Scott finds it draped on the foot of his bed when he walks in from school. He stops walking, stuck a few feet into the room, and Stiles (his head turned as he yells hello to Scott’s mom down the stairs) walks straight into him, jostling them both.
“Dude, what - ?” Stiles starts, but he shuts up quickly when he sees the bed. There is a moment of pure, beautiful, pristine silence - and then Stiles lets out a whooping laugh. Scott gapes at him, then back at the bed.
The leather jacket is dark against his covers.
Scott moves finally and reaches for it. The leather is soft and supple under his fingers. The jacket is a simple design, no extra zippers or buttons or excessive decorative element. He can’t not try it on, right?
It fits perfectly, makes his shoulders feel a little broader, his chin a little higher over the stand-up collar. He can smell Derek on it, faintly, and Erica, he thinks. He runs his hands down the front of it.
Stiles looks up eventually from his laughing fit, calm enough now to raise himself from where he’s bent over with his hands on his knees, and wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He’s still chuckling, though, when he takes in the vision of Scott in his new jacket and says,
“Guess you really are a member of the pack now, huh?”
Scott looks at himself in his bedroom mirror. He grins. He does look kind of badass.