The hallways were mostly empty—except for a few oblivious stragglers—as Stiles and Scott stumbled their way out of the cafeteria. Scott had Stiles' bleeding side pressed against his own, in a last-ditch effort to staunch the dark flow.
Stiles was as white as a sheet, and he felt like he was going to black out at any moment. Hallucinations weren't supposed to cause real-time, physical pain, were they?
"Scott," Stiles slurred, gritting his teeth from the immense pain. When Scott refused to stop, Stiles practically shouted, "Scott! Jesus, just stop for a moment, OK?"
Scott looked over at his best friend; they were practically glued together from the great surge of blood pouring from Stiles. "Stiles," Scott said urgently, "We got to get you out of here."
"I know," Stiles muttered, gasping for breath. "But I'm gonna bleed out in my Jeep if we don't stop the bleeding now."
Scott nodded, and then repeated the action more fiercely. The bathroom was just down the hall. Stiles felt Scott readjust his hold on him before dragging him through the door. Great drops of blood splattered onto the school's tiles, but Stiles silently elected to ignore it at the moment. Luckily, no one was in the stalls, so Scott decided to lock the bathroom door to ensure their continued privacy.
He released Stiles, surprisingly gentle as he lowered him onto the floor. Stiles hissed as his blood-soaked shirt clung to Scott's, peeling harshly from his wound before reluctantly separating, hanging off of his side.
"Oh my God, this stings," Stiles groaned, watching as Scott lifted up Stiles' shirt. He looked like a sad puppy as he inspected the gaping wounds, and Stiles couldn't help smiling at that.
"What's so funny?" Scott asked, seeing Stiles' face. But Stiles just shook his head.
"You look concerned, that's all."
"I'm always concerned, Stiles."
Stiles cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, making Scott frown confusedly. "Well, good," Stiles finally said, his breathing shallow. He didn't want to get into an unnecessary argument with Scott, especially when he was bleeding out on the floor. "Okay, I'm dying here buddy."
Scott started, blinking rapidly as he looked around for some sort of bandage. "Well," Scott said, sighing in mock defeat. "Toilet paper's out of the question."
"If only we had some Bounty, then—Scott, what are doing?"
It was at that moment that Scott pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his muscular, toned-up torso.
"Now's not the time to give me a strip tease, Scott," Stiles teased, clutching his side. Dammit, shouldn't the wound be clotting by now?
Scott snorted. "Very funny," he said drily, tearing the shirt into wide strips. He bent over Stiles, wrapping the makeshift bandage around Stiles' ribcage. Even though he didn't have heightened senses, Stiles could practically hear Scott's rapid heartbeat.
"Okay, this should hold," Scott said, pulling back to inspect his handiwork. Stiles looked down, and his heart sank as the once-white shirt was already soaked through in scarlet.
"You did your best, Ada Wong," Stiles grimaced. His head felt immensely light. His vision was hazy, and Stiles blinked as he tried to correct it.
"Scott," he said weakly. "We should, uh, get our asses into gear."
Scott nodded, pulling Stiles up from the ground. "Definitely. I'll drive." He held out his hand, and Stiles shakily placed his keys in them.
"Just don't crash her," Stiles grinned. His face suddenly twisted with pain. "FUUUCK! Oh God, Oh God—!"
A searing, unimaginable pain was coming from the left side of his throat. Stiles saw Scott's eyes turned that wolfish gold and widen in horror as what seemed like an invisible pair of teeth clamped down and tore away at the flesh. Fresh, dark blood bubbled up from the wound, pouring down the length of his neck as it made a trail down Stiles' back and torso
"Stiles!" Scott shouted desperately. "Stiles, buddy, stay with me!"
Someone was knocking fiercely on the door. "Stiles! Scott!" said the voice on the other side. "Are you in there?!"
That was the last thing Stiles heard before darkness took over him.
They'd managed to shush that screaming attention-seeker from before. Lydia rolled her eyes in annoyance as Allison attempted to calm down the girl, who said that she "could've sworn that I saw blood!" Some teachers were called in, demanding an explanation for the upset girl and the blood trail leading out of the cafeteria. Lydia merely gave them her best, 'how-should-I-know?' pouting lips, hoping that would silence them.
What she wasn't prepared for was Danny approaching her.
"What's going on?" he asked, pulling Lydia to the side. "And don't try to lie to me, Lyd," he added, seeing her open her mouth in protest. "Nobody's blind enough to miss all of that red!"
"Danny," Lydia began, grabbing his arm and pulling him close. She stood up on tiptoes and leaned in close to his ear. "Don't make a scene. We don't need any more attention."
"Lydia, you can't make me forget what I just saw," Danny whispered angrily. "It can't be a coincidence. Whatever that wound was, it looks just like Ja—"
Danny closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Lydia knew what name hung on his tongue, and that grip of guilt—of keeping Danny out of the loop—tightened in her stomach. But she shoved it back, voting to deal with it later.
Instead, she hoped that Scott could get to Stiles to Deaton before—before what? Before he bled to death?
"I don't know what happened," Lydia said truthfully, and saw Danny's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Seriously, I don't! But right now, I need you to be calm, alright?"
"Lydia…"
Danny began to protest, but Lydia shook her head. "Not now, Danny," she said, loosening her grip on him before striding toward the cafeteria doors.
She heard them reopen behind her two seconds later, and Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Allison joined her. "Lydia, what's going on?" Allison asked. Lydia ignored her, her eyes following the droplets of blood on the floor. She increased her pace, and the trail of blood curved toward one of the doors before stopping in a sloppy mess of blood.
Lydia rapt her knuckles on the bathroom door and repeated the action more rapidly when she didn't get a response. "Stiles! Scott! Are you in there?!" She tried pushing; the door was locked from the inside.
Of course she knew they were in there. The blood indicated that they never evacuated their hiding spot; otherwise, there'd be a second trail for her to follow. Unless Scott managed to perform some miraculous first-aid.
Knowing that idiot, he probably didn't.
Allison stood nervously next to Lydia, her arms wrapped around her as she hugged herself. "Scott?" she breathed out. "Scott, it's us. Let us in, please?"
Lydia heard a click from the other side, and she moved back as the door opened. Scott was shirtless, and Lydia was about to make a retort about it when she saw that his hands were sopping wet with blood. She shoved past him, and her heart nearly stopped.
Blood was smeared thickly across the floor tiles with Stiles in the center of it. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his middle, but it was hard to tell its original color; it stank of coppery blood. Lydia raced over to his side, nearly slipping on the tacky, dark substance as she knelt next to him. Stiles' eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and slow. Lydia immediately noticed the wretched wound on his throat, and automatically pressed her hand against it. She looked around; scanning the walls for a paper towel dispenser.
Just her luck; it had to be one of those eco-friendly air dryers in this bathroom instead.
She felt the wound underneath her freshly-manicured nails. It had a shredded, wild feel about it, as if he'd been attacked by—
"What's the glare for?" Scott asked, walking cautiously toward her and Stiles. Allison timidly followed him in, as if unsure if she was invited.
"How did this one happen?!" Lydia hissed at him, gesturing at Stiles' neck. "You'd better not have did some freaky 'wolfing out' because of all the blood and—"
"Lydia, I'm not a fucking vampire, alright?" Scott growled defensively. "I was patching him up, and then it literally just came out of nowhere!"
"So is that why you decided to take a detour in here?!"
"Stiles asked me to, okay?"
Lydia reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. "What are you doing?!" Scott yelled, just as she was about to dial.
"Either get him to Deaton, or I'm calling the ambulance!"
"Okay, okay!" Scott said in defeat. Lydia stepped back reluctantly as Scott pulled Stiles from the ground, wrapping one of Stiles' arms around Scott's neck. Blood continued to pour from Stiles' neck, and Lydia was suddenly very aware of how much it was slowly drying on her hands.
"He'll get him to Deaton," Allison reassured her, and Lydia blinked. She'd forgotten that the girl was still there. It just goes to show how much she actually "contributed" to the prevention of the massive carnage happening before their eyes.
Lydia brushed past her, heading back into the hallway. She headed across the hall to their washroom, immediately turning on the cold tap at the sink. She looked down at the blood staining her skin. The memory of how pale and lifeless her friend looked was seared into her brain.
If Scott let him die, then God have mercy when he tracks his Beta ass down.