Author's Note: Bonjour! This is the second of no-doubt many Sterica fics ;L these two are an obsession to me! Anyways, enjoy, and please review!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If only :(
Stiles paced, fear pervading every single nerve, cell and drop of blood in his body. He'd never liked hospitals, too many bad memories haunting the cold tiles and the sharp antiseptic smell. He ran a hand over his hair, taking in a jerky, shaking breath, looking desperately at the men and women in the pastel scrubs, begging silently that one of them would come up and tell him if she was okay.
He looked over at the pile of teddy bears and chocolates, four balloons floating above the overloaded chair. He'd wandered the hospital when they told him she'd be getting tests for awhile, and that he should go home and sleep. He'd wound up at the gift store, buying the little stall empty, handing over the money with shaking fingers. It was more even than what he'd bought Lydia when she'd been attacked, pale blue teddy bears and pink bunny rabbits smiling dopily up at him with their judging glass eyes.
He ground his knuckles into his eyes, refusing to sleep until some told his what was going on. He'd been here for six hours straight, with hardly six sentences spoken to him.
"She's being examined."
"We don't have any news yet."
"Are you sure you don't know who she is?"
"She's undergoing tests- nothing conclusive yet."
"I told you, we still don't know. You should go home, get some sleep- you can leave a phone number for us to call you on."
"What are all the fluffy toys for?"
He'd been so frustrated by the time some stupid-looking surfer dude nurse-what the hell was a surfer doing in Beacon Hills, anyway?- asked the last he'd snapped some snarky response, and none of the nurses had come near him after that.
He was lucky Scott's mom wasn't on duty; how would he be able to tell his cover story? That he'd inexplicably found a sixteen-year-old girl unconscious and frothing at the mouth?
All though, since she knew about werewolves now if might've actually been better had she been here. That way, Scott would've had two terrified border-line psychopaths hounding him.
Where was Scott anyway? Stiles had to have called him at least twenty times by now- at least. He collapsed into a chair, balling his hands into fists behind his head. He tried to calm his breathing, but it was no good. As the time had crept slowly by and no one had told him what was wrong with her, his throat had begun to close and each breath hurt a little more. By now he was verging on a full-scale panic attack, terrified someone would come and gently tell him she'd died, the way they had with his mother, while his father had sat, numb but still crying, in the chair next to her bed, holding her hand.
He remembered the moments before she'd collapsed, the wry smile on her face and his hands in her hair.
"You ate a ridiculous amount of food. Usually I'd be too polite to say it to a girl, but jesus. You ever think of entering, like, a professional eating competition?" He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, marvelling at the way it sprang back into it's perfect curl every time.
"No… But you know I'd win." She winked, nuzzling into his neck in a way that made his heart do a weird little pirouette thing.
He rolled his eyes. "You win at everything."
She smiled, wiggling her eyebrows. "It's because I'm awesome. Y'know, just… Awesome." Her voice seemed to vibrate through his skin, down to his very bones from where her lips just brushed the corner of his jaw when she spoke.
"No, it's because you're a werewolf. A closet-hoover werewolf. And a closet-nerd."
She pouted, her eyes big and contrite. "You're just angry I schooled you on Batman trivia."
"You did not school me on Batm-"
"Oh yes, I did." She buried her face into the crook of his neck, just where it met his shoulder. "I… Most… Certainly… Did." With each word she trailed her lips along his skin, inhaling deeply.
He swallowed back the strange noise trying to escape his traitor throat. "Um… Why are you smelling me?"
Her fingers were tracing circles on his stomach, over his t-shirt. "You smell good."
"Of course I do. It's the Stiles Stench. Even Geriatric Gerard cowered from it. It's overpowering. Entrancing. Spectacular." He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the strange tone in his voice that seemed to accompany her skin on his.
"No…" She breathed deeply against his throat. "You smell like you're mine."
His eyes got soft, and his hand came up to cup her cheek. "Well, that's probably 'cus I am."
She grinned. "And y'know why that is?"
"Why?"
"It's 'cus I'm awesome." She said, leaning up on her elbows and shrugging in fake modesty.
She closed the small space between hem, pressing her lips to his, and for a moment everything was right with the world.
And then she'd bucked backwards, choking, before sliding off the bed to land with a thump on the floor, eyes rolled back into her head with foam frothing at her mouth.
He'd driven here at breakneck speed, muttering meaningless babble to her where she lay beside him in the passenger seat, oblivious.
He thumped his head against the pall, a violently pink flyer fluttering down to land on his shoulder. He picked it up in his trembling fingers, reading the words with growing incredulity. What to Do if Bitten by a Rabid Animal, with a snarling wolf emblazoning the front. Wasn't that convenient.
"Stiles!"
He heard the shout from the other end of the ward, the loud voice drawing the eyes of the bustling orderlies.
He scrambled to his feet, shaking anew, but this time with relief.
"Derek, oh thank god, I don't know what happened-"
The wolf strode towards him, eyes wide with fear. "Explain."
He did, stuttering every so often, hoping against hope the older Alpha would know what to do.
"What restaurant did you eat at?" He asked, after a few moments of the pained expression he got when he was thinking.
"Romando's, why?" What did the new Italian place have to do with anything?
Comprehension dawned in Derek's eyes. "The new one?" Stiles nodded, wondering where this was going.
Lowering his voice, Derek looked around, eyes darting. "They're hunters. Separate from the Argents."
"So-" Stiles felt bewildered. "-so what? Everything's been quiet. Why- Why would they- I don't-"
Derek rolled his eyes. "The Argents wait for a reason. They don't."
Stiles still didn't get it. "So, they, what, put wolfsbane in her food?"
Derek shook his head. "She'd have smelt it." Then, his eyes widened again. "So they put it in your's."
Stiles remembered the way they'd acted at the restaurant. She'd put the little round bits of pasta on his fingers, gently pulling them off with her teeth. It must've been obvious they were going to end up in contact with each other's- each other's DNA or whatever eventually.
"They were testing her, to see if she'd react to it. They're probably watching the hospital right now."
Stiles looked around fearfully, regretting his sarcastic comment to the surfer nurse. "What do we do?"
"I'll get her out of here, you get your jeep and take her to your house. I'll send Isaac or someone to keep watch."
The Alpha made to stride away, but Stiles caught his sleeve, his heart burning. "Der-" He swallowed. "Derek, is she- she's not gonna die, right?" His voice was panicky.
Derek shook his head. "She'll be fine."
His throat began to loosen. "She will?"
"Yes. Now go. Go." Derek said, giving him a little push.
He gathered up the fluffy toys and chocolates, winding the balloon strings round his fingers. "You hear that, Erica?" He whispered, hoping she could hear him with her wolfy-senses. "You're going to be fine." He headed towards the exit, trying to see around the mountain of soft fur pressing into his face.
He smiled, despite himself. "You're going to be awesome."