World on Fire
Just as someone knocks him down, a sudden rush of heat knocks the fog from his mind. The smells of gasoline and fire fight to overpower his senses, and Scott tries not to breathe too deeply.
Beside him, Lydia is staring into the fire, looking haunted.
And on his other side, Stiles is staring at him, looking worse. He sees tears on Stiles’s face and feels them on his own and is half-glad he can’t really remember what happened.
He wishes Stiles couldn’t, either.
But he can. “Scott,” he says, his voice breaking on the word.
“Whatever happened,” Scott says, “it wasn’t me. I didn’t mean it.”
When Stiles shakes his head slowly, it’s agreement – no, you didn’t; you weren’t yourself. He doesn’t look sure, but he lets himself believe it. Then, with little warning, he hugs Scott hard. His heart rate finally slows as Scott’s breath on his neck – still breathing, still alive – seems to calm him.
“Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”
At that, Stiles makes a noise that might be a laugh, or maybe a sob. So softly that it takes his werewolf hearing to hear it even from this close, his friend says, “I did.”