In The Spirit Of The Season

"Knock knock, we brought pudding!"

Melissa's eternally-upbeat voice rang through the hallway, and Stiles' head jerked up from his cutting board in surprise. A glance at his father showed that he was the only one caught off-guard; the Sheriff was grinning broadly as he dried his hands on a dishcloth and took a step toward the door.

Melissa beat him to it, entering the kitchen before the Sheriff had a chance to meet her at the door. True to her word, her arms were laden with a heavy dish of chocolatey goodness, and Stiles inhaled deeply with pleasure before spying the envious look on his dad's face and narrowing his eyes in his direction.

"Uh-uh, don't even think about it," Stiles cautioned, and Melissa laughed as she circled the bench and helped herself to space in the fridge.

"Come on, Stiles, it's Christmas," she admonished cheerfully. "As a medical professional, I am giving him permission to eat the dessert that I slaved over for...well, for at least forty minutes. That's forty minutes longer than I usually like to spend in the kitchen, you know."

"It's not Christmas yet," Stiles grumbled in reply. He didn't argue the point, though, distracted by a clattering sound in the hall that announced Scott's entrance.

The alpha werewolf was wearing a bright red knitted sweater with a reindeer plastered on the front that looked like it belonged on a '90s sitcom Christmas special. Stiles couldn't help but gape at the garish garment as his friend joined them in the kitchen. "Another Grandma McCall special?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Scott shifted with embarrassment as he dropped a bowl of potato salad onto the benchtop. "Yeah." He dropped his voice to almost a whisper as he continued. "Mum used to get on really well with her, you know, and she never gets to see her since the divorce. You should have seen her face when the package arrived. It means a lot to her." He shrugged helplessly, and Stiles nodded with understanding. A hideous sweater was a small price to pay to make Melissa smile.

Tearing his eyes away from the reindeer, Stiles instead peered into the massive salad bowl. "And what's all this in aid of?" he asked the room at large.

Surprisingly, it was the Sheriff who replied. "It's dinner," he answered brusquely.

Scott looked at the Sheriff with the barest hint of a smile playing around his lips. "You still haven't told him?"

The Sheriff shook his head, and Stiles looked between the two of them in confusion. "Told me what?" His voice was low, carrying an edge of danger that he was actually quite proud of. If he was facing anyone other than the town Sheriff and an alpha werewolf, they'd be quaking in their boots, he was sure.

Scott laughed, then quickly turned it into a cough when Stiles glared at him. "I'm gonna get the rest of the food out of the car," he excused himself, so Stiles turned his glare on his dad instead.

The Sheriff seemed unperturbed, picking up a tomato and slicing it as he spoke. "Melissa and I thought it would be nice to get a few people together for dinner. The spirit of the season and all that, you know."

Ah. And there was the real culprit, Stiles was sure. He considered confronting Melissa, before immediately deciding against it. He might enjoy annoying her every now and then, but Stiles would never forgive himself if he actually upset her and something told him that she was more invested in this plan than she was letting on.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes at his father. "Just how many people are coming to this dinner?"

"Well, there's us," the Sheriff answered without glancing up, "and Malia, because she practically lives here anyway."

Stiles had just started to relax when Melissa spoke up from where she had started washing potatoes in the sink. "And Kira, Lydia and Liam, of course. Oh, and Mason. It would be rude to invite Liam and not Mason, after all."

"Sure." Stiles' hands were sweaty as he stared at the two adults in shock. He was so caught up in his surprise that he didn't notice that Scott had returned until he was dumping a bowl of French bread on the counter.

"Actually, I forgot to mention, Sheriff, there might be a few extras," Scott piped up, and Stiles' eyes widened as he stared wordlessly at his friend. "I ran into Chris Argent when I was buying all the groceries, so I couldn't not invite him. And he told me that Isaac was flying back into town for Christmas, so I think he's coming too."

"No problem," the Sheriff shrugged off Scott's concern. "We've got plenty of room and enough food for an army. Did you ever hear back from Derek?"

Scott shook his head. "No, but that doesn't mean much. This is Derek, we'll have to wait and see."

"Woah, okay, hold the phone," Stiles spluttered, finally finding his voice. "Are you guys listening to yourselves right now? Most of the people you just mentioned have tried to kill us or each other at some point, in case you've forgotten. Have any of you thought about just how disastrously wrong this could go?"

"See, I told you it would be better not to tell him." The Sheriff directed his words at Melissa, who raised her eyebrows and nodded in reply.

"I've got to hand it to you, you definitely know your son," she agreed lightly.

And, wow, really? That was just rude. Stiles ground his teeth in frustration, until he was distracted by a light grip on his arm. He turned to see Scott watching him cautiously.

"Stiles?" Scott asked tentatively, and Stiles breathed out through his cheeks until the anger melted away. It wasn't as though Melissa had said anything that bad, after all. He was trying to be better about it, after everything, but despite himself his anger always seemed to be bubbling just below the surface these days.

Shaking his head, Stiles pulled his arm out of Scott's grip and turned to face him. When he spoke, his voice was soft but anxious. "Seriously, dude, do you really think this is a good idea? It's been barely a month since Liam tried to tear your head off. And I can't even remember if Argent and Derek are trying to kill each other or not at the moment, they've gone back and forth so many times."

Scott hesitated, glancing at the adults before reaching for Stiles again. "Come help me with the esky," he said abruptly, and with that he dragged Stiles bodily out of the house.

He didn't let go of Stiles' arm until they were standing beside the Sheriff's cruiser, now boxed in by Melissa's sedan. When he did, Stiles whirled on him, eyebrows drawn together and expression stormy.

Scott flinched and looked somewhere past Stiles' shoulder as he spoke. "This is why we didn't tell you," he began, and, wow. Stiles glared intensified until he was sure he would start burning holes into Scott's flesh. How the hell did Scott manage to convert all these bad guys to the Light Side of this was his best attempt at diplomacy? Was it all just the puppy-dog eyes?

Scott didn't seem bothered by Stiles' expression - or maybe he just didn't see it, since he was still focussing on that spot of air just beyond him. "I knew you'd freak out at this idea, that you'd start pointing out all the ways it could go wrong."

Stiles didn't realise his expression could darken further, but apparently it could. Were they really back to this? After everything - after the Dread Doctors, after Theo, they were really back to Stiles being the paranoid one. Fucking great.

This time, Scott seemed to realise that his words weren't having the desired effect, and his voice took on a pleading tone as he hurriedly continued. "And you'd be right," he said and - wait, what? Stiles' anger halted in its tracks, replaced by confusion. "You're totally right, this could be a disaster because none of these people actually know each other, not really. But that's exactly why we have to do this."

Stiles shook his head, not understanding in the slightest. "Pretty sure I know Malia and Lydia pretty well," he pointed out. "And I'm still not seeing why inviting disaster is a good thing."

Scott dropped his gaze to his feet and shifted uncomfortably before replying. "Look, you saw what happened with Theo," he explained to the pavement. "A few well-placed words, and he had all of us at each other's throats. It got me thinking. Maybe part of the reason we fell apart so easily is because most of us aren't actually friends – hell, most of us don't have any sort of relationship at all. We come together in the face of disaster, but that's it."

"That's not true," Stiles argued, but Scott snorted in response, raising his head to meet Stiles' eyes.

"Tell me, have you ever actually talked to Kira when I'm not there?"

"Of course!" Stiles exclaimed, then he hesitated. "Or, uh, well, I'm sure there's been at least one occasion." His mind whirled, straining to find an example, but he came up empty. "Huh," he muttered to himself. "I guess not. But it's not like we have anything in common."

"She's a massive Star Wars fan!" Scott blurted out, incredulous. "And she plays the same RPGs that you keep trying to get me into. I know you guys would geek out together for hours if you would actually just talk to each other."

"Maybe, but that doesn't prove anything," Stiles countered, more out of stubbornness than conviction.

Scott seemed to finally be running out of patience, and when he next spoke his voice was strained. "Can we be honest for a minute? Right now, the only thing holding this group together is me. And if Theo taught me anything, it's that it's not enough. I'm not enough, Stiles!"

"Woah, Scott, calm down!" Stiles said, alarmed, hands reaching out automatically to lightly grab Scott's shoulders. His friend had deep lines around his eyes, and his expression radiated hurt.

Stiles immediately felt a stab of pain just behind his breastbone as he took in his friend's broken expression. He looked pale, fragile as though a strong wind would knock him down, and Stiles' lips tightened with concern. How had he missed this? Well, that's obvious, he berated himself. Between Theo, Donovan and his dad nearly dying, he'd barely had the strength to hold himself together, let alone look out for Scott.

There was a familiar guilt bubbling away in his stomach, though, and try as he might Stiles couldn't ignore it. Because the thing was, at the end of the day, if their positions had been reversed? Yeah, Stiles had no doubt that Scott would have been there for him. And didn't that just make him feel like the world's shittiest friend.

Scott seemed to have recovered slightly while Stiles was lost in his own head, and Stiles made sure to catch his eye before speaking. For once, he chose his words carefully. "Let's get one thing straight," he started, voice soft but firm, brooking no argument. "Theo tore us apart because he's a manipulative bastard with some seriously Oscar-worthy acting skills. That wasn't your fault, and it wasn't because the rest of us don't care about each other, or else how would he have gotten between us?"

Scott was opening his mouth to reply, so Stiles pressed on quickly. If Scott had an answer to that question, Stiles definitely didn't want to hear it.

"But you've got a point," Stiles sighed, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest as his anxiety increased. Technically, what he was about to say wasn't lying, but that didn't mean he necessarily agreed with it. "Sometimes it feels like all this group ever does is fight with each other or against each other. We never go to the movies, or hang out a bowling alley, or do anything normal together. Maybe if we did, we wouldn't be turning on each other every other day."

Scott was watching him with a cautiously hopeful expression. "You think?" Even his voice was tentative.

Stiles snorted. "Dude, I don't have a clue. I'm not exactly mister socially-nuanced, you know? I still think there's a good chance this going to end with Derek tearing someone's throat out and Kira's sword embedded in a wall - but you're right, we can't keep fighting each other, and this might help. Maybe it's worth the risk."

It wasn't a solid show of support, but it seemed to be enough for Scott, whose face lit up with a smile. Stiles couldn't help but muster up a small smile in return; Scott just had that effect on him.

He turned, ending the moment before the situation had a chance to derail. "Did you say something about an esky?"

An hour later, Scott took the chance to be thankful that Stiles' predictions hadn't yet come true. There hadn't been any weapons drawn, throats were all intact, and he was cautiously surprised to find that people actually seemed to be getting along.

There were a few guests that Scott hadn't been expecting, but they were all more than welcome. Parrish was one, arriving at the door wearing a Christmas-themed football jersey that made that Sheriff snort with amusement when he saw it. Scott had half-expected Lydia to make a comment, but she did nothing more than raise a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the outfit and strike up a conversation about the new coffee shop in town.

Then again, Scott was starting to get the feeling that Lydia and Parrish knew each other a little better than they were letting on. He knew that Lydia had been helping Parrish figure out his newfound abilities, but judging by the way she was laughing with him, eyes sparkling and face relaxed and genuine in a way she so rarely allowed herself to be, they had moved well beyond acquaintances. Scott frowned a little as he watched them, unsettled. What else had he missed?

He was distracted from his thoughts by the ring of the doorbell, and when the Sheriff returned from answering it he was followed by Argent, Isaac trailing a few feet behind. The teenager looked as though he rather wished he could sink through the floor, but Scott had had more than enough experience with socially anxious friends. He sprung up from his seat and crossed the room in a flash, bringing Isaac into a hug before the taller boy could begin to protest.

"Hey," Scott said roughly, pulling Isaac in a little tighter. It was a woefully inadequate greeting, really, but it was the best he could muster right now.

Fortunately, Isaac didn't seem to mind. He hesitated a moment before raising his arms and giving Scott a light squeeze in return. "Hi, Scott," he greeted. His voice was a little rough, too, Scott noted wryly.

Breaking apart from the hug, Scott took a moment to eye Isaac. He looked well, a little broader around the shoulders than when he left, and he held himself in a way that broadcasted confidence. It suited him, and Scott couldn't help a warmth spread through his chest at the sight.

"How was France?"

Isaac's mouth tugged into a half-smile as he answered. "It was good. Uh…different." Scott frowned at his response – he seemed oddly restrained, almost hesitant, and he was lacking the enthusiasm that Scott was expecting.

"Isaac?" Scott asked, concerned. "What is it?"

After a long moment, Isaac released a sigh and gave a half-shrug. "Honestly, Scott? It was what I needed at the time."

He was working up to something, Scott was sure. "And now?" Scott prompted.

Isaac hesitated, his expression shifting into an odd mix of guilt and hope. "Now, everything's been a little….easier, I guess? But at the same time the werewolf side of things has been starting to get to me. I've been feeling a little restless being on my own."

Scott had a feeling that he knew what Isaac was really trying to say and he was equally sure that Isaac would never get there on his own, so he went ahead and answered the unspoken question without prompting. "Isaac, you don't need to ask if it's okay for you to come home – of course it is. You're always welcome in the Pack, if that's where you want to be."

Isaac hesitated, biting a lip absently as he cast his gaze around the room. Scott followed his line of sight and realised that he was studying Liam, Mason and Malia. None of whom Isaac really knew, he realised with a rush.

Stunned by the realisation, Scott turned back to Isaac, trying to put himself in his shoes. Things really had changed a lot in the last few months, and to Isaac it must seem like he had come back to a completely different place than what he had left behind. No wonder he was looking so hesitant.

"There's a few new faces, aren't there?" he probed gently.

Isaac nodded, still watching Liam out of the corner of his eye. Scott smiled a little as he continued. "They're all good people," he promised. "You don't have to give me an answer now – why not wait until you get to know them a little better?"

Isaac visibly relaxed at that, and a moment later he broke into a small grin. "Do you extend these invitations to every ex-Beacon Hills werewolf, or just me?"

"If you're talking about Jackson, I can promise you he's definitely not invited," Scott replied immediately. He shuddered a little at the thought. "Putting him, Liam and Stiles in the same room would lead to an absolute bloodbath."

The conversation was interrupted by Mason, who had apparently finally torn himself away from Liam's side and wandered over to them. "Dude, where did you get that scarf, and where can I get one?" he interjected enthusiastically.

Isaac blinked at him, a little stunned at the opening, and Scott choked back a laugh so that he could make the introductions. He then stood on the sidelines and watched Isaac flounder in the face of Mason's boundless energy for a good five minutes before rescuing him, dragging him over to a couch in the corner to have a proper catch up. As they spoke, he occasionally tore his eyes away from Isaac to sneak a glance at the rest of the room, and what he saw renewed his confidence that this was exactly what they needed.

Melissa and the Sheriff were sitting with Argent, and Scott was surprised to see that they were actually laughing. The difference was incredible – the lines on the Sheriff's face faded, and Melissa's eyes were alight with an energy that Scott hadn't seen in a long time. As for Argent, Scott could see him visibly relax as the conversation went on, and he was sure that he had never seen him speak so much in such a short amount of time.

On the other side of the room, Malia strangely seemed to be in her element. Scott hadn't realised it, but other than him she seemed to have made the most friendships amongst the group. She mostly flitted between Lydia and Kira, occasionally branching out to continue what seemed like an endless debate with the Sheriff about the best type of pizza, and to tease Liam about Hayden in that way that only big sisters can. Twice, she drifted toward where Scott was, and managed to successfully freak out Isaac within about thirty seconds of talking to him.

Scott was pretty sure it was deliberate, and likely had something to do with whatever stories Stiles had fed her about Isaac. He was tempted to berate her for it but if he was honest with himself, there was something ridiculously entertaining about Isaac's wide-eyed get-me-the-fuck-out-crazy-town look. He was forced to swallow a grin when Isaac turned in his direction, though, schooling his face into something that he hoped was slightly more appropriate.

By the time dinner was on the table, tongues had loosened and conversation was flowing freely around the group, so when the doorbell rang it took Scott a second to notice. Luckily, the Sheriff was paying more attention and he disappeared to answer it, returning a minute later with Derek Hale in tow.

Scott didn't think he'd ever seen Derek look more awkward than when he crossed the threshold into the dining room. His expression was one that Scott recognised instantly – he'd seen it on Stiles countless times, when he was forced to stand on the sidelines and watch one of his impulsive plans plummet full-speed into disaster with no way of stopping. It was a look that conveyed instant, overwhelming regret at making the decision to be here.

Melissa seemed to notice the same thing, and she was on her feet before Derek could so much as take a step backward. "Merry Christmas, Derek!" she greeted cheerfully. "Glad you could make it!" She gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, then propelled him toward the table as she disappeared into the next room. She returned an instant later with an extra chair, and Scott's eyes widened when he saw where she was placing it – right next to Argent.

Melissa's expression was blandly innocent, but Scott eyed her suspiciously. She was more manipulative than even Stiles gave her credit for, and he just knew that despite her appearance that move was deliberate. When she saw Scott looking, she threw a wicked smile in his direction, and Scott rolled his eyes before returning the attention to the impending explosion.

Argent was watching Derek with a perfectly blank expression. He wasn't glaring at him, but he definitely wasn't smiling either. Derek, on the other hand, was blatantly broadcasting his discomfort with the scenario, muscles stiff and body language poised to turn and run. The stand-off continued for nearly thirty seconds as conversation around the table trailed off into silence, heads turning in their direction as everyone took note of the situation.

It was Argent who made the first move. He moved an arm slowly, not taking his eyes off Derek for a second, and without looking pulled out the empty chair in invitation. "You're late," he noted, voice gravelly.

Derek tilted his head in surprise, and hesitated before speaking. "I was in the middle of a job," he explained after a minute. "There were a group of changelings kidnapping kids in Ohio; Braeden and I just finished sorting it out yesterday."

This time, Argent couldn't keep his interest out of his expression. "You've been hunting?" he asked, clearly curious.

Scott released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding when Derek relaxed a fraction and finally moved toward the offered chair. "Yeah."

"You don't see the irony in that?" Argent actually sounded amused, and Derek huffed a noise of agreement when he sat down.

"Believe me, I know. It wasn't really intentional – we sort of stumbled into it when we passed through a town in Idaho and found out that four of the locals had disappeared within the last month."

Scott relaxed a little as Derek spoke, letting the words wash over him. Argent seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying, and over the next few minutes any animosity that may have been there melted away, leaving behind the camaraderie that had been just beginning before everyone parted ways in La Iglesia.

In fact, camaraderie seemed to be the mood of the night, Scott realised with surprise. Maybe he had underestimated how close everyone had become, or maybe it was just the spirit of the season, but conversation was flowing naturally around the table and when he glanced at his friends all of their expressions were openly cheerful.

All of them, that was, except for Stiles.

Frowning, Scott eyed Stiles with concern. His friend had chosen to sit right down the end of the table, and was focussing more on his food than the conversation taking place around him. He was unnaturally quiet, not speaking except when spoken to, and barely lifted his eyes from his plate. Scott sniffed with as much subtlety as he could muster, hoping to detect his friend's mood. Finally, he caught it. Beneath the layers of affection and happiness flooding the room, there was a faint thread of melancholy and anxiety that he recognised all too well.

His good mood evaporated, Scott turned his attention back to his own plate, mind whirling. He strained his memory, trying to think of anything that had happened that Stiles might have taken the wrong way, but he came up completely blank. Then again, he had spent most of the evening with Isaac. Something could have easily happened without his noticing.

The possibilities nagged at him throughout the rest of meal, and Scott eventually decided to put it aside until he could catch Stiles alone to talk to him. He finally got his chance just before dessert when he spotted Stiles slipping out of the room and stood up, muttering something about the bathroom before taking off after him.

Stiles must have been moving quickly because by the time Scott made it out of the dining room the hallway was already empty. He frowned in confusion before his question was answered by a cool draught dancing over his skin, raising goosebumps up his arms. Turning, Scott followed the draught to the back door just in time to see it swing closed against the dark night.

There was a pair of Stiles' shoes near the back door and Scott didn't hesitate, squatting down to quickly slip them over his bare feet and thanking his lucky stars that Stiles was a half-size larger than him. When he was done, he straightened and opened the door, peering through the darkness until he could make out the outline of his friend.

Stiles was walking a familiar path across the frosty ground, and Scott's eyes traced it further until he pinpointed his destination. When he spotted it, he had to swallow past a lump in his throat. Then he closed the door and stepped off the porch, slowly following Stiles' footsteps to their old treehouse.

The wooden structure was barely standing anymore, and was definitely not safe for child's play. The roof had mostly rotted away, and the planks lining one of the walls were split clean in two, clearly damaged in a storm. The floor must have fallen apart over the years, and now it consisted of only two or three broad pieces of timber. It was there that Stiles had ended up.

His friend had his back pressed carefully into the tree, his legs dangling freely in the air below him as he stared at the clouded sky. Scott's heart ticked up a notch as he eyed the beams that were currently the only thing standing between Stiles and a twelve-foot freefall to the ground. They didn't look particularly strong, but then again, Stiles never had given a second thought to his own safety.

Or, well, he never used to. So many things had changed over the last few years, sometimes Scott found it hard to keep up.

He examined the wooden steps nailed into the tree doubtfully, then tested one with his hand. It wobbled dangerously against the mild pressure, and Scott looked back up at Stiles with concern. How the hell had he made it up there without breaking his neck?

Well, Stiles might have put his faith in the carpentry skills of their eight-year-old selves, but Scott wasn't quite as confident. Abandoning the steps altogether, Scott gathered his strength and leaped onto a low-hanging branch, and from there jumped until he felt his hands wrap around a higher branch. He pulled the rest of his body up to the branch with a grunt, and pressed a hand to the trunk to steady himself as he stood, balancing precariously on the narrow support and preparing himself for the next leap. He continued like this until he eventually reached Stiles' height, and his friend shifted over a couple of feet to make room for him on the timber floor.

Scott appreciated the gesture, but he had a feeling that his weight combined with Stiles' would lead to the whole thing collapsing beneath them, so he settled down on his tree branch instead.

"I almost forgot this place existed," Scott broke the silence, patting the remnants of their treehouse fondly.

Stiles nodded slowly in reply. "It's easy to forget a lot of things, these days." His voice was distant, and Scott frowned at the melancholy radiating from him and the oddness of the words.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, concerned. "What's going on?"

Stiles wasn't looking at him, still focussed on something that only he could see buried within the cloud cover. "Nothing," he rebuffed gently. "You should get back inside before anyone notices you're gone."

The words churned Scott's stomach, and his frown deepened as he watched his friend with alarm. "Not unless you come back in as well."

This time, Stiles actually turned to look at him when he replied. "Dude, go. I just need a bit of a break from people – the whole social anxiety thing, you know? I'll be in soon."

"Bullshit."

If Scott was hoping for a reaction, he definitely got one. Stiles' eyes snapped with angry fire, and his mouth narrowed into a thin line. It was strange, Scott mused - a few months ago he would barely have recognised this expression. But Stiles had been so on edge lately that he seemed to be wearing this look almost every day.

Still, if Stiles was hoping to rattle Scott with his glare, then he had another thing coming. Scott hardened his resolve and stared back, quirking one eyebrow in response. "You can drop the show, Stiles, I'm not going anywhere. I know there's something else going on with you, and I know that if you don't get it out in the open it's just going to eat away at you until it explodes at the worst possible time."

He took a deep breath, lowering his voice to a pleading whisper as he finished talking. "You can talk to me - you know that, right? I know I fucked up royally before, but I promise you I'm not going to make that mistake again. There'll be no judgement here, I swear."

Stiles' glare softened, but his muscles were tense and he didn't move from his confrontational position, and when he spoke his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Okay, Scott, if you say so."

The words stabbed into him, and Scott flinched before he could stop himself. A familiar regret washed over him, and he swallowed against a lump in his throat. However, when he looked back up at Stiles with an apology ready on his lips, he was surprised to see that Stiles no longer looked angry. Instead, his expression radiated guilt, and he was watching Scott with concern.

"Shit, I'm sorry, that was a really shitty thing to say," Stiles backpedalled frantically, brown eyes wide and glistening in the moonlight. "I didn't mean that, Scott. But, seriously, you should go back inside. I'm fine."

And there were those words again. Scott ground his teeth together, guilt immediately washed away by frustration. He was getting pretty sick of hearing those words from Stiles, when he was clearly so far from fine right now, and had been for a long time.

"You're not fine, Stiles," he bit out. Closing his eyes, Scott took a deep breath, releasing slowly. When he was calmer, he opened his eyes again and studied his friend, choosing his words carefully. "You're not fine, and you're acting off tonight, even for you. I'm worried about you. Just, please, tell me what's going on."

Stiles bit his lip, then gave a small shake of his head before tearing his eyes away from Scott and gazing back at the clouds. "Thanks for looking out for me, Scotty," he mumbled in a voice so small that Scott doubted he would have heard him if it weren't for his werewolf hearing.

The silence stretched between them, and Stiles didn't say anything more. Scott drew a breath, preparing his next argument, but then hesitated as realisation struck him. He was so focussed on figuring out what was going on in Stiles' head that he almost forgot who he was dealing with. This was Stiles. Trying to push him into doing something was a sure-fire way to ensure that he did the exact opposite.

Releasing his breath with a sigh, Scott settled back on his branch, following Stiles' line of vision to the formless clouds. Whatever Stiles could see in there was still hidden to him, so he gave up trying to decipher it and instead let his mind wander, enjoying the feel of the crisp breeze brushing his skin and the gentle quiet of the evening air. If Stiles wasn't ready to tell him, that was okay. He could wait.

Scott wasn't sure how long it was before Stiles finally spoke. It might have been five minutes, or ten, or maybe even longer. When he did finally speak, though, the words took Scott by surprise. "Do you remember those crazy Christmas dinners Mum used to make?"

Scott stared at him, momentarily speechless. His chest ached as he nodded, and when he spoke his voice was wistful. "Yeah, of course I do. They were, what, six courses long? And she just made it up as she went along, so some of the dishes were fantastic and others were completely inedible."

"That's putting it mildly – remember the black pudding disaster?" There was a hint of a smile on Stiles' lips as he continued to gaze at the sky, and Scott couldn't help but smile back.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, stomach twisting at the memory. That was one experiment that failed dramatically. It had been dumped in the bin before the meal was even finished, after everyone had taken a single mouthful and decided that it was too terrible to feed to the stray dog that lived two houses away.

Stiles huffed a small laugh, then his face grew serious once more, and he finally dropped his gaze from the sky, staring at his hands instead. "I had completely forgotten about it," he admitted suddenly. "And last year, I don't think I thought about mum at all over Christmas. I was too distracted with everything that was going on."

A pang of pain cut into Scott's chest, and his voice was gentle when he spoke. "That's okay, Stiles," he assured him. "That's completely normal, and it's the way it should be. She wouldn't want you to be mourning her every year, you know that."

"Yeah, I know," Stiles sighed in response, and Scott frowned. His heart hadn't skipped a beat; he wasn't lying. Which meant that Scott still had absolutely no idea what was going on with him.

The moment stretched on and Stiles seemed to be done talking, so Scott decided to take a chance. "There's more, though, isn't there?" he asked, cautiously.

Stiles scrunched up his face, before apparently coming to a decision. He swung around on the narrow floor to face Scott, who flinched as the timber creaked a little under his weight. Jesus Christ. Once this was done, he was definitely tearing the whole treehouse down before Stiles killed himself.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Stiles' expression, which was uncharacteristically raw and open. His walls were completely down, which was something that Scott had only experienced a handful of times in a lifetime of friendship, and his concern increased threefold as he studied his friend.

"She was my mother, and sometimes I go months without thinking about her. No matter how important someone might be, it's easy to forget them when they're not in your life every day."

There was something familiar about his words, and Scott tilted his head to the side. Finally, he thought he knew where this was going.

Stiles' next words confirmed Scott's suspicions. "This time next year, we'll all be off at different colleges. How long is going to be until you all forget me?"

Scott fought back a smile at the question, his limbs flooding with relief. Of all the things that could be eating away at Stiles, this at least had a simple solution. Hell, this wasn't even a problem – the hard part would be making Stiles realise that.

When he replied, he made sure held Stiles' gaze steadily, and he spoke without hesitation. "We're not going to forget you, or each other, because we're not going to let ourselves drift apart," he said confidently. "We're Pack, remember? That has to mean something."

The words didn't have the desired effect, and Stiles' expression was unchanged. "For you guys, maybe. I know there's a weird connection between you all that's on a completely supernatural level, and maybe you'll all have a strong werewolfy-banshee-y instinct to keep in touch. But I'm not part of that."

"Of course you are!" Scott protested. Surely he knew that?

Stiles shook head. "No, I'm not." His voice was weary, and Scott was struck with the unpleasant realisation that this must have been eating at him for a while. "It's a nice sentiment, Scott, but let's just say it how it is. I'm human. I'm on the outside of all of this supernatural stuff, and I always will be. None of you actually need me like you need each other – the only reason I'm involved in this is ordinary, mundane friendship. And that never survives college."

The words stung a little, and Scott could feel his own hurt piling on top of the ache he was feeling for Stiles as he replied. "I don't think our friendship is ordinary." He hesitated, unsure what it was that Stiles was looking for. Finally, he decided to take a plunge. "Stiles, what do you need me to do to prove it to you? Try to do it on my own, without you there to help me, and see how badly I can fuck it up and turn everyone away? Guess what, I already did that. And as for everyone else – Malia would be an out-of-control angry coyote if it weren't for you. Lydia probably would have murdered us all out of frustration for not having anyone she can talk to on her level. And Liam looks up to you like a brother, you've gotta know that."

Stiles didn't look convinced, and Scott's voice was strained when he next spoke. "We need you, okay? We do. And, okay, maybe you don't have the Pack instincts to stick together like the rest of us do, but that doesn't mean we don't have those instincts toward you. You're as much as part of this as anyone – you're kidding yourself if you think we're just going to let you drift away."

Something changed in Stiles' expression, and he dropped his eyes to his feet. When he finally spoke, he took Scott by surprise. "I have an application for a college scholarship sitting in my room. The school counsellor has been pushing me to send it in because she thinks that I'd actually have a decent chance at getting it, and the college offers a really good course in criminology."

Scott tilted his head, confused. "What's the problem?"

Stiles hesitated. "It's for UPenn."

Scott's eyes widened, and he broke into a broad grin. "What? Dude, that would be amazing! You should definitely put it in, what the hell are you waiting for?"

Stiles stared at him as though he was speaking a foreign language. "It's in Philadelphia! I'd never see you guys, or dad."

Scott rolled his eyes. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say, including that time you swore you saw a cat be eaten by a bird," he pointed out. "Of course you'd see us. And, honestly? I'm starting to get offended that you think I'd lose touch with you so easily. Do you really think that I'm that bad of a friend?"

He paused, a thought striking him, and suddenly his stomach turned with fear. "Actually, I'm starting to think I should be the one that's worried. After all, college could be the perfect opportunity for you to get away from all of this supernatural stuff. How do I know you're not going to drift away from me?"

To his surprise, Stiles snorted incredulously. "Because you're the only person who'll put up with me for longer than five minutes," he replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Seriously, Scott, I'm terrible at making friends. Who exactly is going to drag me away from you?"

Scott pressed his lips together, not comforted at all by that, and Stiles must have noticed because he grew serious as he continued. "Scott, you're my best friend, and trust me, from my end? That's not going to change. I need you, dude. I'm not just going to let you go without a fight."

Stiles was watching him with wide, honest eyes, and Scott knew that he meant every word, so he took advantage of the moment to bring his point home. "But that's just it, Stiles. I feel the same way about you."

The words finally seemed to sink in, and as Scott watched, the tension visibly drained from Stiles' body. His eyes were still locked on Scott's, and he gave an almost-imperceptible nod as he slumped sideways against the tree trunk. Scott took a moment to study his scent, and it confirmed what he already suspected – Stiles' anxiety was gradually fading, washed away by relief.

Scot finally allowed himself to relax onto his branch, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Absently, he wondered just how long Stiles had been holding onto those doubts. He had a feeling that conversation had been a long time coming; he could almost feel the weight lift from his shoulders and knew that Stiles was feeling it too. Taking its place was a warmth and affection that Scott hadn't felt in a while, and he couldn't help a small bubble of hope. Maybe they could get through this after all.

Someone heaved a heavy sigh from below, and Scott nearly jumped out of his skin as he jerked toward the sound. Stiles actually did jump, then frantically flailed as he tried to catch his balance, leaning dangerously close to the edge of his narrow perch. Scott's eyes widened and he thrust his arms forward, catching Stiles' side to steady him.

"You two are hopeless," a familiar voice said from below.

It was dark, but Scott recognised Derek's voice immediately, and when he peered through the branches he could make out the older man standing at the base of the tree.

"How long have you been standing there?" Stiles exclaimed, shocked.

"Long enough," Derek grunted. "Scott, you really need to start paying attention to your surroundings. How have you survived this long? Seriously."

He had a point, but that didn't stop a flare of irritation as Scott narrowed his eyes in his direction. "What do you want, Derek?"

He didn't need to see Derek's face to know he was rolling his eyes. "You two idiots disappeared over half an hour ago. Your mother's worried that Stiles is going to freeze to death, Parrish is holding Lydia back so she doesn't come out here and bang both of your heads together, and Liam is so anxious that he looks like he permanently needs to go to the bathroom. Everyone's freaking out, so I want you to come back inside so I can go back to enjoying my pudding in peace."

Scott's mouth quirked into a smile before he could stop it, and when he glanced over at Stiles he was glad to see a hint of humour in his expression. "You just don't want to admit you're worried about us," Stiles sing-songed in Derek's direction, then laughed a little. Turning back to Scott, he admitted, "Your mum has a point though. I'm fairly sure my butt's frozen to the wood at this point."

Rolling his eyes, Scott carefully stood up on his branch and offered Stiles a hand. "Better get you inside, then," he said. Stiles looked at his proffered hand warily, then grasped it and hauled himself to his feet.

They shuffled places on the branch so that Stiles could start climbing down, which was an interesting experiment in spatial physics that Scott could have done without. Then he had the dubious pleasure of watching Stiles slip and slide his way down the trunk, which might just be one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, and strengthened his resolve to tear down this deathtrap at the first opportunity. Somehow, though, Stiles made it down in one piece, and Scott jumped down to land lightly on his feet behind him.

They made their way back into the living room shoulder-to-shoulder, Derek a few steps in front, and as they approached Scott realised that the other werewolf had been telling the truth. There was a heavy scent of anxiety drifting from the living room, and when they walked in the door he could feel multiple sets of assessing eyes sweep over them. Apparently, whatever appearance they gave off was reassuring, because the scent faded almost immediately, giving way to happiness.

Liam was sharing a couch with Kira, and the two of them had clearly been mid-conversation when Scott entered the room. She met his eyes and they shared a quick smile before Scott swept his gaze over the room, taking note of everyone else. Argent was chatting with the Sheriff near the kitchen, and Melissa was clearing the table with assistance from Parrish, laughing as two of them shared a joke. Lydia was in the process of crossing the room, and as Scott watched she approached Liam and gently nudged his shoulder. He shuffled over on the couch and she slipped in beside him, saying something to Kira that made her eyes light up and her expression break out into a grin.

Scott turned his attention to the far corner, where Isaac was sandwiched between Malia and Mason. Surprisingly, he didn't look remotely concerned – in fact, Scott realised with shock, the last of his tension seemed to have eased, and he appeared far more relaxed than he had been all night. When he saw Scott looking, he gave him a subtle nod before turning back to the conversation.

"Well, Scotty, I've got to hand it to you," Stiles murmured from beside him, and Scott turned to look at him, confused. Stiles had clearly done the same survey as Scott, and he smiled wryly when he met Scott's questioning gaze. "There's no swords in walls," he clarified, gesturing to the room at large. "No shots fired, no throats torn out, and if I had to put a name to it I'd say you've actually created a somewhat functional Pack."

"Somewhat functional?" Scott repeated, feigning hurt.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he didn't stop smiling and his eyes were shining with renewed energy. "That's the best you're going to get out of me – I've had enough after school special moments for one day."

"Fair enough," Scott responded lightly. He quirked a small smile, though, when Stiles clapped him on the shoulder and made his way across the room to Malia. A moment later, he couldn't help but make a small noise of surprise, raising his eyebrows as he tried to process the sight of Stiles voluntarily striking up a conversation with Isaac.

And maybe it was the heat of the moment or the spirit of the season, but Scott still welcomed the warm sense of satisfaction that swelled within him as he looked over at his friends, his family, his Pack. It had been such a long journey to get here, and they had been so damaged for so long, but they had made it.

They were together, and Scott couldn't help but smile.

A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and I hope you all have a chance to relax this year!