He wants to fight it, he wants to stick his head above the current and kick, but the more Stiles talks the more Scott’s yanked under, the more he doesn’t want to fight it anymore.
He can’t hear much of anything past the loud beating of his heart, and it’s his body telling him he’s gonna black out if he doesn’t take oxygen in in the next few seconds, so he relents to Stiles’ ministrations, even if he feels like he’s doing nothing but using him.
I need you, he says, and you need me, and Scott inhales, stars winking to life in his vision and chasing the black away. It’s pathetic how desperate he sounds, and he tries slowing it down, but his throat still feels way too small, and he feels all of twelve again, helpless against his body, against the larger workings of the world around him. But it doesn’t matter, because if Stiles needs him to, he’ll breathe for him. Through all of the bullshit he’s drug Stiles through, Scott knows he can’t refuse him with this.
Nothing is more important you breathing. Scott shakes his head but does as he’s told, an alpha brought so low. (He never wanted it in the first place.)
Slowly, hyperventilating turns to panting, turns to something maybe comparable to normal breathing.
“Stiles,” is the only thing he knows how to say anymore, head still spinning, because it’s all he’s ever been. ScottandStiles.
“Sorry,” he says after, throat catching on it. He steps forward, eyes still closed, wanting to smell something, anything but debilitating misery.
Free hand moves up to hook around the back of Scott’s neck, pulling him in. When was the last time he hugged his friend? Jesus, the last time Stiles can remember hugging him, it was sitting on the MRI table. Why has he let it go on this long?
Because their lives have become this never ending current of misery, bashing them against the rocks over and over again. How fucked up were they, that Stiles has come to distrust the calm, and the quiet low tides of emotional serenity?
“Listen to me, Scotty.” Freshman year was the last time he uttered that nickname, right around the time that everything went to hell. How much of them had they sacrificed to the moon and it’s pull?
“You breathing, you being okay that’s all that matters. Don’t--don’t shake your head at me.”
He holds tighter into the embrace, clinging. Stiles is all out of dignity. He’d rather have his best friend.
“The most important thing in the world, is you.”
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