hair bands…and her hair was stuck in it. And I just…." He stops, because he knows he's about to cry and he really doesn't want to. He looks to Stiles, desperate for his best friend to do that thing he always does and make it all better. To bring out his box of magic tricks and wave the despair away.

But Stiles isn't that person again yet. He's still recharging, still sewing himself back together. All he can do for a few moments is nod, rub the palms of his hands together over and over. Trying to think of the right thing to say but all he can ask is: "How could a hairband get in the cupboard?"

"I don't know…I just wish she was still here…"

"Maybe she did her hair in the cupboard one time?"

"Stiles…"

"No, why would she ever do that…that would just be weird…"

"Stiles."

"Did she ever need to hide in your cupboard?"

"Stiles!" Scott jumps up, moving away from the bed with clear exasperation at Stiles' obsessive tendencies. Hands come up to run through his hair as he turns back to face his friend. "It doesn't matter about the stupid hairband alright? Can we focus on the real issue here? That my...That Allison is…" he trails off and Stiles hops up as well, coming to place a hand on Scott's shoulder that guides him back to the edge of his bed.

"Sorry, I know," Stiles replies softly, feeling the fluttering of guilt at his own inability to focus. Of course it's not about the hairband, how could he be so stupid? Stupid stupid Stiles, your best friend is gonna hate you soon, and it will be all your stupid fault. Sits down, counts his fingers one by one (and at least here he doesn't have to hide it because Scott has been used to this habit for weeks now). "It's ten buckets of shit, that's for sure…" he murmurs, and then glances across as Scott lets out a short sniff of agreement.

"Maybe even twenty," he mutters back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just…Stiles, we were meant to be together, you know? Forever. The plan was that we had this stupid break and then we got back together and that was it forever…But she died." He says these final words like he's realising it for the first time and Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that this is Scott's life at the moment; numbness, then a sudden lightning bolt of realisation that she's gone. Stiles wraps an arm around his friend's shoulder, squeezes it tight.

"I know," he says quietly, letting the words slip out slowly so he can think of what to say next. What a mess they are. Two kids trying to play at being grown up, at being capable. And failing dismally. "It's gotta get better though, right? It has to stop hurting eventually. At least a little bit."

Scott frowns, shakes his head. "I'm not sure I want it to. I don't want to move on from her."

Stiles sighs, and for a moment it's like he's doing the post-break up talk all over again. Almost feels that impatience he had then, when Scott refused to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Except this time he can't say that there's still an option of them getting back together. This time it's pretty permanent. "Listen, Scott. I know you want to sit and wallow in this forever and hey, I'm a great advocator of that. It's all I've been doing these last months. But if Allison saw us doing that, she'd kick us so hard up the backsides that we wouldn't be able to sit for weeks."

Scott winces at the imagery. "Easier said than done," he mumbles.

Stiles mulls over the words, then nods. "You're right." And then he stands up. Scott's stomach immediately churns because Stiles has that look on his face again. The look that always ends with trouble and pain (usually Scott's pain). "We'll have to do it then. Right now. Before it gets any worse."

Scott doesn't want to ask the question that Stiles is waiting for him to ask. He tries to avoid looking at the expectant expression on Stiles' face because it reminds him of a puppy dog waiting for his food. But he catches a glimpse and dammit he can't leave his best friend waiting any longer. "How?" he groans.

"Wanna do something fun?"

Scott rolls his eyes, despite everything. He knows what Stiles is doing. Not long after all the mess with the Durach came to an end, Lydia and Allison forced Scott, Stiles and Isaac to attend their annual screening of Mean Girls. Stiles had been the most vocal complainer beforehand but then become the most likely to start quoting the damn film at inappropriate times.

"I'm not saying it, Stiles," Scott replies stubbornly. "I don't think now is the best time."

Stiles doesn't appear to be listening to his complaints. He grabs a jumper from his wardrobe and then lobs a pair of shoes in Scott's general direction, before turning back to deliver the rest of the line: "Wanna go to Taco Bell?"

"There isn't a Taco Bell in Beacon Hills, Stiles. Remember when you made us drive all the way down the interstate until we found one?"

Stiles uses one of the shoes to thwack Scott none-too-lightly on the knee. "That's not the line. Say it or I won't help you."

"Except you will."

"Say it, Scott for the love of God!"

Scott groans, flopping back on the bed (the despair mainly comes from the fact that this is actually helping and his smug best friend is very much aware of that). He crumbles a second later: "I can't go to Taco Bell, I'm on an all-carb diet- gosh Stiles you're so stupid." He reels the words off in perfect monotone, but it still gets a whoop from Stiles.

"The genius of that script, I just…" He stops himself on the edge of a ramble, clears his throat and tugs his best friend back upright. "Come on. Get those shoes on. We're going to distract you."

Scott obliges, only because he's a fan of an easy life. Stiles has that determined glint in his eye and Scott has known his friend long enough to know that you don't mess with that look. He stuffs his feet into Stiles' slightly too small shoes, and follows his friend over to the window. "My dad will freak out if he sees us going out," Stiles explains as he ducks out into the night.

Scott follows. "More so than if he comes up and finds you missing?"

"He won't come up." Stiles likes to think he says this with a lot of confidence but he has a sneaking suspicion that Scott isn't particularly convinced. Still, his friend follows him across the roof and down the drainpipe and then into Stiles' jeep. Sits obediently in the passenger seat without a word as Stiles drives them across town and parks outside the police station, and only then does Scott turn to his friend with hesitation in his eyes.

"What are we doing here?" he groans.

Stiles pulls his cloned version of his father's key card from the glove box before popping open the door and stepping out of the jeep. "What do you mean? This is where we always come."

It's true. The police station has been a sanctuary for the pair as much as it's been a prison for others. Ever since they were little and their parents would take turns looking after them at their respective works. Scott and Stiles were so self-contained that it was easy to leave them to get on with it at either the hospital or the police station, but it didn't take long for the boys to develop a preference. The hospital was too busy, too full of people glaring at them for being in the wrong place. But at the police station, the team were small enough to quickly get to know the boys, and the little town never generated enough crime for the place to feel quite as hectic as the hospital. They would sit behind the desk on the floor and do their homework, then play cops and robbers in the empty cells. Drink the free hot chocolate (and then the free coffee as they got older) and talk to the crazy old Office Jenkins who would tell them war stories of his wildest arrests. Even after the blood shed that happened there with Jackson and Matt, the boys couldn't help gravitate back there. Couldn't help but sit among the shelves of the evidence room and talk through everything, until the cleaner would kick them out.

Stiles unlocks and opens the service door, tugs Scott through the corridors and into his father's office. The station is quiet, deserted. The night shift officers are clearly out on a job, not that they would particularly care about the boys sneaking in. It was hardly the first time. Or the sixth time for that matter. Stiles pulls a torch from his father's drawer and sets it up on the floor, shining out at the opposite wall to the door. Scott has already sat down on the floor, back against the desk with enough space beside him for Stiles. His friend fills it a moment later, once he's found his father's stash of chocolate and placed it down beside Scott.

"Now what?" Scott asks, glancing to his friend. "We've just moved the conversation somewhere else."

"Give me time, young Skywalker," Stiles chuckles, and decides he better not look to Scott because he's not sure he can bear the clueless expression he's sure his friend will be wearing now.

Scott sighs after a minute passes with nothing inspired coming from his friend. He looks over and Stiles' eyebrows are crumpled in immense concentration. He decides to take matters into his own hands and provide the distraction himself. "So…what happened with Lydia? Your text earlier made it sound promising."

Stiles shrugs but there's a wonky grin hiding on his face that suggests he really wants to talk about it. "It's nothing really…hey, this isn't about me anyway. We're here for you."

Scott shakes his head. "I'd rather just think about something else."

Stiles examines him for a moment, eyes taking in every inch of his friend's drawn and worn face. "You really think that's the best idea?" he asks finally and Scott nods almost immediately. Stiles sighs, because really he doesn't agree. He knows how good distractions can feel but he also knows how fleeting they are. But he decides to oblige. "She kissed me. "

Scott stares at him. Even though he was expecting something along these lines, it pretty shocking to hear his friend state such a thing as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "She…kissed you. Were you having a panic attack again?" He remembers the flushed excitement of his friend's explanation of the last time Lydia kissed him. After their parents were safe from the threat of sacrifices and the boys had found a moment to stop, he had blurted it out with eyes shining and nose wrinkling like it always did when he was excited.

"Nope. No panic attack." Stiles snaps off a square of chocolate, turns it over and over in his fingers until it starts to melt and he's forced to quickly pop it into his mouth. "We were just talking, she was teasing me about something and I told her she would never stop being beautiful, or something like that…and she kissed me."

Scott is silent. In truth, he feels a little sick. The churning feeling of not quite knowing how he should be feeling because he's so happy but he's also so scared. If Stiles has Lydia, the empty space Allison has left behind will become a yawning chasm and Scott isn't sure he can deal with that. But then it's Lydia, the girl that Stiles has been in love with for so many years. The girl that Stiles has carefully inked onto his heart ever since fourth grade, when she walked over their sandcastles. He has to be happy for her, doesn't he? "That's amazing," he says, the words hollow and heavy on his tongue.

Stiles snorts in response, shooting his friend a look that makes it clear that he can tell how Scott is feeling. And he probably can tell, because Stiles and Scott's minds have been interwoven and braided together. Twins separated at birth, that's what Claudia and Melissa used to say.

"No, really. I'm so happy for you, dude."

"It's nothing to be happy for yet. It was just a kiss. Then she came back to mine and we watched a film and had Chinese with my Dad but nothing else happened. We just spent time together for once, you know? Without having to deal with some crisis or with some damn dead body."

Scott nods his understanding, then bumps his shoulder against Stiles. "Come on, that is pretty cool. I mean, I remember when Lydia didn't even acknowledge your existence- now she's over for Chinese? She definitely likes you, Stiles."

Stiles shrugs, handing Scott a piece of chocolate which he eats automatically and then immediately regrets (food is not his biggest fan right now). "What about you and Kira?"

Scott shakes his head. "I told her I needed some time to…you know…think. And she was fine about it but now I'm just stuck, not knowing how to ever be ready to be in a relationship with someone without feeling incredibly guilty."

Stiles nods his understanding. "Remember when my mom died? I refused to do anything fun for months. I just wanted to wallow in it all forever."

"Yeah, then I got tickets for the new Batman film and you decided you had to make an allowance."

"It was Batman, had to be done." Stiles taps the key card against the palm of his hand in an absent-minded manner (much like many of his movements). "I felt better after that."

"So what you're saying is if I starting seeing Kira, I'll feel better?"

"Can't see how it wouldn't." Stiles says this with a certain tweak of sarcasm, because he's very much aware of the can of worms that could open. "Then again, maybe you should just see another Batman film. I can't imagine Kira offering much more than three hours of a brooding Christian Bale and sarcastic Michael Caine will."

Scott has to laugh at that, shoving his friend lightly so that Stiles falls down against the torch and sends their only light source skittering across the floor. It takes Stiles a moment to retrieve it because he's laughing so hard. It's relief, mainly. Relief at hearing his friend laugh without the tell-tale jitter that means he's forcing it out. Kicking Scott's nearest leg, Stiles pulls himself back into an upright position. "You're a cruel man, you know that."

"So you keep telling me." Scott chuckles for a moment, allowing the natural laugh to stay as long as it likes because it feels so nice to have it there. Once it's gone, the boys are silent again. Comfortable.

"It will be fine, you know. I know you won't believe it but it does get better. I mean, I got through my mum dying. And you're much better at being an adjusted person, let's be real."

Scott nods. And again Stiles can see that a tear is fighting to escape from the corner of one eye. So Stiles does the most natural thing and pulls his friend into a tight hug. Truth be told, the boys don't hug as much as one might expect from such close friends. They reserve it for the right moments, so that they're still powerful enough to chase away the shadows. Scott wraps his arms around Stiles and Stiles rubs at his best friend's back. And Stiles isn't ashamed to admit that he feels the tears well up in his own eyes. He's missed Scott, so much. He still does miss him because this, right here, isn't them. This isn't mucking around with each other's phones, this isn't watching scary films and this isn't lazy days playing lacrosse in the park. It's all too serious and Stiles just misses the days when their greatest worries were whether they'd get separated in their next class.

Maybe that's why they hug for longer than usual. Scott presses his chin against Stiles' shoulder and Stiles can feel him shaking. "It's not fair," Scott finally whispers. "Why did it have to be her? And why did you have to be possessed? My best friend! And why did I have to be bitten in the first freakin' place?!" He pulls back, his face flushed with all the emotion he's trying to keep bottled up inside.

Stiles wants to reel off his usual script now, the one that he's tried and tested so many times now. But he can't this time, because all he can think is that if he hadn't dragged Scott into the forest that night he wouldn't have become a werewolf and who knows how different things would have been then. The panicky feeling of guilt that Stiles is becoming so accustomed to returns, fluttering around his chest like some twisted little butterfly. He pulls back from Scott so that he can count his fingers, tugging at each knuckle with great care. Only then can he get the words out: "Literally, Scott there is nothing I can say to that."

His words are as dry as the drought-ridden grass outside. Scott snorts, rubbing roughly at his raw eyes. "You're right," he mutters. He sighs, stands up and stretches. "I should get back home. Thanks, Stiles."

The thanks is hollow and Stiles knows it's because he hasn't really helped at all. Held the floodgates closed for a while maybe but that probably just meant it would be much worse later. And all of a sudden Stiles just feels an immense frustration that he's failing at the one thing he's always been able to do. "Wait, Scott," he says, jumping up as well. "Don't go yet. You can't, you're not proper yet."

Scott laughs. "What?"

Stiles doesn't answer, too busy rooting under the sofa. He surfaces a moment later, holding a pack of cards. "Sit, this will do the trick."

"Cards? We haven't played cards in ages."

"I know, ever since I won your skateboard."

"Still convinced you cheated." Scott mutters this in a sulky little voice, perfectly aware and comfortable with how petulant he sounds.

"Still convinced you don't even know how to play the damn game now sit down you dumbass." Stiles gestures with the cards, settling back down on the floor. "Stakes?"

Scott sits down opposite, moving the torch so it shines onto their makeshift card table. "If I win, you ask her out to dinner."

Stiles stares at his best friend as he shuffles the pack clumsily in his hand. "You're a dick."

Scott grins, unabashed. "What about you?" he asks.

Stiles considers it as he deals out the cards with practised speed. "If I win, we do Disney."

Scott groans, flopping his head back until it hits the desk. "Seriously? When are you going to give that up?"

"I swear, Scott- I am not reaching adulthood without at least one trip to that place, it's just not something I can live with." Stiles looks outraged at his friend's complete lack of sympathy for his cause and it's an expression that Scott is yet to be able to withstand without laughing.

"Alright, fine. If you win we go to the stupid place." Scott takes the half of the pack which he has been dealt with, eyes up Stiles' half with open suspicion as his friend scoops them up. Stiles hasn't lost against Scott the last four times they've played, but they haven't actually played properly since Scott has been bitten. Something Scott is now banking on.

"No werewolf skills, I'll be able to tell," Stiles warns before slamming the first card down onto the floor.

"Alright, promise." Scott says, pausing for effect before slamming his own first card on top. The boys lean in close, examining the two cards for a moment. Then Stiles sniffs his satisfaction and smacks a card on top. This continues for a moment, with both boys laying cards on top of each other's. Until suddenly, Stiles lays a five on top of Scott's five and chaos ensues. Stiles bellows: "SNAP!" but obviously the boys cannot simply play Snap the regular way. In their version, to win the cards you must hold onto the cards for twenty seconds without the other person stealing them back. So when Stiles calls snap, he immediately snatches the cards up and goes for the classic shove them down the trousers trick. But Scott knows his best friend's tactics off by heart and has dived across the gap between them before Stiles can get anywhere near the edge of his trousers.

A brief wrestle then ensues, in which Scott tries to extract the cards from Stiles' hands without using his wolf powers. But Stiles knows that if he jabs his knee in Scott's stomach, his best friend will be rendered useless because he has a ticklish spot there (honestly, if the two boys decided to get married the next day, there really wouldn't be much difference).

This sort of thing continues for two hours before Scott finally wins the game. The whole pack held victoriously over his head so that the rising sun graces the worn edges of the cards and a genuine grin on his face because this is normal and because his best friend is going to have to go on a date with Lydia Martin now. Stiles flops back onto the floor, exhausted from the whole thing but still grinning. "You're a dick," he calls up and Scott grins as if this is a grand medal of honour.

But then there's the tell-tale click of shoes on the shiny floor of the station and the creak of the office door. Both boys turn, eyes wide like the proverbial deer in the headlights. But it's just Stiles' father. He looks confused, staring at the two slightly bedraggled boys before him (Snap can get pretty violent sometimes). Then he shakes his head, rubbing his forehead. "I knew it…Do you know how worried I've been? You both damn disappeared! Melissa had no idea, neither did your father. We thought something had happened!"

The boys exchange glances, mumble apologies with suitable amounts of sorrow in their voices (really they're not that bothered. They have been sneaking out at night for years and this is just one more step towards normal, finally dragging themselves in the right direction). Once the Sheriff has shouted at them a bit more and then finally released them into the early morning (6:35am, the clock on the reception desk says), the boys find themselves standing on the sidewalk with the sun in their eyes and a light feeling in their hearts.

Scott turns to Stiles, and for a moment returns to the serious, concerned friend. "School?" he asks, because he doesn't know how bad it was for Stiles yesterday, or if he just left because Lydia Martin wanted to.

Stiles sucks at his teeth, keys jangling in his hand now as he chucks them up, catches them, chucks them up again. "Yeah, alright. You?" he asks. It's a loaded question, not really to do with his dedication to school. More asking for Scott to rate his friend's attempt to make him feel better; how satisfied were you with the service today, Mr McCall?

Scott nods after a moment of consideration. Then he grins, bumps shoulders with Stiles. "Got nothing better to do."

They start walking towards Stiles' jeep, hands sliding into their respective pockets in neat unison. As they reach the car door, Scott allows a smirk to slither onto his face. "So…where you going to take her?"

Stiles opens his side of the car, scowls. "Screw you," he replies and jumps in.

The engine sputters into life a moment later and from his office, the Sheriff looks out the window just in time to see the blue jeep chugging its way down the road. And he grins, turns back to the phone call he's currently engaged in. "Yeah, Melissa," he says. "They're just fine."