The house had gone quiet.

The chaos from earlier—raised voices, tension thick enough to choke on—had settled into an uneasy silence. Upstairs, the soft creak of a bedroom door closing told Stiles Stilinski exactly what he needed to know.

You had gone to bed.

He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the staircase like he could still hear the echo of your voice trying to help… and Scott McCall snapping at you to shut up.

Stiles’ jaw tightened.

Scott was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring down at the table like the weight of the entire town was sitting on his shoulders. He looked exhausted.

But that didn’t change anything.

Stiles stepped into the room.

Scott glanced up. “You gonna stand there all night, or—”

“The next time you lose your cool with her,” Stiles said calmly, cutting him off, “I suggest you find a different approach.”

Scott blinked.

The words themselves were quiet. Almost casual.

But the look in Stiles’ eyes?

God, his eyes were deadly.

Scott straightened slowly, raising an eyebrow as he studied his best friend. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice edged with disbelief. “Why’s that?”

Stiles didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched like always—but there was nothing awkward or nervous about him right now.

“Because if you don’t,” Stiles said evenly, “it’s gonna put me and you in a position where things will definitely go south.”

The air between them went still.

Scott stared at him, trying to decide if Stiles was joking.

He wasn’t.

There was no rambling. No sarcasm. No frantic hand gestures.

Just that calm voice.

And those eyes.

Scott let out a short breath through his nose. “She’s my sister, Stiles.”

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Stiles shot back immediately.

The response was instant. Sharp.

Scott’s jaw tightened.

Stiles took a step closer, lowering his voice.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re stressed. There’s always something trying to kill us, or hunt us, or turn the town into a supernatural horror movie. I know that.”

Scott didn’t respond.

“But you don’t get to take it out on her.”

Scott’s eyes flickered slightly.

Stiles leaned against the table across from him, gaze unwavering.

“She was trying to help you,” he continued. “Like she always does.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then Scott sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I know.”

Stiles tilted his head slightly, studying him.

“Do you?”

Scott looked up again, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You think I meant it?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately.

The answer caught Scott off guard.

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt her.”

That landed.

Scott’s expression shifted, guilt creeping in despite himself.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Stiles straightened again, his voice quieter now—but still firm.

“Look,” he said. “You’re my best friend. You’re basically my brother.”

Scott nodded slowly.

“But if it ever comes down to it?” Stiles continued, his gaze hardening again. “I’m choosing her.”

Scott stared at him.

Not shocked.

Not angry.

Just… thinking.

Finally, he huffed out a breath and shook his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Stiles shrugged lightly. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

Scott pushed off the counter, walking past him toward the hallway.

But before he left the room, he paused.

“I’ll apologize in the morning,” he muttered.

Stiles watched him go.

Only when Scott disappeared upstairs did the tension finally drain from his shoulders.

He glanced toward the staircase where you’d gone earlier, his expression softening instantly.

“…Still worth it,” he murmured quietly.