Chapter Text
Stiles should probably be scared, he thinks to himself as he stares down the massive creature that just charged into the clearing. His admittedly often-ignored sense of self preservation should have kicked in by now, he's sure, but instead a sense of calm, a sense of peace, washes over him and settles into his bones. It's the first time he's felt something other than fear, desperation and frustration since he woke up here, tied to a tree, rough bark biting into his back even through layers of clothing. And oddly enough, the thing that's brought him this feeling of reassurance is the largest wolf he's ever seen, snarling and growling, teeth bared and eyes glowing red as he advances toward Stiles.
Or rather, advancing toward the shadows of the forest behind Stiles, where an answering growl is rising from the darkness. At this, Stiles smiles, the expression creeping slowly across his face, spurred by a burst of confidence. "Get 'im, Scotty," he whispers to the wolf in front of him, and he could swear the wolf winks before dashing off, tearing past Stiles into the trees. Later, Stiles will have the luxury of wondering what the hell is going on - how Scott is suddenly a huge, dark wolf, how Stiles knows that it's him - but for now, all he can do is listen to the snarls and the crashing of underbrush, and wait for his best friend. Because no matter what he looks like right now, Stiles knows, knows bone-deep, that it's Scott McCall who just showed up to save the day.
It's not long before the sounds die off, and the last thing he hears is a mournful howl. Then he's alone, alone with the sounds of the preserve at night, alone to count his own heartbeats and wait to see just who will be returning for him. Time stretches on, the thrum of his heart growing louder and louder until the moment that a wet, snuffling nose presses into the palm of his hand.
His startled, relieved laugh breaks the tension in the night air. "Scotty, my boy," he manages shakily, "you are a sight for sore eyes. Or not eyes, exactly, because I can't see you, but if you can just change back and untie me we can fix that, right? Scott?" There's no answer, but he can feel the motion as sharp fangs start to chew at the rope that binds him, and he figures that's as good a way to get him free as anything.
When his hands are free, Stiles lets himself fall to his knees, stretching his arms and rotating his wrists to try to get some blood flowing back into them, after being tied so long. He’s not even sure how long he’s been there, but he’s fairly certain that it was mid-afternoon when he’d fallen asleep with his face in a textbook, studying for the next week’s history exam. The next thing he knew, he was groggily coming to in the preserve, staring into the glowing orange eyes of a crazed-looking omega wolf. He’d half been expecting some sort of Bond villain monologue, about his plans to infiltrate the pack or bring down the Beacon Hills Alpha or whatever other insane thing he’d expected to get away with, but before he’d done much more than growl, they’d been interrupted by the giant wolf. By Scott. Scott who is now insistently nosing at Stiles’s cheek, trying to pull his attention back to the present.
Raising his head, Stiles gives Scott a tired smile. “Yeah, buddy, I’m with you. I was just wondering what the hell was going on. What does it say about my life that I’m relieved that it was only a werewolf that came after me, and not anything worse?” He reaches out to rest a hand on Scott’s head, thumb rubbing gently up and down between red eyes, unable to help his soft laughter when the wolf’s mouth drops open, tongue hanging out in a pleased-looking pant. “You’re pretty fucking cute, you know that?”
Scott snaps his teeth playfully at Stiles, but then he’s pressing forward, crowding against Stiles’ chest, furred head coming down heavily on human shoulder. After a moment Stiles relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around the soft, furry body and burying his face in the wolf’s ruff. It’s there, holding tightly to his best friend, that he finally lets go, lets things sink in. They stay like that for longer than either of them know, taking comfort in each other, being reassured that they’re both okay, that they’re still together, that once again they’ve come out the other side of danger.
Eventually, Stiles sits back, and the two regard each other intently in the growing dark of the clearing, both of them sluggish and weary from a day with a little too much adventure. “So… you’re a wolf,” he begins. “I mean, you’ve been a wolf for ages, but now you’re an actual wolf. Which is really cool, but how did that happen? How did you transform, why did you transform? And why am I asking you questions when you can’t answer me?” He shakes his head, reaching up to run his fingers through his own hair. The wolf sitting across from him somehow manages to look amused, head cocked to one side.
“Wait,” Stiles says suddenly. “Why can’t you answer me? Why are you still a wolf?” Reaching out, he takes Scott’s chin in one hand and turns his head gently from side to side. “Are you stuck? Oh my god, did you actually get stuck as a wolf? Because that’s the kind of hilarious tragedy that would totally happen to us.”
Whining softly, Scott pulls his head out of Stiles’s hand stubbornly. He glares for a moment, then gives a quick nod of his head. The confirmation has Stiles chuckling, long fingers starting to move over Scott’s fur, gently pulling free bits of leaves and twigs, letting them fall back to the forest floor.
“Well, okay. We’re going to deal with this in steps, okay, Scotty? Let’s get you cleaned up, first. We’re in the middle of nowhere, neither of us have the energy to get all the way back into town… we’ll bed down for the night, okay? If nothing else, my furry best friend is going to be a great pillow,” he teases, laughing harder when Scott bares his teeth and growls playfully.
Stiles stands slowly, stretching out tense muscles. He feels the vertebrae in his back pop one after the other, a long line of pressure being relieved in steps. He rests one hand between the wolf's ears, giving a little scratch. "Come on, Scotty, let's get you all cleaned up. All that crud in your fur can't feel good for you." He starts walking down toward the river, shrugging out of his plaid shirt as he goes. With the shirt draped over one arm, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to the Sheriff and Melissa both, a simple we’re alive, don’t worry, home in the morning we promise. It should be enough to keep them from panicking, even if he’ll still have to tell the full story later. He’s used to the explaining, even pretty good at it.
As they reach the water, Scott goes bounding ahead, splashing into the stream with gusto, and Stiles can't help but laugh. "I knew you'd want to get clean,” he grins, feeling a little proud of himself for being able to read his best friend this well, even when he's four-legged and furry. At the bank, Stiles toes off his shoes and socks, drops his overshirt with them. "I'll help you out in a sec, man, I just don't want to get soaking wet.”
Watching expectantly from the water, Scott wags his tail, already soaked up to his belly. When Stiles starts to shimmy out of his underwear, the wolf looks away suddenly, averting his eyes. Stiles lets out a laugh, but the tips of his ears flush pink. "What, suddenly shy? It's not like you've never seen me naked before."
Scott makes a soft sound that Stiles can't quite interpret, but he looks back and levels Stiles with his gaze - eyes still kept deliberately on Stiles' face, even though it's so far above the wolf’s eye level.
Stiles probably should have eased himself into the water, he realizes with a painful start as he splashes in, dropping to his knees. Icy pinpricks race across his skin, upwards to his waist, toes clenching in a cramp. He hadn't expected it to be so freezing with the way Scott had taken to it, but then again his best friend is currently sporting thicker than normal skin and a soft, plush fur coat.
Teeth chattering, he sets himself to look more closely at said fur coat, shining golden brown in the moonlight, darker where it's wet and slicked against his skin . He can't resist reaching out to run his hand down Scott's back, humming contentedly at how soft it feels against his own cool, damp palms. When he hears a soft rumble emanating from the thickly furred chest, he realizes Scott likes it too. His face breaks into a sudden grin. "You like being petted, buddy? You're not a dog, you're a big old house cat, trying to purr!" His laugh is cut off by a pair of huge paws landing on his shoulders, and instead he cries out in protest as he crashes backward into the frigid water.
He's sputtering and spitting when he comes up for air and he glares at Scott. "You're looking altogether too smug for someone who's stuck with paws and a tail, my friend," he teases. His words earn him a snap of teeth and another lunge from Scott, and a moment later they're locked together, rolling over and over as they wrestle in the creek, laughter and joyful yips ringing out in the night air. It's free and unrestrained, a celebration of being okay, of being alive and able to enjoy themselves again.
It takes time for them to exhaust themselves, but as their laughter dies down Stiles sits up and points out a bruise forming on his arm. "Hey, hey. Come on, Mr. Wolf, you gotta be more gentle. Fragile human here, remember?" He expects an eye roll or tease from Scott, not what actually happens - Scott hanging his head in apology, leaning in gently to lap at the bruise with a rough tongue.
"Kissing it better? Good, I deserve it." Stiles thinks he might sound a little bit breathless, but he shakes it off. "Come on, dude, you're still pretty gross. Let's get you actually clean."
Apparently ready to behave now, Scott sits down in the water, close to Stiles. "Is this where I tell you you're a good boy?" he quips, earning himself a gentle nip of reproach. "Okay, okay, just kidding. Apparently wolves don't have a sense of humour," he grumbles good-natured as he starts to scoop up handfuls of water, sluicing it over Scott's fur. As he works, he keeps pulling bits of twigs and pine needles from between soft strands, smiling when the rumbling form presses closer to him. "There you go, big boy. Just let Stiles take care of you."
Stiles hums to himself without realizing it, soft and under his breath, as he takes his time to get Scott clean. He gives in to his curiosity, too, nimble fingers exploring the wolf form as much as he dares. For once he feels no need to talk, to keep up a stream of constant chatter, so he lets the silence wrap around them like a comfortable blanket. He focuses intently on Scott, the shape of this body under the fur, the way he responds to different touches by either pressing into them or carefully moving away. When he does move away it seems almost reluctant, like he doesn't want to hurt Stiles' feelings by rejecting the touch. It makes Stiles smile softly and return his hands to places that please the wolf. His default is scratching right at the base of the bushy tail, which seems to be Scott's favourite spot of all.
The way Stiles pulls away when he knows that Scott's all clean is reluctant, which surprises him a little. The simple comfort of being close, of touching, of caring for someone he loves, that was the most comforting thing that had happened yet this night. If he didn't already know that Scott felt the same, it would have been made obvious by the way that Scott leans in and rests his head heavily on Stiles' shoulder, nosing below his ear for a brief moment.
"Hey," Stiles says softly, "let's dry off. Then we can curl up, okay? Keep each other warm, you know, mostly so the one of us without a fur coat won't freeze overnight." He blushes a bit as he explains his reasoning, even though he's fairly certain, in that moment, that Scott still wants the contact as much as he does. As he watches the wolf bound out of the stream and start to shake out his fur, he feels like Scott is silently telling him to hurry up.
So Stiles does just that, getting off of his knees and shaking out his own hair as he steps onto the bank. "I can't shake as well as you. Not furry enough," he chuckles, scrubbing his hands over his hair to get out some more moisture.
Scott doesn't stay still for long, padding off into the woods. "Hey, hey, wait while i at least grab my clothes! He scoops them up off the ground into an untidy pile, holding them to his chest as he follows his best friend, his alpha, further into the forest.
They walk together for a while, slowly and aimlessly, mostly keeping the air moving over their skin so that they'll dry off sooner. Neither of them has enough energy for much more than that. When Stiles is dry enough, he stops Scott for long enough to put on his clothes, so that he can at least stop shivering. He can see Scott's fur getting fluffier and fluffier as it dries, and after a while he reaches out and rests a hand on the wolf's back to still him. "I think it's bedtime, buddy," he yawns. Scott lifts his own head, and opens his muzzle wide in a yawn of his own, tongue lolling out. Stiles laughs and ruffles the fur on top of Scott's head. "Come on, over here, there's a pretty good bed of moss and leaves under these trees.”
As he flops down, Stiles laughs to himself at the absurdity of looking at the forest floor as a comfortable place to get some rest. Still, he reasons, it's better than some of the places he's woken up, back when it wasn't just him inside his head. And he's got Scott, too, which always makes it better. It's become fairly common for the two of them to share a bed, since the Nogitsune. Neither the Sheriff nor Melissa raises an eyebrow, any longer, at waking to find the two friends curled together in bed. It's like it was when they were children - when Stiles's mom died, when Scott's dad left, times when the two boys clung together and their parents couldn't bear to separate them. When everyone knew they were each other's only real comfort.
So tonight, if he's got Scott, he's fine. He's better than fine, as he curls in close against the wolf's muscular body, head coming to rest on the soft, thick fur. He can hear Scott's heartbeat, feel his warmth, and that's all he's aware of as he finally drifts off to sleep.