Scott scrambled back when she came closer, which was impossible since he was already pressed against the wall. He was afraid for her, not of her. His eyes glowed a dangerous red, his senses unstable, and he needed to shut the door. Wherever the door was, in his head, it needed to be shut, but he didn't know how to do that. He needed Deaton, or Derek, or anyone who knew better than him, which he felt sometimes was everyone but him. Outside of his fear and pounding heart, he finally started to hear her words. They got through to his head and he tentatively turned his head in her direction.
She trusted him. Whatever was between them in the future, she had faith in him, and Scott didn't know what he did to earn it. But he wasn't going to betray it. Scott focused on that instead, that feeling. Protection. Caring. Stiles needed him. He was his brother. He couldn't fall apart. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Each breath helped the tension unfurl in his chest, and when he opened his eyes again, they were faded back to the dark natural brown.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry he ---" He swallowed and unsteadily stood straight up, running hands through his hair frantically. "Okay, we need to call everyone. We need to get them to ... I don't know. Talk." He really needed to get it together more by the time they got there, because he wasn't a good leader at this point. He shakily moved back to get his phone to send out the message, get them all there. Then his eyes shifted back to her, and he felt guilty. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, your arm. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"