So, I just watched the new episode and holy freaking hell. Thus, this was born, I hope you like it. My brain literally just spat it out the second Stiles caught Lydia.
Disclaimer: I don't own shit, love.
"You don't need the instructions. When was the last time you have ever used instructions, am I right? You don't need them, because you are too smart to waste your time with them, okay? You can figure it out, Stiles. You are the one who always figures it out. So you can do it. Figure. it. Out."
Lydia sniffs, desperately trying to think about something other than the trap threatening to sever her fragile limb.
Stiles stares up at her, a haunted look on his face, and she briefly has the hysterical thought that his bone structure is almost elfin, and God he would have pretty children.
In any other situation she would have rolled her eyes and told him off for looking up her skirt, because really, the angle he is kneeling at is perfect for it, but his eyes are glassy with tears, and his eyebrows are drawn together in worry. So she pulls herself together and thinks about how smart Stiles is to distract herself.
He has had a perfect grade point average their entire school lives. Even with all the craziness.
He figured out Scott was a werewolf before the boy himself did.
He is the only one she knows who can have a conversation with her and not make her feel like an idiot, despite the fact that her IQ is ridiculously high, rivalled only by the boy currently trying to rescue her.
But even with his intelligence, Stiles' fierce loyalty is the quality she thinks is perfect. He has saved her, Derek, the pack, Scott, and himself more times than she can count, and he will never, ever leave any of them in the dust.
Stiles pats around in the foliage, yanking her from her thoughts. In what feels like a life time, but has in likelihood only been a few minutes, he has found the mechanism to disarm the trap.
"Okay, okay, here we go."
Lydia can't help herself, she draws in a shaky breath, making a tiny noise of fear. She looks down, sees Stiles' trembling hand grip the small wheel carefully.
"Ready?" He looks up at her, suddenly confident, a solid presence. "Okay, here we go."
He twists the wheel, and she moves as fast as she possibly can, collapsing into Stiles' waiting arms.
They pant for a few seconds; look at each other, dumb founded. She briefly gets distracted by his eyes, liquid and dark, enveloping her in their depths pleasantly.
His arms are always open for her, she muses silently. He is always there for her. Pushing the thought away to think about later, she fists her hands tightly in the material of Stiles' clothes, one in the material of his t shirt, the other arm around his neck and her hand grasping the hood of his jacket. His arms wind warm and heavy around her waist, comforting against her, and she presses closer, as close as she can get. He lets out a breath, tugging her against him tightly, and she rests her forehead against his cheek, clutching him as near as she can.
They don't say anything, they don't need to, they just take comfort in each other's presence.
Eventually the biting wind chills their skin, and they go and find the others.
Scott finds the girl, forces her human again, Allison helps a limping Isaac to her car, and the Sheriff returns the newly human Malia to her father for a happy reunion.
Throughout it all, Stiles is there, a long line of heat against her side, a solid weight around her shoulders, a gesture that with Jackson she used to find oppressive, but with Stiles, she finds reassuring, a persistent reminder of his presence. They lean against the car while Malia and her father reunite, and she catches Stiles staring at the mirror. The look of relief is enough to tell her he can read the words on the glass, and she rests her head against his shoulder.
It isn't all fixed yet, but it will be. Because with Stiles on their side, they can do anything.
Can't they?
