A/N: The inspiration from this came from a comment Dylan O'Brien made about Stiles feeling responsible for Scott's condition and it was orinigally a tiny little piece to address that line and the boys' friendship. For some reason it got super long. Sorry. Also, I've fantasized about writing about Scott on the Full Moon. The nature of the story means it's in Stiles' POV, another challenge I was sort of scared to undertake. Hopefully I did both these characters justice.

Basically, Scott and Stiles face the 3rd full moon. Takes place a couple of weeks after the s1 finale. Some liberties have been taken with the whole transformation process.

By Scott's third full moon, Stiles had learned to be more observant, to pay attention to the less obvious quirks that his best friend displayed on those days. Panic attacks. Panic attacks in showers. Irritation. Anything that might be a sign of Scott losing control. He felt like had to do this, since he knew Scott couldn't do it himself.

In an ideal situation, they would just lock Scott up in some strong room the day of the full moon and be done with it. But there was no such thing as an ideal situation. His mood was erratic, he was stronger and more restless. There was no strong room.

And he had to go to school. School, with its many annoyances, and frustrations... and Allison.

For the first time, on a full moon, everything was okay between them. There was no anxiety, and definitely no breakup. She knew about his secret, and while it was still something she was trying to grasp and understand, it was definitely a weight off Scott's shoulders.

Stiles was relieved as well, because this would mean that Scott would be more agreeable, less homicidal.

Nevertheless, he had suggested to Scott that he play the sick card the next day. Just till they got the whole full moon thing sorted out. It wouldn't be so hard to pull off. With a temperature that ran slightly warmer than average on a good day, he could pretend he was down with the flu. He refused. Stiles was no stranger to Scott's stubbornness, even it was a bad idea. He didn't always go about things in anything resembling a logical fashion, and he let his emotions get the best of him at times, but when he wanted to do something, he usually did. In this case, it was his still constant hatred of everything involving his lycanthropy that made him so desperate to fight.

They'd just finished a particularly gruesome practice - Coach Finstock had not quite forgiven Scott and Danny for making him looking foolish at the school dance a couple of weeks back, and was taking it out on the entire team. Though, seeing as they'd run 5 laps instead of last week's 10, things seemed to be improving.

"I'm going to school. I'm not going to cancel my entire life," Scott had mumbled, as he took off his gear with more force than necessary. It was a line he'd taken from Stiles and in a tiny way, he hadn't used it properly, but Stiles got the point.

"It's just for the day, Scott. Remember what happened the last full moon? All the stuff you did?" he'd replied quietly.

He almost regretted bringing it up a second later. Scott had paused in the act of fishing out a towel and gripped the edge of the locker instead, his eyes searching its contents awkwardly. They'd never really spoken again about the events of the last full moon - after the excessive puppy dog eyes Scott had engaged in the day after - and it was clear from his expression that it was still a bit of a sore spot. Stiles felt pretty sore about it too, not so much that his friend had let himself be a victim of his own animalistic impulses, but that Lydia had been more interested in Scott than him (and maybe the whole rubbing it in his face thing still stung a little bit too).

The tides had changed a lot since the formal and Lydia's attack. She'd just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago, ordered to rest, since her wounds were healing so slowly. She'd even asked to see him. Even if she didn't remember what had happened to her, she remembered his big speech at the dance, and that he'd tried to save her. Stiles had spent every afternoon since then by her side. They weren't going to stroll down the hallways holding hands anytime soon - he knew she still had some feelings for Jackson, for some reason - but he'd made more progress in the past few weeks than he had in years. In light of recent developments, an illicit kiss meant little to him.

He'd never admit this, but the combined guilt from Scott and now, Lydia, seemed to work in his favor anyway.

"Stiles..." Scott had begun, and Stiles stopped him before the boy could utter another apology he didn't need to hear.

"Don't, Scott. You know what I mean. There are too many people, too many opportunities for you to … go off the rails."

Scott had nodded in silent agreement, then as if coming out of a reverie shook his head wildly instead. "No... No. I need to do this, Stiles. I'm getting better at controlling it. I just need to face the day like I would normally and …" Words seemed to fail him, a subtle sign he was under pressure. His eyes darted about again for a moment more before settling on his friend. Determined. "I can do this."

Stiles watched him from a casual distance the next day nonetheless, ready to jump in and try and rein him if he lost control. Scott was antsy, but mostly he was alright. By lunch though he noticed him beginning to visibly struggle. Randomly sinking into moodiness and staring almost obsessively at some unknown spot in front of him for periods of time. The food irritated him and he said as much. Stiles didn't comment much on his behavior, knowing that drawing Scott's attention to it might frustrate him more. No point going there if he wasn't harming anyone.

There was a worrying interlude when Stiles had left him at his locker for a while to go to the bathroom. He got out to find Scott further down the hall, standing behind Allison with his eyes closed like he was taking in her scent. He was pretty sure Allison didn't know her boyfriend was behind her. Het lifted a lock of her hair, and the movement finally got her attention. She jumped and let out a startled 'Oh my God!'. The blank look on his face - and the fact that he was so close to her and wouldn't move - caused her to back up against her locker, books falling out of her hands.

Stiles groaned and ran his hand across his face, running haphazardly to the commotion.

By the time he made it to them, she had gathered herself a little, and had bent to pick up her books, eyes never leaving Scott.

"Scott... what are you doing?" she half-whispered, clearly a bit freaked. Stiles wondered the same thing. What had he been doing?

Scott blinked. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." he said quietly, not really looking that sorry at all.

Allison noticed Stiles and gave him a questioning look. From Scott's back, he mouthed, "Full Moon" and shrugged. Her eyes had widened a little in understanding, but he knew she wasn't placated by the way she seemed to be trying to squeeze herself into her locker. He'd probably made things worse actually.

"Hey man," Stiles said brightly, trying to ease the tension. He placed a hand on Scott's shoulder and began to turn him away from Allison. "Say goodbye to the girlfriend, we've got to get to class." Scott resisted at first, eyes never leaving her, then sighed.

"I'll see you after school?" he asked her, like nothing had just happened. She nodded quietly, and Stiles was a little miffed that his friend couldn't see the poorly hidden alarm in his girlfriend's eyes.

He was hesitant to part ways with him for their final classes, lingering at Scott's locker as he changed books.

"You doing alright, dude?" he finally asked.

Scott's movement was unusually slow and calculated, his face set. He nodded very slowly.

Stiles licked his lips, his fingers tightening on the strap of his backpack. "Just one more class, okay? Then we can get out of here."

"I'm fine." Scott said, his voice noticeably lower. He shut his locker door very gently, his hands lingering on the metal. That's when Stiles noticed the shaking. Scott's body shuddered slightly, like he had just swallowed something vile.

"You sure about that? Because in case you didn't notice you were practically preying on your girlfriend."

Scott frowned, looking defensive. Or offended. Stiles couldn't tell. "I wasn't going to hurt her." he snapped, as if it was the most ridiculous notion in the world. "I just needed to feel..." he drifted off, looking a little embarrassed. It took Stiles a moment, but he got it. The calming effect of the anchor.

Stiles didn't have anything to say to that. "Oh.. well... just be less of a creeper about it next time then?"

By the time Scott looked at him again, he looked normal. He even offered a lopsided smile at Stiles' comment. "I'm fine, Stiles." he said, patting him on the shoulder before leaving him for class.

Stiles practically raced out of his last class, more unfocused than usual with worry that Scott had run off in a maddened daze and was currently having a meltdown in some unknown corner.

It was for nothing, though. He found his best friend looking cheerful outside with Allison, his arms wrapped loosely round her waist. Whatever issue she had with him earlier seemed to be gone. Her head rested on his and she was talking quietly to him. Stiles couldn't resist venturing closer to eavesdrop.

It turned out Allison wanted to be with him when he shifted that night. Stiles had to agree that it wasn't a good idea, doing his best to ignore the defiant look on her face. Sure, he and Scott knew how much power Allison's mere presence over Scott's changes but it seemed pointless. He was going to shift no matter what or who was there. Besides, now that her father knew about Scott, he wasn't going to be thrilled at the idea of Allison being out of his sight on a full moon, and neither Scott or Stiles were willing to have him come guns blazing tonight. He was still very unhappy that Allison was dating him.

It took a while to convince her otherwise. Allison making some very good arguments about how she could at least make the lead up to the full moon more pleasant for Scott with her presence, and how, unlike Stiles, she could shoot him if he got free. At one point, the idea began to appeal to Stiles too. He'd seen first hand how easily she calmed him down without trying; he'd also seen how traumatized Scott was by arrows.

Eventually, it was Scott that was left to convince them both. His mounting frustration and fear of hurting Allison began to mix with his already volatile temper, negating any positive effects she should be having on him. Stiles decided that it was probably for the best that they end the conversation. Allison, on the other hand, looked like she was ready to argue her cause some more. At the end, they came to a very reluctant compromise that she would let it go on the condition that she could be around for the next full moon, when he promised to have even better control. She also promised to go home, lock her doors and keep her bow ready, in case Scott got free and made a beeline for her like last time.

Their parting was a bit melodramatic, as all things Scott and Allison tended to be, with a seemingly endless parade of kisses and hand holding. Stiles rolled his eyes and told Scott he'd be in the truck. One would think they wouldn't see themselves tomorrow.

Luckily there was no practice that day - thank God - so Stiles dropped Scott off. The ride home was tense as Scott sank into his dark mood again, fueled by worrying about Allison and her trigger-happy family, ignoring his friend's many attempts to lighten him up. By the time they got to Scott's house, Stiles was actually relieved to be free of him for a little bit while he went to check on Lydia. He briefly wondered if that was a good idea, but it was still day time and there wasn't much they could do till evening. He also harbored the impression that Scott was getting tired of Stiles' lingering presence as well.

It was only for a few hours a month, but dealing with this side of Scott was exhausting and terrifying. It was something he hadn't been able to fully reconcile yet. Before the bite, he could probably count the number of times Scott had gotten into a proper rage. He was just one of those people that tended to roll over and take most injustices handed to him, from the occasional shove into the lockers by some asshole, or the condescending comment from a disappointed teacher. He wasn't a coward, he just seemed to shrink at the slightest chance of confrontation, like he wasn't sure what to do with himself.

It was just Scott's thing. A skill he'd acquired from a younger age to deal with a very temperamental father both of them were glad he didn't have to deal with anymore.

Ever since he'd become a werewolf, it was almost like all those years of repressed anger was pushed to the surface. He'd gone from having a death-grip on his emotions to having no control whatsoever. He was better at keeping his heart rate in check than he was, say, 6 weeks ago, but the learning curve was slow and Stiles knew it would still be a while yet before Scott achieved Derek Hale levels of control. If ever. Derek had an advantage of being born with it that Scott couldn't replicate. And ever since Derek had betrayed him - it was so bad that his name was off limits, which Stiles had no problem with - all he had was Stiles.

As he watched Scott slowly climb out of the vehicle, a scowl etched across his soft features, he just wanted this day to be over.

"I'll be back in a few of hours okay?" Stiles called out.

Scott ignored him.

By the time Stiles returned, late, it was practically dark, and a quick visit to the kitchen for a snack brought his attention to another quirk of Full Moon Scott that he wished he'd remembered sooner.

The need to go the full moon alone without him.

Scott's phone was on the kitchen table, already with a missed call and a concerned text from Allison. Scott was usually attached at the hip to his phone.

Stiles swallowed his building panic, running upstairs to his room. His backpack was on the floor, sheets untouched. No sign of Scott. He tried to sound as calm as possible as he called out Scott's name in each room of the McCall house.

He just had to give in to Lydia's pleading for him to stay a bit longer, didn't he? He couldn't help it. She was all red hair and huge green eyes and soft-looking skin. And she smelled edible. Like ice cream. The thought of saying no to her was absolutely unheard of.

You dumbass, he chided himself.

He ran out the front door to the back, a hand rubbing his close-cropped hair. It made sense. The night of the party when he'd abandoned everyone and rushed home to face his first transition alone, despite not knowing what was happening to him. The other night when he'd tried to get Stiles to leave... No matter how much they planned Scott always seemed to want to be on his own.

Was that a werewolf thing? He'd have to look it up.

He found Scott in the basement 10 agonizing minutes later completely by accident. It was so rarely used that Stiles had even forgotten it was there. He was on his way out to drive around and look for his friend, his heart already sinking at the possibility of having to contact Derek for help. Help he wasn't sure he'd get seeing as they'd basically shunned him since that fateful night. His heart sank even further at the thought of maybe contacting Allison's dad to catch a stray werewolf. He'd been standing by the staircase, looking miserably around the house and hating Scott with every fibre of his being for being so unpredictable when he noticed the tiny black doorknob.

The boy was less than impressed that he was discovered.

"Goddammit, Stiles," he mumbled from the corner of the dimly lit room. It was surprisingly large and a bit creepy, the walls lined with old boxes and tools. There was a dangling light bulb above the stairway but it seemed the only other one in the middle of the room was burnt out. The musty smell made it clear there weren't any windows, and people didn't come in here often.

"Dude, seriously? What the hell?" Stiles tried to sound pissed but his voice was betrayed by relief. "I thought you'd gone missing or something! I almost called Derek Hale for God's sake! Why would you do that to me?"

"I'm fine," was all he got.

If he had a dollar for every time Scott had said that. "What are you doing here? What happened to our original plan?"

Scott didn't answer. His eyes drifted up, and even in the poor light, Stiles recognized the serial-killer look. He was going to have play this cool. They'd already lost time, and he wondered if his friend wasn't already too far gone to accept being tied up. His mind began to race with new options. He could run out now and lock Scott in there. But what would he use to hold the door?

"Scott.. buddy... it's almost..."

"You think I don't know that?" Scott suddenly snapped. Stiles took a cautious step back. That's when he heard it. The soft chink coming from Scott's corner. He raised his phone up, hitting the home button to get the backlight on.

Scott winced at the sudden light and turned his head away. His hands and feet were wrapped in brand new chains, the ends wrapped and padlocked around some old pipes and a huge wooden beam behind him. They were the ones that Stiles had brought over last month. In theory it was always the plan, and it was surprisingly intuitive of Scott to do this himself, but it still looked so disturbing. He was wearing only his jeans, but despite the chill in the air he was sweating. He wondered how long Scott had been sitting there, in the dark, alone.

You think I'm going to let you put this on me? Chain me up like a dog?

Stiles wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at him, but he knew his mouth was agape, and when Scott finally looked back at him, noticing, he knew his friend was embarrassed. He realized a little too late that Scott could smell emotions particularly well at this point.

Whatever force that had made Scott willingly tie himself up was overtaken by anger and shame from whatever he'd gotten of Stiles and he became restless, pulling on the metal.

"Woah, woah, Scott, stop!" Stiles cried out, his hands in front of him. "What are you doing?"

"These," Scott snarled, looking at the chains like he didn't know how they got on and was disgusted. "chains. I am not an animal, Stiles!" He dragged on them again, and Stiles was worried he might break them. He wanted to check if they'd been fastened properly but decided that opportunity was long gone. Scott looked like he would throttle him if he came nearer.

"Hey, look. No-one said that you are, but you and I know you're better off here. Just for the next few hours." Scott shook his head, still tugging, repeated nos coming out in a tiny whine. "Think about what you could do if you didn't stay here. You could hurt people. People like me.. and Allison."

Invoking the name of Allison was a tried and tested way to get on Scott's good side. It was a little aggravating, just how much stock he put in her, but at times like this, Stiles was grateful the relationship existed. He sometimes wondered what Scott's anchor would have been if she hadn't come along. It was clear that the feelings at play were of a different intensity than any he and Stiles had despite their history. He was sort of glad he didn't have that pressure on him. Half the time the stability of Scott's moods seemed to rest on how his relationship with Allison was doing. He didn't like to think of what would happen if or when they broke up permanently.

There was a pause, and for what seemed like an eternity, the room was quiet. Finally Scott moved, but it was to crawl slowly out of the darkness. He stopped when the chains wouldn't go any further and rested on his knees. Human, sad eyes cast upwards at Stiles, almost pleading.

"Distract me?"

"What?"

"Distract me! Take my mind off it. Off ...these." he whispered, raising his hands slightly to signify the chains.

Stiles nodded quickly, strategically sitting on the bottom step, which was also a nice distance across the room. At eye level, it didn't look as bad. At the right angle one couldn't even see most of the chains.

He said so. The glare he got in reply was actually scarier than usual.

Scott watched him for a while and Stiles found himself doing the same. This was the first time he'd an opportunity to properly observe Scott during a full moon and it was unnerving. There was a creepy flash of the wolf as it seeped in and out of his friend's consciousness. It was amazing how obvious the shift was. The slight raise of an eyebrow, a hint of a rare smirk he recognized from the day of the last full moon, after he'd kissed Lydia and lied about it. The look in his eyes that seemed to be fantasizing about how much he would enjoy tearing Stiles apart. The smirk was so out of place and unusual on Scott's face, which was more accustomed to the more flattering squints of laughter, the asymmetry of his one-sided smile and wide-eyed confusion. It made Stiles feel like he was sitting in the room with a different person.

Just as quickly though for much shorter lengths of time, his eyebrows would drop, eyes assuming a certain fear and tiredness, his lips would purse and his breathing would become more audible. Tense. Like he just found himself somewhere he didn't want to be and didn't know how to get out.

Kind of like being in werewolf labor, he mused. He thought this was a great metaphor, but decided it was best if he kept it to himself, not really sure Scott would appreciate it right now. His mind soon wandered, mentally calculating again how fast he could get to the basement door if or when Scott broke free. His eyes searched the dark room. Maybe he should hold some sort of weapon. He would kill for Allison's bow and arrow. Then again he wouldn't know what to do with it. Why did he agree to not let Allison be here? Was it too late to call her?

"Stiles..."

"Yeah?"

"You're not doing a very good job of distracting me," It came out as a warning.

Stiles waved his arms in the air apologetically, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. Nothing was coming to his head. Convenient. "Um.. so... hiding in the basement." he started, lamely.

Scott sighed, the comment obviously not quite doing what he wanted. "I don't know. I didn't want to risk it." he shrugged. His voice was dull and monotone.

"What? Hurting someone? Me? You were ten feet away from me last time and you didn't hurt me. You've never hurt me." The last line was a bit of a realization for Stiles, but he knew there could always be a first time for everything. He remembered the words Chris Argent had spat at him in the hospital about putting a bullet in his friend's head. The thought was too morbid and Stiles shook it off.

"I had other things on my mind then." Scott said, his voice rising with obvious impatience, like Stiles was being thick.

Fair enough. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

"And you're an idiot for it!" Stiles was temporarily taken aback by the attack, but steeled himself, repeating the mantra over and over in his head that Scott, his Scott, wasn't here right now.

"Maybe I am. " Stiles said quietly, his fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his phone. He'd stick it out as long as he could, knowing from experience that it would get worse before it got better. It wouldn't be long now before he lost him completely anyway.

"Maybe. Maybe you want me to hurt you. Maybe you'd enjoy that." Scott's voice was menacing, predatory.

"You know that's not true."

"I don't know, Stiles. You're always here, wanting to be near me during the full moon. Even though we both know you can't do anything about it." he watched Stiles, then raised an eyebrow. "Or are you hoping to get the bite from me? Sorry, I mean I wish I could, but I can't help you there..." His smile then was skeevy, like he was having the dirtiest thought. Like he really did wish he could bite Stiles.

"I don't want it," Stiles was incredulous at the turn the conversation had suddenly taken.

"Liar!" Scott yelled, much louder this time. His body strained against the chains, not once breaking eye contact.

Stiles jumped a little at the noise and berated himself for doing so, but he but didn't look away. Scott's muscles were tense, glistening like the rest of his skin with perspiration. His wrists were bruising from the friction with the metal. He tried to feel something other than fear and sadness, knowing Scott would sense it, and then he wished he had the righteous anger of the last full moon. So he let himself focus on the accusation being thrown at him. It was a bit annoying actually, how all the werewolves he'd met seemed to assume that they were hot stuff.

"Listen, Scott. I don't want it." He encouraged Scott to hear his heartbeat. It was something Stiles had thought about more than once as he lay in bed at night, or watched Scott perform some magical leap on the field. How cool would it be? It would be awesome, there was no denying it. And on some level, he knew he would probably handle it better than Scott did at first. But those were really the least problems. He thought about the past couple of months, and all the drama with the Hales and the Argents. He knew that Scott was also worried about Derek being his Alpha now, something that wasn't going to change anytime soon. They were both quietly waiting for the day that Derek would get tired of waiting for him to come to him and simply summon him like Peter had done. Derek acted like he couldn't stand them, but Stiles knew he'd needed them. Or at least, Scott. There was also Allison's family, who let him know more or less that they weren't happy with his continued interaction with her. It seemed like a shitty way to go through life for the added advantage of being a really good athlete and maybe scoring with a crush. Besides, on a night like this, with both of them as werewolves, who'd be able to help Scott? Despite what he did, Stiles knew his friend couldn't handle this alone. Couldn't handle being alone. It was his biggest fear about being a werewolf.

"You expect me to believe that?" his voice was lowered again but the fire was still burning in his eyes.

"No. Listen to me. I don't... Want. The. Bite." Stiles said this in as even a voice as possible.

Scott finally got what Stiles was getting at and stilled. The basement was dead silent except for the occasional drop of water from somewhere in the darkness. What he heard must have proved him wrong, because the fire died suddenly from him with a resigned sigh. He looked down, his body slumped.

"Of course, you don't. Who'd want this for themselves?" he asked quietly. More to himself than his friend.

Stiles shrugged, not sure what to say. Scott had been doing so much better with accepting his condition since Peter's death. He was not willing to encourage the renewed descent into self-pity. "I don't know... Jackson?" he offered.

Scott, his Scott, looked up, an unexpected smile lighting up his face. "Yeah, but he's an idiot."

"Totally." Stiles agreed and smiled back, glad for the ebb.

"Still can't believe he outed me. Dick." Scott shifted off his knees, to a more a comfortable cross-legged position. He placed his hands in the space between his legs and stared at them.

Stiles knew this conversation could turn ugly quickly, so he steered it towards more pleasant things. "But, hey, on the upside, Allison knows, and she's actually cool with it. Also for some reason, her dad doesn't want to kill you! I think that turned out better than we could have hoped for."

Scott made an expression like he thought Stiles had a point. He continued to look at his hands contemplatively for a while, a small, shy smile creeping up on his lips. "Yeah... And actually, I think Allison's more than cool with it."

Stiles knew that smile. He raised the index fingers of both hands in front of him. "If you're about to tell me that she actually finds the werewolf thing to be some sort of turn on..."

Scott's smile seemed to widen involuntarily and Stiles groaned.

"Right, that's awesome, but I really don't -"

"She so does. Well, I think she does. It's like she's not even scared! She won't admit it. I mean, I still can't rein it in properly when we're making out, but I think she doesn't want me to. Which is just... insane. God. I could really hurt her."

Scott was suddenly frowning again, like he was lecturing himself. "So dangerous..." he murmured. There was a long silence.

Stiles wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he'd lost him again. "Scott..."

Scott looked up, and the frown became a smirk. Was it possible to get whiplash from someone else's emotions?

"I've thought about it, you know. What would happen if it went too far. If I tried too much too quickly." His words were slow, thoughtful. The monotone voice was back and Scott was dead behind the eyes. But nothing weirded Stiles out more than that smirk. "It scares me. Because I know what I'm capable of, what that part of me wants to do so badly... and I feel so sick with myself because sometimes it actually excites me, Stiles. I know how much I would enjoy it. Like that night in the school. It felt so good to give in to it, to just... " He shivered, just like he did that afternoon and Stiles stiffened. The thought of Scott on the other side of that Chemistry room door, claws and fangs ready and itching to tear him .. them apart was no less disturbing now that it was then. That his best friend could kill him for no reason and enjoy it was a hard thing to accept.

"Scott... you've gone to a dark place now. I need you back here with me." Stiles said uneasily. Scott was really working the serial-killer angle tonight.

It was like Scott didn't hear him. "It's so hard to fight Stiles, especially when the full moon is so close. And today, in school, I wanted it so much... "

Oh. That was why he went to stand by Allison. And why he looked offended at the thought of hurting her. "You're not going to hurt anybody. I won't let you do it." Stiles promised, not sure how he would uphold it but determined nonetheless. He hadn't heard Scott be this negative in a long time, and chalked it up to the full moon.

The full moon turns everything up to ten.

Scott scoffed, like he didn't believe it. "Derek said I'm going to hurt someone one day. He's probably right."

"Derek? Forget Derek. He was always such a party pooper. And let's not forget he's been wrong before." Scott didn't reply. He wasn't encouraged. With that look on his face Stiles wasn't sure if he needed ecouragement.. or discouragement.

"You're my best friend Scott. That's why I'm here. To make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"That's why you'll probably die first." It wasn't a threat. At least, Stiles didn't think it was. More like a warning.

"I don't think you'll do that. Where would you be without me?" he said with a smile. Silence. Stiles sighed, wondering if there was a point to his trying. He was getting a little frustrated. "Come on, dude. You've been doing so well. You're controlling your moods better. If you were going to lose control don't you think it would have happened before now?" Scott began to wring his hands. He looked up at him, then quickly around the room. His growing lack of response was aggravating. It didn't feel like he was even aware his friend was talking to him.

So, naturally, he kept talking.

"Besides, it is sort of my fault you got bitten in the first place, what with that crazy idea to go into the woods. I'd say that it's definitely in my top ten bad ideas. After that disaster, I think it'd be dickish of me to abandon you." he said offhandedly. Scott looked sharply at him, an eyebrow raised. He seemed to be stewing on this, like it hadn't occured to him. Stiles raised an eyebrow, sure that this was probably not the best thing to say just then.

But it wasn't the statement that Scott seemed to be reacting to. His eyes widened and the hand wringing got more frantic. His breathing became pants, loud and shallow, sounding like he did back when he used to have his asthma attacks.

"Oh God... Oh God, it's .. Stiles..." His name came out in a drawn out whine.

Scott's hands balled into fists and the pant quickly turned to a pained groan. In the windowless basement it had been impossible to tell the position of the moon, but they didn't need to see it to know it was now at its high point. Stiles moved slowly, instincts kicking in as he began climbing the stairs backwards. He didn't want Scott to notice him, though he was probably too distracted to do so anyway.

Scott threw his head back and let out a deafening yell. For a moment he seemed frozen in that position as his eyes turned to gold. He dropped to the floor completely, writhing and thrashing on his back, crying out in pain. Stiles had never watched the full change. It was just as gruesome as it sounded. Probably even worse. Every change seemed to occur slowly and painfully. Scott's canines sharpened and lengthened from his gums; his nails darkened and extended. Stiles paused two steps from the door, mouth falling open as he helplessly watched his friend's body change into something inhuman.

His body seemed to be contorting and twisting, his arms pulling desperately at the restraints. At one point his back lifted off the floor, bending Scott into an awkward arch. His legs flailed and kicked, as the animal within made its way to the surface. The noise in the basement reached upsetting levels, screams mixed with the chink and clang of the chains, soon joined by the grating sound of nails on the concrete. His face began to morph, the bones on his forehead and the bridge of his nose noisily jutting out and growing to fill his face. Hair Scott was unable to grow on his own appeared on his jawline. If there was more changing, Stiles couldn't see it, but he figured there was because Scott was still writhing and half-sobbing afterward.

By the time Stiles reached the door the only thing he could make out was the bright gold dots and the occasional sight of skin. He wasn't sure how long the transition took, it could have been 5 minutes, or 15, but it felt like an hour. Towards the end, Scott flipped over to his hands and knees, head bowed.

Finally, the noise began to die down. Scott was still. The groans had gotten much deeper and ... even. He was growling. He was also breathing too slow and too loud, like a bull about to launch. There was an incredibly tense moment when he finally looked up and acknowledged Stiles. With no sound but Stiles' racing heart and Scott's breathy grunts, all they did was stare at each other, waiting for the other person to move. Stiles knew he had outstayed his welcome. He hustled to his feet at the same time Scott surged forward and and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind him and throwing his weight against it. He heard roars behind him. The protest of the chains as Scott pulled against it. After a minute, there was a crash and the sound of breaking glass half a second before a heavy thud hit the door. It sounded like Scott had broken off one of the chains. And thrown it at him.

That was not a good sign. At this rate he'd be completely free in minutes. He needed to block the door. He looked around wildly, not seeing anything that would do. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a chair, which he wedged under the doorknob. He looked at that for a moment, hands on his hips, then remembered that Scott had just broken a metal restraint. And God knows what else. A simple wooden chair under a doorknob seemed ridiculous in comparison. He found himself dragging a heavy armchair all the way from the living room, an act that left faint skid marks on the wooden floor and Stiles out of breath. He'd have to worry about that later. He stood in front of his work, idly contemplating dragging another armchair and somehow placing it on that one. He waited to hear another chain hit the door, but all he got were more growls from an agitated werewolf.

He stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall. He tried to calm down, but he couldn't stop worrying about Scott. About himself. After 5 more minutes, Scott seemed to quiet down. All was silent in the house. Stiles wondered if he'd changed back, but decided it was way too soon.

He stiffened when a haunting guttural howl came from the depths of the basement. It sent a chill through him. Was he calling out to Derek? Why would he? Was it because he was trapped? More importantly, would Derek come?

Stiles glanced at the front door, imagining Derek storming in, a blaze of impatience with his leather jacket and trademark scowl to reluctantly free his baby beta.

Probably not. Derek knew better. Especially as he'd had to rescue Scott the last two full moons. A locked up werewolf was good for everyone. Besides, who knew what Derek Hale was doing with himself these days. If he was even still in Beacon Hills.

Scott howled a few more times, sounding absolutely tortured while doing so, but no-one came to his rescue. A quick listen on the door told Stiles he was still trying to free himself though.

It was going to be a long night.

Stiles woke up with a start and was confused by his surroundings for a moment. He'd fallen asleep while sitting in the hallway, his head against the wall. First attempts to look around resulted in protests from his neck, then the rest of his body. His muscles were stiff and reluctant to get moving. His phone told him it was 5.50am. He vaguely remembered speaking to Allison sometime in the night but his memory of the call was foggy. He stretched out slowly, his eyes on the basement door. It was unchanged from last night, all the furniture still piled up against it.

He wondered if Scott had found a different way out, even if it was impossible.

"Scott?" he called out. No answer. He began to remove the chairs from the door, figuring it was safe. At this time of the day, the worst was long over. Still he was slow in opening it, scared of what he might find below.

It was very dark. The light was out. Smashed by the chain Scott had thrown earlier. He stepped around the tiny pieces of glass and saw the contorted chain a couple of steps later. Was that blood? Stiles cringed, imagining the many ways Scott must have hurt himself last night.

He climbed down slowly, using the backlight of his phone to illuminate his path.

"Scott?" he called again, his voice lower this time around. Still nothing. He got to the bottom step and paused, stretching his arm out to extend the weak light.

Scott was lying on the ground, in the corner where he was hiding hours earlier, his back to Stiles. He was huddled in a fetal position, like he was cold. The chains hung to his ankles and wrists, which were also red with dried blood from his violent struggle earlier. Only one of them, the one around his left ankle was still attached to the wall.

Stiles quickly went to his friend, not sure if he was sleeping or something else. He nudged him and he stirred a little. "Hey, are you okay?"Scott nodded, his eyes cracking open. He looked up at Stiles and seemed to examine him. "Are you?" he whispered back. His voice was hoarse. Not surprising after all that yelling.

Stiles nodded back and he collapsed again with a heavy, relieved sigh.

"I didn't get out." He declared with a small smile. This was an accomplishment for him.

"And I'm happy for you. Well. Not too happy." Stiles said, eyeing the bent chains. "Next time we're going to need to chain you up better. You almost got free."

"You will not ruin this moment for me, Stiles." Scott said, without opening his eyes. He seemed almost euphoric.

"Come on, let's get out of here before your mom comes home." He pulled Scott to his feet, then they remembered he was still tethered to the wall. "Where are the keys?"

"Under the stairs," he nodded in the direction of the basement steps. At Stiles' raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "I figured that if I could reach the stairs it probably meant I was free anyway."

Stiles went over to the steps and felt around between the wooden planks. "And if I'd never found you? How would you have freed yourself?" He found Scott's housekeys attached to a plastic keychain a few seconds later. Some shiny new keys in the bunch.

Scott was silent as he realized the flaw in his plan, his lips curved into a small 'O'. Stiles patted his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "See? This is why you need me," He got round to removing the padlock on the remaining chain, noting that Scott had done a fairly good job. Shame it wasn't good enough. They couldn't keep getting new chains every month without looking suspicious.

They decided to come back to the basement later to clean the mess. By the time they got upstairs Scott was stronger though clearly tired, but Stiles encouraged him to at least wash his hands and ankles, which led to a full on shower. Made slightly awkward by Stiles having to help him stay up while he took off his clothes.

Scott stood immobile in the shower, the hot water quickly steaming up the room and turning his thick hair into a black curtain round his expressionless face.

Stiles watched him warily for a moment. He found himself acknowledging with just the slightest pang that his friend looked much better than him naked. Stiles knew he wasn't bad himself. Lacrosse training kept him from being scrawny but Scott clearly paid more attention to his reps than he ever cared to - maybe he should start, since Lydia clearly had a thing for guys with clear cut abs - and his natural tan didn't hurt either. Maybe a little more curve in the butt than seemed right for a guy of his build...

"Oh God." Stiles groaned, horrified at his thoughts.

"What? You better not be checking me out, Stilinsky." Scott seemed to joke, despite looking like he'd fallen asleep on his feet.

"You wish. Just making sure you don't slip and knock yourself out." Stiles feigned indignation. A beat. "You know what? I'm going to catch some z's while you... whatever." He made a zig-zag gesture at Scott and stomped out.

He briefly dozed off again on Scott's bed, knowing he won't have much time for it once he ran home to change. Scott clearly got a lot less sleep than he did, and he knew he was going to spend the rest of the day trying to prevent the boy from being caught sleeping by teachers.

He was shaken awake by Scott, who had half-dried off and worn a pair of shorts. He was already climbing on the bed, looking almost excited at the thought of getting some sleep.

"Hey, you should get home. It's almost 7. Does your dad know you're here?" he drawled.

Stiles waved off his concern, getting off the bed and picking up his backpack. "Had to stay over to help you study for a huge makeup test tomorrow."

Scott clutched his pillow to himself with an elated sigh and chuckled. "Look at you, saving my ass even in a lie."

"It's what I do best, after all." Stiles replied as he headed for the door.

"What, lie? Totally agree." His eyes were closed.

Stiles rolled his. "You're hilarious, Scott. Anyway, don't forget you have to be in school in an hour. Oh, and help me push the armchair back, would you? I figure it'll be easier for you than it was for me." He was almost out the door then remembered one more thing. "And call Allison. She called me sometime last night worried sick."

"..Stiles..."

Stiles paused and turned around. Scott was looking at him with tired eyes.

"Yeah?"

A familiar, lopsided smile lit up Scott's face. "I've never blamed you... for any of this. I hope you know that." His eyes were drooping again, so he looked high.

Stiles couldn't help but be infected by his best friend's continuous cheer. Especially after everything yesterday represented. He was surprised that Scott remembered the stuff he'd said, considering how out of it he was at that point. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what.

So he simply nodded.

Scott didn't see it.