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Stiles met Scott when he was eight years old. It was summer, and school had just ended. Not that Stiles was attending much, then. His dad originally tried to get him to go, but even at eight Stiles was a wily little shit. He’d end up right back in the hospital an hour after the start of class.
He can remember that his mom used to get him to climb up onto the bed with her, even though he was way too big for it by then. The metal sidings of the hospital bed would creak, and the whole thing would sway until they were settled, Stiles curled into her side, his buzzed head tickling her neck until she laughed. Sometimes it was loud, made him smile, but mostly it was a quiet rasp of a sound. Another reminder. He remembers her hand on the back of his neck, too cold to be healthy, brushing over the stubble of his hair. He kept it for years afterwards, a memento - they did it together.
When he told Scott, on that day, that there was nothing left, Scott told him, “You’ve got me.” Just like that.
It’s his turn, now, to pull him back.
"There's no hope," Scott says.
He remembers that night clearly. The morning is a blur, and it hurts, because in the morning his mother was alive. In the morning his mother was alive and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath his cheek, fell asleep to the rhythm of her heartbeat for a few hours. She fell asleep too. But when he woke up and lifted his head, shook her shoulder, she didn't open her eyes.
Stiles screamed. He remembers that, because the nurses were pretty terrified. Melissa wasn't one of them, but she worked in the same ward. They had to bring in extra - people to pull him off the bed and people to try and resuscitate his mom. She didn't die, not then, but she died a few hours later. In that moment she just... wouldn't wake up.
There's no hope, okay! There's not! Just leave me alone.
"What do you mean, Scott? There's always hope," Allison tells him. He's glad she stepped up, because Stiles feels like he can't breathe, like he isn't sure that the next words coming out of his mouth will be anything but a garbled mess of sounds.
You're Stiles, right? You go to my school.
Leave me alone.
... But you seem sad.
Shut. Up. Go away.
There's always hope.
What?
That's what my mom tells me -
Go away!
"Not for me," Scott argues. "Not for Derek." Derek, who told Scott they were brothers. Derek, who Scott thinks died because of him.
She's dead! And it's my fault, and your mom couldn't save her and neither could I!
"Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt. People keep getting killed."
It's always me. I'm always making things worse.
Stiles steps up. "Scott, listen to me, okay. This isn't you." You're the one who pulls me back. You're the one who told me there was hope even when I had nothing to cling to. You're the one who held out your hand, and I'm the one who took it, and it was sticky and warm and we held hands for four hours until my dad got there. You never left me. You didn't run away when I told you I hated you. You're the one who's always holding on.
Hold onto me.
"Alright? This is someone inside your head, telling you to do this. Okay? Not -"
My m - I think that there are these monsters that live in your head when you're sad. And they tell you that everything's bad and they tell you that - that eeeverything is your fault. But you gotta fight the monsters, S.. Stiles. I can fight them too. With you!
"What if it isn't?" Scott asks him, "What if it is just me?" For a moment Stiles can see that little boy with his stupid haircut and his sticky hands.
No. It's my fault. Every body says s'my fault.
What if s'not?
"What if doing this is actually the best thing that I could do for everyone else?"
Stiles wants to tell him all the reasons that it isn't. He needs Scott. He doesn't know how to be without him. When Stiles was eight years old and the world turned grey and hopeless, Scott was the only beacon left. Stiles fought back for him, because of him, fought back his monsters and his demons that no eight year old kid should have to bear. They're still there, sometimes. But it's always Scott to pull him through, Scott who makes sure he puts one foot in front of the other. And in turn, Stiles is always going to be there. To pull him back, and to make him believe again. Because Stiles believes in him.
"It all started that night." Stiles winces, because he knows what he's talking about. And it was Stiles that pulled him into those woods. It's always Stiles that pulls him into the darkness, and it's always Scott pulling them into the light. "The night I got bitten. Do you remember the way it was, before that? You and me?"
Stiles does. Just the two of them against the world. No Allison, Lydia still wouldn't give him the time of day, his dad still trusted him and Melissa didn't worry nearly as much. They were just another couple of losers in a high school way too big to fit any more ego when populated by Jackson Whittemore. They were fighting back then, too - now it's just a different kind of fight.
"We were... we were nothing." But they weren't. Scott's never been nothing - he's just never been able to see the sunshine in himself the way he sees it in everyone else. "We weren't popular, we weren't good at lacrosse... we weren't important."
You were important to me.
"We were no one. Maybe... I should just be no one again." He lifts the flare. "No one at all."
But he wasn't. Scott was never no one. When Stiles met Scott he was someone, someone annoying, someone who wouldn't stop talking to him when all he really wanted to do was find his mom in a little slice of heaven and stay there. When all he wanted was to be gone, to be no one. Scott was someone. Scott made him be someone. He didn't give up, and he didn't back down, but he was kind about that, too.
Stiles doesn't know if he can be kind about this. But he will never back down.
"Scott, just listen to me, okay." Scott looks so lost, like everything that makes him that tether, for all of them, has been sucked away and left him bleeding. "You're not no one. Okay, you're someone, you're - " Everything. You're melted gushers on bus seats and sticky hands on the hospital bench and hugs we never talk about. "Scott, you're my best friend, okay, and I need you." He's been getting closer, and Scott lets him, even though the next words get lost on the tip of his tongue, don't want to come out right, get stuck somewhere deep inside like it hurts too much to say them out loud.
"Scott, you're my brother."
I always wanted a brother. But - my mom, she -
Me too.
Really?
Yeah. My dad's a jerk, though. I didn't want a brother from him.
... My dad's pretty cool.
Yeah! So cool. I wanna be a Sheriff when I grow up.
Hey! I wanna do that!
Okay, okay! ... Stiles?
Yeah?
Your dad is pretty cool. Maybe... we could be brothers.
Can we do that?
I think so. If we want to. We just gotta say it. All the time. I'm Scott. This 's my brother Stiles.
... Okay.
He doesn't know when Scott started crying. Maybe he's been crying this whole time. Maybe Stiles has been crying this whole time. He can't tell anymore.
"Alright? So - " He steps onto the gasoline, because he hopes, he hopes that Scott wont do it. That Scott will want Stiles alive more than he wants to be dead. But if he doesn't... if he doesn't, Stiles doesn't want to be anybody, either, when Scott isn't there to be someone with him. He reaches out, slowly, and Scott - lets him. He grabs onto Scott's hand instead of the flare, and there's a moment where he thinks that he's finally giving Scott what he gave Stiles all those years ago.
A hand to hold.
"If we're gonna do this, then - " He swallows, hard, because this could be it. He could die, right here, right now. "You're just gonna have to take me with you, then."
He takes the flare.
Scott lets him.