a Whole Lotta Smut

stay with me, go places (sciles)

Stiles is twenty-three when the Jeep gives out.

He calls Scott.

"She's kaput," Stiles says over the phone, stranded on the side of the road. "Will you -- Can you come get me?"

"Be there as soon as I can, man," Scott says.

Stiles sits on the hood of the Jeep, pulls out a cigarette: a habit he picked up in college. His dad frowns at him when he visits, staring at Stiles' nicotine-stained fingers like if he stares long enough Stiles will stop. (He'll stop when he wants to.)

Scott finally arrives two hours later, looking annoyed and a little haggard, to say the least.

"Took me forever to sniff you out." Scott walks toward the Jeep, eyeing the cigarette hanging from Stiles' lips. "You still do that shit?"

"Fuck you." Stiles hops off the Jeep, walking around the back to grab his duffel when it hits him--

"Let's go for a drive," Stiles says, stubbing out the cigarette with the heel of his shoe.

"Where do you want to go?" Scott asks, heading back to his truck.

"Just drive," Stiles says, glancing around the truck. "When did you get this?"

"For work, in case Deaton needs pick-ups or deliveries," Scott says, checking his blind spot, pulling back on the road. "You're just going to leave her there?"

"I thought you worked at the hospital? And no," Stiles says, looking down at his phone. "Texting my dad. He'll do something with her."

"I only work at the hospital on Tuesday and Thursday, but you'd know that, if, you know, you'd call me."

Stiles doesn't look at Scott, and he takes a while to answer. It isn't like Scott doesn't make a point -- Stiles went to school and hardly took any time to make personal visits back to Beacon Hills, except to check in with his dad. Too much happened in Beacon Hills after Derek left, and the darkness seemed to take a piece of his humanity.

"Allison and I deal with it every single day, too, Stiles."

"I know that," Stiles says quickly. "I know... I just..."

"I know," Scott says.

They're quiet for fifteen miles when the silence starts to get to Stiles, flipping through Scott's very small CD collection, the last one catching his attention, popping it in.

"I took a drive today--"

Scott looks over at Stiles, smiling.

Stiles smiles back, glancing in the rearview mirror, and it's nothing but the road, nothing following them.

It's just them.

*

They drive through Arizona, New Mexico, west Texas and up through the panhandle, before finally stopping in Kansas.

"Mom's going to kill me," Scott says, eating another donut.

They stopped to take a breather at a rest stop and wound up sleeping in the bed of Scott's truck, right under the stars. Stiles woke up to Scott's still-sleeping face, eyelashes resting darkly against his cheeks, and Stiles could feel the deep ache in his gut. That's when he nudged Scott awake begging for donuts.