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When Stiles' heart restarted, so did the world.
Scott had felt like he was drowning, submerged in water with no sign of release until Stiles' gasp of air had heaved him from the icy depths. He nearly collapsed as relief washed over his entire body; as feeling returned. He saw it explode in Lydia too. Her hand was automatically drifting through Stiles' hair as if he was a child that needed protecting. However it was a relief almost immediately replaced by tension for the look on Stiles' face. It was one of absolute terror.
"Stiles?"
Stiles shook. He looked worse than ever. Barely alive.
"You should have killed me." He said before darkness overtook him once more.
They took Stiles back to Scott's house. The occasion felt uncomfortably familiar. Again, Scott was forced to watch the unconscious body of his best friend being dragged through his front door with a huge gaping wound across his stomach. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu.
They lay him on Scott's bed. Scott sat by him, not wanting to leave his side. Eventually it was just the two of them. But with Stiles deeply asleep, Scott felt strangely alone. Guilt tied itself to him. Hell, he'd never felt worse in his life. But he knew he would have done the same thing again if it came down to it. He was too selfish to let Stiles go. He always would be.
With his mom admitted in a hospital out of town, they were unable to treat Stiles' wounds properly, although Deaton did the best he could. They seemed to be healing slower this time, which gave the emissary more time to prepare another dose of his signature fox poison. Meanwhile, they could only hope and pray that if Stiles woke up before it was concocted, he would wake up as himself.
They knew they couldn't try another exorcism for they had no idea what it might do to Stiles. Also with a gaping wound still residing beneath his bandages, it was likely that expelling the Nogitsune at this point in time would end up killing him anyway. So for now, all Scott could do was wait and take what pain he could while everyone else caught up on much needed sleep. When the burden became too much, the guilt only got worse. He felt so helpless; inadequate to be this person's friend at all.
Unable to do anything else, Scott let the sound of Stiles' breathing sooth him. He didn't ever want to lose that sound again, or the comforting steady heartbeat, thoroughly alive. His eyes drifted to a spot on his wall and they didn't move for some time. A few hours later dawn was beginning to break.
Scott then heard the peaceful regularity of Stiles' body falter beside him. The eyes of his brother fluttered open and his face creased with pain.
"Stiles, tell me that's you."
Stiles jumped slightly when he became aware of the werewolf sitting next to him.
"You're alive?" were the first words Scott heard. Stiles' voice was ravaged with exhaustion and fear.
Scott stared at him in confusion.
"Of course I am."
He put his hand on Stiles' arm in an attempt to take at least a little more of his pain. For once Stiles didn't protest.
"What happened? Did I hurt anyone else?" he asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position and wincing with the extensive amount of effort it took.
"Stiles, you've been passed out since the school. You haven't even moved. How could you possibly have hurt anyone?"
Stiles looked utterly confused.
"What's wrong?" asked Scott. It was a stupid question considering the mountain of things that were wrong right now.
Stiles' eyebrows furrowed.
"He's in my head again." He said, voice anything but assured. "He can make me see whatever he wants. Scott, I could even be dreaming right now. He's probably got me trapped here in this stupid fantasy while he's out there murdering everyone I care about."
"Except this is real." Said Scott unwaveringly. "So you should be lying down and resting until Deaton gets back. He won't be long."
"I shouldn't be resting," said Stiles. "I should be dead."
Scott sighed. It was too much to bear, seeing his best friend like this, so ready to give up on himself. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. He would trade his wolf in a second for Stiles' happiness and the sight of Alison alive and smiling like she used to. But by now, that reality seemed like a whole world away.
"If our roles were reversed, what would you have done?" he said looking at his brother forlornly.
Stiles didn't answer.
At that moment the door opened and Lydia rushed in, holding a syringe tightly in her hand.
"You have it?" asked Scott eagerly.
Lydia nodded and then smiled sadly when she realised that Stiles was awake.
"Scott, do you mind if I talk to him alone?"
Scott completely understood. After all, he wasn't the only one that had just watched Stiles practically die. He'd spent the last few hours reassuring himself that death hadn't been permanent. Now it was Lydia's turn.
Trying to avoid being as selfish as he wanted to be, Scott agreed to go downstairs. Before he stood up however, he turned to Stiles, sending all the confidence he had left to his body language and voice.
"Stiles, you're gonna be okay." He said. "We'll work something out. We always do."
Stiles gave a half hearted smile. They were just words, and Scott knew it. But in his own head they held truth. They were going to win. And there was no alternative to that. There never would be.
So with that in mind, he got up and left the room.
Stiles managed to slowly shuffle himself onto the edge of the bed, but it wasn't without clutching his stomach and grunting in pain along the way. It hurt Lydia just to look at him. All she could see was a lifeless body lying in her arms. The body of a boy who had left her all alone.
Lydia perched herself down next to him, the syringe still in her hand.
"Stiles, if you ever do that again, I swear to God I will kill you."
Lydia didn't mean for the words to come out so shaken and serious.
"Noted." Replied Stiles.
A silence came across the two of them, for neither one knew what to say.
It didn't matter, for Lydia had her hand on Stiles' and it was real. Underneath the skin, blood was moving. In his chest, a heart was beating. And that was all that mattered.
Lydia cleared her throat.
"I guess I'm supposed to poison you now." She said nervously.
Stiles eyed the syringe and sighed.
"I've seen way too many needles lately."
He sounded feeble and weak, but most of all tired. Lydia felt tears prick her eyes. This wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
"I'm sorry." She said. "You can do it if it's easier?"
"No," said Stiles. "It's – it's better if someone else does it. I don't think I could." Stiles let out a spiteful laugh then. "I just got stabbed in the leg, nearly bled to death, stuck in a bear trap in my mind, and I'm still put off by a fricking needle."
Lydia's eyes widened.
"A bear trap?"
"Doesn't matter." Said Stiles quickly.
Lydia went quiet again.
Stiles turned to her and the corners of his lips turned up into a sad smile.
"I'm sorry." He said with another sigh. "Let's just get it over with. The quicker I know you're safe the better I'll feel."
Lydia returned his hopeful look.
"Count to three?" she said, holding the point of the needle to his upper arm.
Stiles nodded before his honey eyes met with hers, filled with an underlying melancholy that she knew she was sending right back.
"One...two..."
"Wait."
Stiles' hand shot up to surround Lydia's, holding it tightly in place before the needle could touch his skin. There was fear on his face.
"What is it?" asked Lydia, wincing because Stiles' grip was too tight. It was so tight it hurt.
That was when he changed.
Stiles' face dropped. His eyes went cold. His touch turned to ice.
"Come on Lydia, did you really think it would be that easy?"
Before Lydia could scream, his hand was wrapped around her throat. A moment later she was against a wall, unable to breathe, unable to think. His breath was on her skin. His eyes bored into her as she choked.
"You don't even make it a challenge." The voice was distant, spiralling in her head with an onslaught of dizziness. "You're all so quick to believe he's here. But little banshee, you should know something. Stiles is dead. He died on the bloodstained floor of a classroom. He died in your arms. Now it's my turn. And I'm going to enjoy every last bit of this."