[Sam thought it was sweet if he was being honest, but the odds of Scott and Allison being forever weren't very high. He could see why Stiles was upset.]
Probably because my name is right below yours in his phone. [Stiles glanced at the picture again, letting out a puff of air.] His mom is going to kill him when she sees it.
[Stiles snorted, shooting off a quick, all-caps text to his best friend before looking up at Sam, then back at his laptop, expression turning tired when he saw he was still 200 words under word count.] I don't think he's thought that far enough ahead, to be honest.
I will never understand the human body. [Stiles continued, brain wandering as he tried to type a few more sentences and beef up the essay.] I mean, you're just naturally built like a truck, and I know most of Scott's muscle comes from the bite but it had to be there before, right? If he had worked out more while he was human he could have toned it.
No matter what I do, I'm still skinny as hell. [Stiles pursed his lips in distaste for a moment before deleting a sentence and opening a new text message simultaneously.]
I eat really well and exercise a lot, Stiles. Hunting is usually pretty good at keeping me and my brother in shape, but it takes more than that to create and tone muscle.
Not drinking helps a lot too.
[Have an extremely pointed look, Stiles. He genuinely believed that the reason he was in better shape than his brother was because Dean drank a lot more than he did.]
Dude, come on. You're over six feet tall with the hardest chest I've ever seen.
I eat healthy! Well, except for the curly fries. But that's my only weakness! [Stiles protested good-naturedly, leg bouncing impatiently as he waited for more synonyms and ways to bump up his word count to come.] See: lacrosse, teenager metabolism, and running for my life.
... [Stiles fell silent for a moment, suddenly glued to the essay. They hadn't really talked about that night, and Stiles hadn't gotten that drunk since then...Just a pleasant buzz here and there.] ...I don't drink that often.
I think you need to see how I eat, and redefine what you think of as healthy.
[Sam gave an amused snort. Frequency wasn't really the issue here. Seventeen year old boys didn't exactly have it in them to metabolize large amounts of alcohol.]
Salads and veggieburgers and anything green? [He did try; his dad had a heart condition and Stiles was constantly worrying about what he put on the dinner table.]
Look, I know it's not healthy. But sometimes...sometimes it just is what it is. [Stiles finished lamely, brow furrowed as his gaze darted to Sam and away again. Scott was the only other person that knew how he got when he drank the way he did - not for partying, like so many teenagers around this town did.]
There are? [To be honest, the teen wasn't entirely convinced.]
What do you want me to say? [Stiles' eyes flickered up to Sam's, searching his face for a moment. Sighing softly, Stiles leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his arm.]
...It's just an overload. [Stiles shrugged, deciding just to stick to the basics so Sam wouldn't worry too much.] My brain doesn't do what I tell it to.
Doesn't help with all the crazy shit we've got going on too, you know? [Maybe Sam would understand; he had been at this longer than Stiles.]
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Your phone's beeping! [Stiles called, bent over his laptop as he furiously typed out the last paragraph of his history essay.]
[On Sam's phone a text is blinking. Should he open it, it's contents are as follows:
[PICTURE]
Since you won't come see it in person, butthole.]
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[Sam rolled his eyes affectionately, kissing Stiles' temple as he reached for the phone laid on the desk beside the teen's computer.
He opened the message, frowning in confusion as the picture came up.]
Uh, I think this is for you, Stiles.
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I told him not to do it, [Stiles muttered, shaking his head and digging in his pocket for his own phone.] Never listens, idiot...
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[Sam thought it was sweet if he was being honest, but the odds of Scott and Allison being forever weren't very high. He could see why Stiles was upset.]
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[Sam sank into the chair beside Stiles', finally closing his phone and setting it back on the desk.]
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I will never understand the human body. [Stiles continued, brain wandering as he tried to type a few more sentences and beef up the essay.] I mean, you're just naturally built like a truck, and I know most of Scott's muscle comes from the bite but it had to be there before, right? If he had worked out more while he was human he could have toned it.
No matter what I do, I'm still skinny as hell. [Stiles pursed his lips in distaste for a moment before deleting a sentence and opening a new text message simultaneously.]
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[Though the words made him laugh.]
I eat really well and exercise a lot, Stiles. Hunting is usually pretty good at keeping me and my brother in shape, but it takes more than that to create and tone muscle.
Not drinking helps a lot too.
[Have an extremely pointed look, Stiles. He genuinely believed that the reason he was in better shape than his brother was because Dean drank a lot more than he did.]
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I eat healthy! Well, except for the curly fries. But that's my only weakness! [Stiles protested good-naturedly, leg bouncing impatiently as he waited for more synonyms and ways to bump up his word count to come.] See: lacrosse, teenager metabolism, and running for my life.
... [Stiles fell silent for a moment, suddenly glued to the essay. They hadn't really talked about that night, and Stiles hadn't gotten that drunk since then...Just a pleasant buzz here and there.] ...I don't drink that often.
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[Sam gave an amused snort. Frequency wasn't really the issue here. Seventeen year old boys didn't exactly have it in them to metabolize large amounts of alcohol.]
Maybe not often, but when you do, you overdo it.
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Look, I know it's not healthy. But sometimes...sometimes it just is what it is. [Stiles finished lamely, brow furrowed as his gaze darted to Sam and away again. Scott was the only other person that knew how he got when he drank the way he did - not for partying, like so many teenagers around this town did.]
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Believe me, I understand what you're going through. Probably better than anyone else. But for me to help, you've gotta talk to me.
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What do you want me to say? [Stiles' eyes flickered up to Sam's, searching his face for a moment. Sighing softly, Stiles leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his arm.]
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Sometimes just letting it out is enough for the pain to let up.
[Sam looked at him earnestly, nothing but the teen's be interests in his mind.]
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Doesn't help with all the crazy shit we've got going on too, you know? [Maybe Sam would understand; he had been at this longer than Stiles.]
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