Sheriff Stilinski sighed, then looked back at Scott, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to form.
"Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's... and it terrifies me. I'm heading down to LA tomorrow to talk to a specialist," he told Scott, a part of him still believing it was an illness messing with his son's sanity.
"Then why are you putting him here?" Scott asked in disbelief, before Stiles cut in again.
"He's not." Stiles said sullenly, struggling to meet Scott's gaze, "It's my decision."
"Stiles..." Scott said with sullen eyes, "I can't help you if you're in here..."
"And I can't hurt you." Stiles emphasised, his eyes finally meeting Scott's, his honey flecked irises swimming in guilt and pain
Scott hesitated a moment before saying, "Deaton's got some ideas... Argent's calling people... we're going to find something." Scott paused a second before adding, "And if we can't—"
"If you can't..." Stiles interrupted, cutting him off, "if you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay?"
Scott held Stiles' gaze as Stiles took a long pause before continuing what he was going to say. Stiles pursed his lips for a second, before letting out a staggered sigh, and added,
"Make sure I never get out."
Scott swallowed a lump in his throat, trying to wrack his brain for any solution that didn't involve this. And then, he noticed how Stiles' eyes had trailed off, focussing on something in the distance, behind him. Scott furrowed his brows in confusion when Stiles' face fell, like all the colour and blemish in his face had vanished. 
"What? What is it?" Scott asked.
Stiles darted his eyes back to Scott, his entire face paler than before. His eyes seemed more relaxed and accepting of defeat a matter of moments ago, but now they looked stressed and worried—like he wasn't prepared for something. 

"Was Aspen asleep when you left?"

Scott's face contorted at the question, confused as to why Stiles was asking that at this point in time. He shook his head and replied, "I—I'm not sure, I didn't check. I didn't wanna wake her... why?"
As if Stiles' face couldn't fall any further—it did. His heart began to race with the worry he wasn't experiencing for himself but for the girl he loves. Scott noticed his way and fallen expression, still not understanding. 
"Stiles, what is it?" 
Stiles pursed his lips together, and then simply nodded his head in the direction behind Scott. When Scott turned around to see what this was all about, his eyes set on the same thing Stiles' had moments ago.
A black motorcycle, with red piping down the side of it. 
Aspen's motorcycle.
"Oh my God..." Scott whispered in disbelief as he stared at the familiar vehicle parked close to the gates.
"What? What is it?" Stiles' father asked the boys, not recognising the motorcycle to be Aspen's as he wasn't familiar with it. 
Stiles let out a hasty breath, and was about to wonder in his head why the hell she'd do something like this without telling anyone—only to remember he did the same thing. And the more he thought about it, it didn't surprise him. She was always the most selfless soul he'd ever met—of course she'd sacrifice her freedom if it meant keeping everyone else safe. 
He'd admire that trait of hers if it didn't break his heart so damn much.

"Aspen's here."