The Fear

I've been worryin' that my time is a little unclear
I've been worryin' that I'm losing the ones I hold dear
I've been worryin' that we all live our lives in the confines of fear

"That's it, power." Deaton spoke in simple realization. Everyone shot him a strange glance for they had no idea what he was talking about. A thick sort of tension hung in the air somehow making them more anxious.

"My power?" Lydia questioned not knowing where he was going with this.

"Yes and no… now your banshee abilities don't offer us much help now, but the connection you share with Stiles definitely will." He explained searching the back of his mind for any valuable information he could've retained. "There's an old legend that states 'one who runs with wolves finds power within'." He spoke rather quickly trying to get to the point as he turned around rummaging through the locked vitals in the cabinets above.

"A-and that means what exactly?" Scott questioned having a hard time connecting the two points.

"It means that a human, such as Stiles, who is associated with a werewolves pack—such as yours, subconsciously absorbs their strength without realizing it. Now, he can't harvest this power like you can, but it gives him an advantage in events such as this."

"So he's stronger than a human?" Isaac spoke in attempt to piece everything together. Deaton nodded pulling out the vital he was looking for. "In a way, yes."

"And what does this have to do with Lydia?" Scott asked in confusion gazing back at the banshee before him.

"She's his tether." Deaton simply added.

"We'll have batter chance of this working if she's the one attempting to pull him back." Deaton answered swiftly. "Come on, we need to get him to the hospital. To Melissa."

Scott ran as fast as he could without drawing the attention of the bystanders through the hospital, using his senses to trail out in sign of her until he found her. They needed a medical expertise with the knowledge of the supernatural, they needed Melissa McCall.

"Mom!" The Alpha made his way through the white hallway until he stood before her, trying to piece together a sentence to explain. But for once he was at a loss, for his words failed him.

"Scott, honey, what are you—?" Melissa questioned turning on her heels to approach him, the gaping expression on his face nearly only confusing her. But it wasn't until the rest of the pack appeared behind him and she caught a sight of strawberry blond hair, her eyes jumping from Lydia to Stiles, limp in Derek's hands, that she realized what was going on.

They found them.

"G-gurney—someone get me a gurney!" She shouted. Coming to her senses she realized one of the two—Stiles, was unresponsive. Her core shook as she ran to examine the boy. "How long has he been out?" She cried as one of her fellow nurses brought over a gurney. It was then she noticed the crimson stains in his t-shirt, feeling the rawness of his wound with the tips of her gloved hands.

Her fingers trembled for a fraction of a second, but that was all she had before she pushed those feelings away attempted to keep her focus on helping him.

"C-Can someone call the Sheriff!" She shouted beginning a routine workup on the boy, as a few other nurses pushed the gurney into an empty trauma room. It was there during the fute of her frustration that she quickly realized he had no pulse.

"Stiles, Honey?!" She frowned, turning to the small crowd before her. "I-I'm not getting a pulse—Scott, wh-why am I not getting a pulse!?" She shouted in utter panic as she re-positioned the stethoscope on the boys skin. But her son remained silent, gazing into his mother's eyes in despair.

Lydia swallowed meeting the middle aged woman in the eyes. "That's because he's dead." Her voice was rough, softly raspy. Melissa froze, the news taking its time to wash over her before her heart sank into the depths of her stomach.

But now was not the time to let her emotions get the best of her.

"Uh—s-starting CPR!" Melissa announced somehow managing to shift back professionally. "I need an intubation kit here, please!"

And as they worked on Stiles, the door burst open revealing the veterinarian. Pulling Melissa aside for a quick moment, he took the vial from his pocket and handed it to her. "I need you to inject him with this."

"W-what is this? Deaton I can't just put anything into—" She talked quickly as if somehow she was running out of time. "It's a Chervil powder herb. Resurrection herb for the supernatural." The druid cleared up, but Mama McCall was only more confused than ever. "But Stiles is, is human… unless there's something you're not telling me."

"Yes, Stiles is human—but it's more complicated than that, just trust me."

The nurse eyes her son for a minute in hesitation. "He knows what he's doing mom." His mother nodded and began to set up an IV for the herb. "Okay, what now?"

"You guys should to get out of here. Give them room to work." Deaton turned addressing the rest of the teenagers who took up most of the space in the small trauma room. Everyone began to protest their voices echoing off the walls of the place "What—No?" Scott began but the Druid cut him off. "You don't want to see this."

"I can't just leave him—" Scott fought.

"You're gonna have to—"

"Scott just please do what he says!" Melissa desperately called out, under no circumstances did she want her son to witness her attempts to revive someone he basically called a brother. He wouldn't be the same if he did, if they all did.

"They're right Scott, we should go outside." Derek spoke in a low calm voice. Isaac was the first one to open the door and walk out, followed by Derek. They stood in the frame of the door waiting for the others. But Kira wouldn't leave without Scott, and Lydia didn't seem to get the message at all.

Scott sensed the urgency in his boss's voice, and heard his heart beat calmly through his chest.

He wasn't lying. Of course he wasn't lying. Why would he be lying?

Scott took a moment to gaze over Stiles' feature in case it was the last time he saw his mole-covered friend, with long shapely lips, and shark hooded nose. With shoulders sunk, demeanor shot, the Alpha slowly backed away, his eyes yearning for his best friend before he stepped beside Lydia taking her hand. "Come on, Lydia." He whispered softly tugging on her hand to grab her attention.

Her eyes tore Stiles' body as she Scott dragged her through the exit.

"When the doctors come and you try to revive him, double the amount of the epinephrine limit—"

"Deaton I-I can't push more than six of Epi or it will kill him—! Melissa exclaimed.

"It won't, he's much stronger than that." Deaton reassured as Melissa threw him a look. This was beyond crazy but it was what needed to be done. "His body will need the extra adrenaline Melissa, trust me."

"Yeah… okay. I've come to trust that your supernatural doings considering everything." She exhaled sharply as she pressed the crash cart button. "I've got a code blue in trauma room 5, code blue in trauma room 5!"

"This is really unnecessary. I'm fine." Lydia commented as she sat down on one of the examination beds, Kira by her side. "Lydia, you've been missing for days, and you think a medical checkup is unnecessary?" The Kitsune questioned in confusion.

But the strawberry blond just nodded. "Kira, I'm okay." She mumbled turning away. But she wasn't fooling anyone. "I'm sorry but you're not fine—because even I'm not fine and I haven't been what you've been through and oh god… y-you just can't be fine…" She trailed off her heart and panic rising as the reality of the situation began to take a toll on her.

Lydia just gazed back at the Fox with a worried expression. "I know… I…" She wanted to admit the simple but painful truth—that she wasn't fine—physical yes, but mentally? There was always going to be something pressing down on the back of her mind when it came to Stiles, epically after what had happened today.

"Stiles is dead, technically..." Kira exhaled sharply, tip toeing around the subject watching for any reaction Lydia could ensue. But the strawberry blond just continued avoiding her gazing, rubbing the small bruises that hand formed on her arms.

"Lydia Martin?" Another voice entered the exam room as the door swung open then shut revealing the doctor. "Yes?" She stood attempting to brighten her spirits in hopes to pass off not needing any medical help what-so-ever.

"I ran your scans. Good news, you have a no internal bleeding—just few bruises along your ribcage that should heal up on their own. But other than, you're in the clear. I'd take it easy for a few days, maybe consider coming to see a therapist or counselor. You've been through some pretty traumatic stuff, wouldn't surprise me if your having difficulties—"

"Dr. Rapport, is it?" Lydia quickly questioned cutting him off.

The doctor nodded. "Yes?"

"Like your scans say, I'm perfectly fine." She smiled her famous Lydia smile. "I just want to get out of here and go home to rest." She played her role effortlessly as if she was still intone with having to play pretend as she did for the first two years of her high school career.

"Alright, I'll let you change." The doctor shrugged. "But if you change your mind, here's a card from one of our therapists equipped to help you through events as such."

"Won't be necessary."

"I'll let you change, too." Kira stated making her exit with the doctor leaving the Strawberry blond alone by herself in the examination room. And the moment both of them were gone so was the smile on her face. It had become so difficult to keep the facade up, she couldn't believe she had to do it once more.

She sat there for a good four minutes before the silence got to her, allowing her brain to catch up with her mind. Slowly and without much warming, the memories of that day began rushing back to her. She tried to push them back, she tried to stop them, but it was no use.

Her breathing became labored as she began to hyperventilate. All the memories from back down there were getting to her.

Stop it. Stop it!

It didn't work very well cause the next thing she knew, her hands were shaking.

Lydia tried to take in deep breathes, but it wasn't working. Images of their captors threatening them... beating them... taking the gun out... Stiles on the ground flashed across her mind a like twisted kaleidoscope, flooding her mind.

Blood.

Breathe Lydia, breathe.

But it was too much, Kira shouldn't have left her alone. They shouldn't have left her alone—she wasn't ready for that.

The gaping hole of silence the young Yukimura left was eating her alive. Lydia let out these long gasp's of breath as she clung on the side of the cot, finger nails digging in the soft, plastic bedding. Tears fell down her exhausted face.

Stop.

"Lydia stop." A familiar voice spoke; there was uneasiness to the pained voice. She quickly realized she wasn't alone anymore.

Lydia froze where she was standing, but rose her head up in shock. In that moment she could hear the beat of her own heart drumming against the back of her ears; shaking her very core. She struggled to hold on to the bed.

She knew that voice.

After taking a few breathes of much needed air, she shakily turned around to where it came from.

As her eyes set on the figure in front of her, she quickly ran out of air, and took in another set of gasps of breathe.

The boy stood behind her, he looked perfectly fine—expect for the pained expression that seemed to be molded into his face. He wasn't hurt, or dying, or dead… he was standing before her.

Completely fine.

"St-Stiles." Lydia managed out. Her eyes quickly widened, almost crazed for the figure she was seeing couldn't possibly be real.

His face dropped in realization. "Y-you can see me?!" He nearly shouted in disbelieve.

Lydia nodded thinking of all the possibilities that could trigger in depth, life-like hallucinations. Brain tumor, Schizophrenia, Parkinson's... "Y-you're not real… you can't b-be real." She decided out loud. Dementia, Epilepsy, Alzheimer's... She was trying to convince herself she wasn't seeing him, more than anything else.

Stiles quickly approached her in his fashionably matter. But she backed away with caution and put her hands in front of her as a signal for him not to come any closer.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks, the small smile on his face faded. He quickly came a realization the Lydia thought he was a hallucination or something of that sort.

That he wasn't real.

"Lydia it's really me." He tried to reason with her using extreme hand motions that only seemed to alarm her more.

The young girl shook her head in denial. "No." She swallowed, shaking her head. "This is just—just some sort of weird post traumatic stress disorder thing—that's what it is!" She exclaimed taking in a death breathe. She lowered her arms and then continued pacing around the room in the form of a lunatic.

"Y-you know I read something like this before, yeah... some people, who go experience traumatic events often gets so stressed out they start hallucinating things—people!" She tried to find a scientific explanation for what stood in front of her.

I'm losing it.

For a minute she stopped and collected herself. Lydia contemplated if what she was seeing could be true—but with her strange supernatural ties and all, it was hard to clarify.

"Okay, let's say I'm not crazy," She tried to reason. "what are you exactly?" She asked in a whisper.

Stiles stood before her and slightly shrugged, he thought about it for moment, deciding what he should tell her, and how to make it not sound ridiculous. He scratched the back of his head.

"I-I'm sure."

Lydia looked at him in disbelieve. Even as—well, whatever he was, he was still clueless. One thing certainly didn't change about him.

"Okay, so you have no idea what you are?"

"I think the concept that I don't know what I am was already concluded, Lydia." He adds, cheekily.

"Do you—uh, remember what happened—"

"Yeah." He said clearly, not meeting her eyes, he looked down at the ground. "I mean, kinda of—not really... I know I got shot and all… but, I thought I... aren't I dead?" Lydia opened her mouth to say something but Stiles was lost in the choice of his words that he just continued on.

"I screamed." She offered painfully.

"Then I am dead." Stiles gave in and looked down at the girl. "And if I am then this makes sense... you're a banshee, you always have something to do with death." Stiles began to trail on, but Lydia was lost in her thoughts.

What he was saying did seem very plausible—she just didn't know what to believe anymore.

"Lydia... hey you okay?" Another voice entered the room. Lydia quickly spun around and came face to face with Kira. She nodded and flashed her a fake smile after meeting Stiles in the eyes to see if he was still there.

Back in the waiting room the Derek and Isaac waited anxiously on any news of Stiles, Melissa had said that when she could she would update them. But so far they hadn't even left the trauma room. Which wasn't a good sign.

As the girls walked in Kira quickly took note that the Alpha was nowhere in sight. Stiles was laying on gurney dead and Scoot was the last person who would be left alone at the moment. "Where's Scott?" She asked her heart picking it's pace. Derek gave a nod in the opposite direction, and the brunette turned around and saw her boyfriend on the phone.

Somber expression.

"He's talking to the Sheriff." Isaac explained. Kira gave Scott a reassuring glance from across the room and then sat down on one of the open chairs. She knew this was something he needed to do on his own.

Scott leaned against the hallway wall phone glued to his ear as it continued to ring.

Come on, come on. Scott pleaded with the phone, he couldn't let him find out about his son some other way—he had to be the one to do it.

Every since the night Stiles and Lydia went missing, the Sheriff was on the list of people who didn't get a minute of sleep for the last 72 hours. Constantly patrolling, scouting locations, searching for clues.

The call was picked up and the Sheriff's voice broke through the silence. "Er, Scott? That you?" He said after noticing the caller ID.

"We found them." He stated.

The Sheriff went quiet for a few moments, letting the news sink in followed by a wave of relief. "You found them? Are they okay—i-is Stiles there? –put him on the phone." He demanded happily.

Scott swallowed uncomfortably. "Stiles," The word felt like poison to his mouth. "uh—St—he isn't... uh, we're at the hospital" He said slowly. He couldn't find the words to explain everything. This wasn't something he could simply announce over the phone.

"Is Stiles… is my boy okay?" He could hear the Sheriff exhaled in dread. He was hoping for some better news.

"Melissa, he's been down for too long." One of the doctors stated in defeat. But the nurse continued on with compressions.

"We can't stop. Push another round of Epi." She said as she pressed her hands against Stiles' chest.

She noticed most of the doctors have backed away now, just staring at her. Even the intern who was pumping air into him via airway tube stopped. Melissa took a deep breath and glared at her. "What are you doing? Did I tell you to stop? Keep going!" She snapped. The scared intern quickly obeyed and continued on, sending even breaths of air through the tube that ran down his throat.

This had to work. Deaton said it would. She had to trust him.

One of the doctors who hadn't given up and was still working on the young boy, reached for the defibrillator paddles. She yelled at the nearest nurse to charge and shout "Clear!" as metal paddles met the young boy's chest.

Melissa took her hands off and stopped the compressions, the intern let go of the pump for a brief moment and they watched as Stiles' upper body spring upward as the shock of electricity ran through his body.

"Still nothing." The doctor exhaled in disappointment. That was fourth time they charged him in the last twenty minutes.

"Dr. Allen charge again." Melissa demanded. She wasn't about to lose Stiles—she wasn't going down without a fight.

The doctor looked Melissa in the eye for a short second before she gave her a quick nod.

As Dr. Allen got the paddles fired again, Melissa continued her compressions against Stiles' chest. She looked down at the boy and tears almost stung in her eye, but she was trained to stay calm, knowing she had one job to do. "Come on, Stiles! Fight! Come on!" She shouted angrily at him. Of all the times she wished she was rid of him. From breaking into the house, and getting Scott in trouble. Stiles was a lot of things, but he was also like another son to her, she couldn't give up on him.

"Push another round of Epi." Melissa said to the nurse in charge of fluids.

"Another round, Nurse McCall that'll—"

"Just do it!" Melissa barked in frustration.

Dr. Allen exchanged a glace between the nurses but con tinued on. "Charge... clear!" She struck Stiles once more, but with each minute even she began to lose hope for the boy.

The room stood still for a long moment. All eyes were glued to the heart monitor just to the left side above Stiles head. The red flat line jumped once, from the shock, then dropped back and remained constant.

Melissa's heart sank to her stomach. "Please." She mumbled faintly as she closed her eyes in dread for a moment.

Beep

She opened her eyes in disbelieve, they darted to the monitor and for a moment she thought she was imagining it.

Beep

But there it was again. She watched as the line changed colors and shoot upward. It wasn't a steady healthy beat. It was low. But it was there, and that's all she cared about in that moment. She exhaled deeply in relief, not noticing that she was holding her breath before.

"We're back in sinus!" Dr. Allen shouted with a smile.

"Alright we gotta get this kid into the OR!"

Scott walked unsteadily walked back to the waiting area, and sat down next to the only person he knew could help calm him down in the moment, Kira. He exhaled deeply and tired to clear his head. But with each minute that passed he was getting more and more anxious. Wave of emotions ran through him—memories, childhood memories with Stiles crept from the back of his mind subconsciously.

Kira held tight to his hand, offering her own form of support.

He saw them racing their bikes down the street, he saw them at the local sports shop, pilling together their money so they could buy their first lacrosse stick—these memories were once filled with joy, but now only pain seemed to fill the gaps in-between.

He felt another hand on his and suddenly he was pulled back in reality. Lydia met his gaze. He looked down at his tightened grip around the arm rest, he was squeezing the metal to the point it was being crushed under the enormous power of his hand.

Scott took a breath and tired to clear his mind once more—but it was too much—all of this was too overwhelming for him. He hadn't had time to process everything before—he was too busy being to the leader, and taking charge. But now, that everything was still, he had time to think.

To really think about what happened.

He could hear his heart begin to speed, maybe thinking wasn't the best thing to do right now.

Without warning he quickly stood up and walked away—he knew the tears were coming and he didn't want everyone to see him like that anymore. He felt it made him weak, vulnerable.

Scott paced down the hall and stopped to breathe after a few seconds. He was finally alone to express however he felt—but was it what he really wanted?

Lydia watched as he tore himself away, she could tell he was holding in tears. In that moment she couldn't help but glance to her right, where Stiles was standing watching what was unfolding in front of him. She still couldn't decide if he was real or not, but there was no denying the look on his face made her heart sink deeper into the pits of her stomach.

They all watched as Kira leave right after him. Not wanting to leave him to deal with his on his own.

"This is all my fault." Stiles admitted without much emotion to his voice. Lydia swallowed when she heard those words. They were a lie—she knew it—even he did. But that didn't mean Stiles didn't feel responsible.

Her stomach turned in a nasty way as she heard him, but she chose to ignore his comment. It was easier that way—he was probably just some illusion her mad mind came up with anyway.

Stiles sighed and walked across the room to sit in the empty chair beside Lydia. He sat there for a moment in deep thought, contemplating whether he should say something or not.

After a while he decided he should, just in case he's never get the chance to later. "D-do you remember it? How it happened?" He clarified.

Lydia took a second but she gave him a soft nod.

"Me too... I'm getting some of it" He said uneasily as he took his eyes off her and stared down the hall to where Scott and Kira had disappeared to.

A flash flew across is eyes, and suddenly, he was back in that basement again.

The pair stood facing their captor in a demeaning silence. Stiles stood in front of Lydia, one arm stretched outwards in front of her stomach as a form of protection. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, where is Derek's pack?" The man said sternly, he was pointing the gun straight at Stiles.

The Stilinski boy swallowed and tried to quickly come up with some witty way of lying to him, but all he could come up was with "I don't know." Which seemed to have gotten him nowhere, but further into this bad predicament.

The man then turned his focus on the short strawberry blond haired girl Stiles was trying so hard to protect, his gun followed.

This only enraged him as he saw the man threaten her with the gun. Lydia took quick short breaths as she tightened the grip on Stiles shirt from behind, he could feel her begin to tremble in fear.

"Maybe she can tell me. She seems awful quiet—you know what they say—the quiet ones know everything." The man smiled wickedly.

This pissed Stiles off. Not only was he pointing the gun at Lydia, but the man managed to smile while doing it.

"Hey, hey! That is the girl I love, don't you dare point a gun at her!" He lashed out, now stepping in front of her completely. Lydia quickly moved to his left side—still grabbing hold of his shirt for dear life.

The gun was back at him now.

Stiles swallowed nervously again and looked at the metal weapon that could end his life at any moment. "So, someone's getting sly here aren't they?" The man chuckled.

"Maybe this will get something out of her." He said eerily.

A shot rang out and Stiles braced himself, Lydia closed her eyes let out a small shriek as yanked his shirt in horror.

But nothing happened. Stiles didn't feel any pain like he expected to—was he hit? He couldn't tell. Only when he peeled his eyes open and saw the gun was pointed at the ceiling above them he came to the realization that he wasn't.

A warning shot.

He let out a breath of in utter relief, but it only last for a moment before he saw that the man had moved back to Lydia, now with a murderous gaze upon his face. He was tired of not getting any answers.

"Where are they!?" He hollered in complete frustration. Lydia flinched under the weight of the threat, but said nothing.

"Stop! Alright?! Can't you see threatening her won't—" Stiles interjected once more as he stepped into the frame of the gun. But he never finished his sentence.

The man had enough of him, and another shot rang out.

"NO!" Lydia shrieked.

Stiles stood there for a moment for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes wide in utter shock. His arm subconsciously rose to the place he was hit, blood seeped through his fingers. There was no pain—that came later when he dropped to the floor and the shock wore off.

Right then, there was only silence.

He could hear his heart beating violently against this chest. He could hear his breath on the back of his throat.

He looked straight into the eyes of his captor, letting the panic sink in as he struggled to catch his breath. The man looked just about as shocked as he was, and after a moment he began to back away until he was out of Stiles' view.

That was when he lost control of his balance. It didn't even feel like a fall, not to him—he felt lighter—almost like he was floating. And before he knew it; he was staring up that the ceiling.

…

It was hours later when they finally had gotten any official word on Stiles. They had only seen him once since they were forced to leave, but it was for a brief moment when they rolled him out of the trauma room. And even then, they couldn't see much due to the crowd of doctors that surrounded him as they rushed to their destination.

But that was hours ago.

The gang remained in the waiting room, holding on to any strand of hope they still had left in their tried and broken bodies. Only the constant ticking on the nearby clock seemed to bother them—especially the wolves, who heard it ten times as clearer and louder. A constant reminder of the time that had passed.

Deaton was the only one who seemed to disappear after the whole ordeal. Once he got Lydia and himself out the door of the trauma room, he said a few low words to Scott before making his exit.

It was strange.

But no one questioned the knowledgeable druid. In fact, they hadn't really felt his absence.

Lydia felt a form of absence. It wasn't created when Dr. Deaton had left—it had created when she turned to where she last saw Stiles sitting and found him gone.

She missed whatever he was. For a moment she panicked when she no longer saw the tortured boy before her, but then relief ran through her in realization that maybe she just stopped envisioning him.

But there was still a part of her that felt the urgency—that need to see him once more and know he was okay.

She tried to relax and tell herself that she was just seeing things, and that it was mostly likely a form of post traumatic stress more than anything. But even then, she could calm down.

She was constantly reminded of why they where there.

And nothing anybody could ever do, could change that.

It was Melissa who walked around the corner first, followed by a tall woman who wore a lab coat and a clipboard in her arms.

As they approached the strange group, Scott and the Sherriff were the ones to stand up first. Knowing that the torturing the wait was finally over. For once in his life Scott couldn't read the expression on his mothers face, it was blank.

"How is he?" Scott asked without hesitation, he turned to his mother who made a gesture to the doctor standing next to her.

Dr. Allen gave them a small meaningless smile as she introduced herself. "Are you Mr. Stilinski?" She asked Stiles's father though she could already tell by the look of despair and disbelieve expressions fixed on his face.

He nodded slowly. "Sherriff Stilinski." He corrected halfheartedly as he shook her hand. "H-how's my son?" He asked hesitantly. Part of him desperately wanted to know the condition of his son, but the other half just wanted to shut down and remain in the dark."

Dr. Allen swallowed and took a look around, everyone was gathered to hear the fate of one of their own. The doctor felt a little uncomfortable in the presence of such anxious teenagers, that she wondered how the Sherriff was taking this.

The news wasn't good. And she just didn't want to break that out right there in front of everyone.

Moments of silence passed by and the Sherriff began to look impatient as if the weight of the question that hung in the air was slowly eating him alive. He needed to know. "Dr. Allen, I really don't want to ask you again." He said faintly. It wasn't a threat, it was a plead.

The doctor nodded, then began. "As you know your son has sustained a serious life threatening injury, when he was brought in Melissa informed me that he was neither breathing or had a pluse. We honestly don't know how he survived after being down that long." She said. Scott shared a quick glace with his mother.

"During surgery I removed the bullet and managed to repair the part of his lung that collapsed when he was shot. He lost a lot of blood, approximately forty percentage of his blood volume. He needed and still needs multiple transfusions going on " Dr. Allen swallowed, the hard part was coming. "Unfortunately, treating the gunshot wound wasn't the only major issue… you see for a person to go without oxygen for that long could have effects on the brain..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

The gang hung onto her every word as if it were their last breath.

"He isn't responding to any stimuli." Dr. Allen revealed, to her the term was familiar, but from the looks everyone was giving her she could tell they had no clue what that meant.

All but two people. Melissa and the shorter strawberry blond girl with stormy green eyes. She looked panicked—horror stricken as if she was acquainted with the term.

"What do you mean he's not responding?" Stiles's father demanded.

Dr. Allen swallowed. "I'm afraid there are signs of a coma."

The Sherriff breathed calmly in and out for a few moments, but everyone could tell the news hit him hard. He didn't meet the doctor in the eye—he didn't even look at her as he took a few moments to process what he had just been told.

Stiles's father never liked hospitals—this wasn't mainly because of what happened with his wife—how it tore apart his family, but because in his time serving this town as Sherriff, he had seen many people enter the doors of these places and never come out; countless bodies—survivors—victims, who all lived through the horror and the trauma only to die when being saved.

Just like his son, just like Stiles.

"C-can I see him?" He asked, his fingers trembling from the shock.

"Of course."

The trip to the ICU felt like the longest walk Lydia ever took in her life—so much anticipation—so much anxiety all warped up in the moments it took to get there. All of them were trapped in their various state of mind as they followed the Doctor—only Lydia really felt the utter length of the walk.

With each step they took, with each breath they drew, they came closer to the reason they were all there.

They let Sherriff Stilinski go in alone first, deciding it only right to let him have a few moments with his son before he was crowded by a group of teenagers. Melissa and Dr. Allen followed him quietly inside.

There was a window that attached to the room, but the blinds were drawn. Scott tried to focus his hearing from the inside of the closed door, but received no audio.

Silence.

Lydia tried to keep every inch of her tried and broken body to stay put, to stay where she was. She rubbed her eyes and swallowed drily. She was afraid that any moment she would snap and lunge at the door in some pathetic form of anticipation. But she calmed down, and managed to restrain herself from doing what she wanted most in that moment.

Seconds turned into moments, moments turned into minutes and still nothing happened. They all stood gathered by the door in silence.

Scott was surprised some of them were still here, sure, he could understand Lydia even Kira, but Derek and Isaac? They never particularly liked Stiles that much. Most of their interaction came with violent threats and annoyed expressions.

In a way Scott saw this as a sign of respect—it showed him their loyalty to one of their own.

What felt like a lifetime was only about ten minutes in reality before the door opened once more, and Dr. Allen walked out followed by Melissa. Scott's mother informed them they could go in now, but that they should stick to small numbers as to not overwhelm the Sherriff.

Scott quickly nodded in a silent agreement and his shot Lydia a glance. They seemed to communicate without words for a few moments before the green-eyed girl took a shaky breath and clung on the young wolf's arm as they walked inside together.

It wasn't as bad as she thought.

Lydia spent hours in that waiting room debating on how Stiles would look like using the small medical experience she had. This was nothing compared to what she had envisioned. She thought he'd look worse.

But honestly, he looked quite normal. Peacefully asleep almost.

As the odd pair approached the best, they noticed his father by his bedside, looking as if he was reliving his worst nightmare all over again.

Stiles was just laying there, the only thing that seemed to set him apart from themselves was the color of his skin—shades lighter and the large bruise on his right cheek, a welcome gift from their captor. He was dressed in a hospital gown, and there was one of those scruffy light blue hospital blankets that went up to his waist, he had a couple IV's, one for a blood transfusion and the rest for fluids Lydia guessed.

Lydia couldn't believe that only a few short hours ago, he was dead in her arms—it felt like days ago to the young woman. It was as if her eyes were playing tricks on her, if it weren't for all the hospital equipment, she would've thought he was just sleeping or something innocent like that.

She took a breath and closed her eyes, trying soak everything in. And once she opened her eyes, she noticed another figure standing behind the Sheriff.

I've been worryin'
I will become what I deserve
I've been worryin'
My time is a little unclear
I will become what I deserve