A Lover's Spat

Oh I think I hear, in broken words, a lover's spat

Voices to and fro, a woman's cry, a baritone

Oh I hear a wounded call, a fallen heart, a desperate soul

Who begs for piece of mind, a want of expired love

Everything came back slowly for the young Banshee as she sat there in her perplexed state. The atmosphere around her remained a quiet empty puzzle though her eyes told her differently. She could see the wave of doctors surrounding Stiles' bed shouting codes, inserting medical equipment and moving so quickly she could barely pinpoint their hands.

But a part of her mind can't process what they're doing. They're tying to save Stiles, she reminds herself, but the information is lost within the second she receives it.

So she turns her head to another commotion. To her left the see's Scott unconscious on the floor, Deaton and Melissa are attempting to help him regain consciousness, she's see's his eyes flutter, then open as he takes the disorder around him. Melissa is crying, Lydia can almost feel her pain from the expression on her face. Good, he's okay.

And then there's Stilinski. The older one. Stiles' dad, in the corner of the room just watching as the team of medical ordeals try to revive his only son. His only living family. And as she observes him she can feel him fall apart at the seams; his eyes never leaving the body of his son through the crowd of doctors.

A familiar, constant sound that cuts through the white noise gradually brings her back to reality, allowing her to focus enough that she fully understand what was happening.

Beeeeeeeeeep

Stiles is dying.

She nearly jumps out the chair in shock and darts towards the Sheriff, offering as much support as she can at a time like this.

"What happened?" He asked softly, his voice unnaturally breaking as he forced the words out. Lydia examines him for a moment; the hung expression molded into his face reminds her so much of Stiles its unbelievable. "Why isn't it working?"

"I don't know." She answered. And it was true. She didn't know what to make of her trip into Stiles' mind, all she knew was that it didn't work. "I thought I could bring him back but…" The Banshee doesn't finish the sentence for she doesn't know what else to say.

"But he's still there? M-my," Stilinski swallows as he tries to get a grip on his breathing. "my son is still in there?"

Lydia nods, her attention shifting to back to Stiles' body on the bed as it jumps up from the wave of electricity that hits him. Tears burn down her face in familiarity. There's nothing she can do now but watch.

"Yeah."

The doctors had pulled away his hospital gown, and he remained shirtless against the crisp white sheets, various medical equipment surrounded his limp body; a reminder of the failed effort the staff put to revive him.

Her heart breaks every time she sees him like that; so vulnerable, so still. It's unnatural for a Stilinski to be in that state, hell, even the Sheriff has his jittery moments.

"I'm pushing the last round of Epi!" A nurse announced as she injected the fluid into one of Stiles' IV's and gave the signal to a doctor.

Lydia aimlessly tried to whip her tears away as the accustomed feeling of lurking death wanders to the back of her throat. She's gonna scream, and it going to be the most painful, heartbreaking wail. It's going to tear her apart and drive her insane, she won't be able to handle it.

She turns away, helplessly wrapping her arms around her petite body in attempt of false security; she can't watch anymore, she doesn't want to witness his death. But she knows she will. She's a banshee, a wailing woman, the alarm of death. And she knows she's going to witness his death one way or another.

She feels the gentle pull of her hand being unraveled from around her body and into the hand of another. The strawberry blond turns to look up at the figure before her and finds a weakened version of Scott, standing by her side, squeezing her hand for dear life. They don't exchange words. They don't need to. By the look on his face, Lydia can tell he's realizing what's happening.

His best friend is dying.

Tears weld into his eyes, threatening to escape. Scott doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to be the weak link of them all but he can't take it. He's barely holding it together anymore. He gazes down at her, puzzling though lingers around his mind, but he doesn't even need to speak it for Lydia to understand, to answer.

Is he going to—?

I can feel it.

She doesn't want to be alone anymore, so she turns into the warmth of Scotts body, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, engulfing her whole in his embrace; his sobs shaking through her as she cries against him.

The doctors eventually come to an exhausting stop, shoulders hung, gazes filled with sorrow and utter defeat. There's nothing more they can do. "I'm sorry." One says to the desperately distressed Sheriff who's being consulted by Melissa; he's sobbing into her arms. "He's gone."

The piercing sound of the lost signal on heart monitor is cutting clean through Lydia's hearing as she watches the straight line in an endless matter.

Everything's too still.

"I'm gonna call it," Another one says softly as more of them file out of the ICU room. "Time—"

"Stop."

The room goes silent as Lydia voices out causing everyone to look in her direction. She swallows; for once the attention was making her uneasy. She hesitantly approaches the bed, not really knowing what she was doing. It was just a feeling.

She swallows, raising her hand to Stiles' lifeless, pale arm. He's white as a ghost and it scares the living day light out of her. The strawberry blond sniffs, letting her hand linger up and down his arm. She tries to get a clear view of him like that, but it's nearly impossible with the amount of tears piling between her eyes.

All she sees is the blurry outline of a pale, bare boy, not believing he's dead.

"Stiles." Lydia speaks so tenderly, so faintly only Scott's trained ears pick up the name. "I love you," She continued, realizing the feeling, her need to scream, was gone. She was so caught up in the moment she didn't realize her urge to wail had vanished.

"Now open your eyes." A sob escaped her throat as she pleaded softly.

From the corner of her eye she could see the Sheriff on the other side of the bed, his hands reaching for his son in desperation and loss; Melissa was right behind him, offering her stability as his support. Lydia couldn't help but feel utterly destroyed when she remembered that he's been this position before; his wife had died in this hospital too.

And now his son—but no.

Lydia didn't scream. It wasn't finalized. And for one of the first times in her short life she's grateful that something was off.

"It's your turn now," She cried bringing his limp hand to her face as she leaned in and let his back of his fingers rest against her forehead in defeat. "o-op-en your eyes." She bawled; the curve of his fingers sliding perfectly through her hand.

"Open your eyes Stiles." Lydia swallowed uneasily. "Oh god."

"Open your eyes."

The five of them, Lydia, Scott, the Sheriff, Melissa and Deaton, remained standing in the room. But the strawberry blond couldn't help but feel so utterly alone. The tears on her face were beginning to dry; her body simply couldn't produce anymore tears, no matter how distressed she was.

Lydia looks up to Scott behind her in confusion. "I-I didn't scream." She struggled out helplessly. "Scott, I didn't scream. He can't be dead." She tried to convince the alpha, but it felt more like she was trying to convoke herself at some point. She couldn't understand what was going on. This wasn't normal.

Scott frowned, as Deaton approached them. "That's right," The veterinarian realized. "you didn't scream."

"I didn't scream." Lydia repeated trapped in some sort of banshee trance.

Scott glanced at the Sheriff across from him. A he held a perplexed gazed of complete and utter dubiety. "You're telling me he's not dead?" Scott wanted so dearly to answer yes, but he didn't want to offer false comfort, he wasn't that type of person.

"We're not sure."

"I didn't scream." Lydia repeated once again lost in the hurling train of her own thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. "I-I didn't scream." She mumbled, this time only to herself as the realized dawned upon her. And once she understood what she to do she took no time, not even to warn those around her.

"STIIIILLLLESSS!" Erupted from her throat as she clung to the boy's arm to tightly. She poured everything she could into that shriek that at some point she could feel her body drain and clear of all thoughts, only left with the one thing she had to accomplish, the one thing she had to focus on; getting Stiles back.

The scream so sharp, so piercing—that everyone in the room immediately covered their ears; her raw voice so deafening it was almost dangerous.

Stiles' eye's suddenly fluttered open with a gasp of breath from the Banshee's lips.

It had worked.

"Stiles!" You could hear his fathers thick voice shout out in surprise as all eyes laid on the boy in the bed.

The heart monitor began feeding their ears with that constant wonderful sound again, and though it was weak, it felt like music to their ears.

Stiles remained silent as he watched his surroundings in a confused state of mind.

Lydia was speechless. The scream took a lot out of her. She felt Scotts strong arms support her body up against him, her eyes never leaving the younger Stilinski in shock. Shock that it had worked.

It had actually worked.

"Stiles? Son, can you hear me?" The sheriff spoke rather loudly, tears streaming down his face in complete and utter happiness. Stiles nodded to the best of his ability though they could tell he was still a little out of it. The older Stilinski grinned ear to ear as she tightened the grip on his boys arm.

"Oh thank god." He exhaled, relief washing over him like a cleansing wave.

"Stiles, don't talk, okay? I'm gonna remove that tube from your throat." Melissa advised him. Stiles nodded once again, his tired, half closed eyes glancing around the room in a daze as Scotts mom approached him.

It didn't take to long, but Stiles instantly felt the benefits of breathing normally again. Though his throat was sore and dry, it was much better than having something artificial breath for him.

He was weak, he could feel the lag on his body deep in the depth of his bones.

"Wha—hap-pened?" He heard his voice ring out, only it didn't sound like his voice. It sounded like an estrange disembodied noise that caught him by surprise. He stared at his father for an response he clearly wasn't going to answer, then Scott, then Lydia. But they all remained silent.

"Well someone's gonna have to tell me."

"Y-You don't remember anything?" Lydia questioned her voice nearly breaking as she pulled herself away from Scotts grip and back next to Stiles' bedside. Stiles took a few moments to search the back of his mind but nothing prominent was popping up. His memories were so foggy and unclear, it was a nearly impossible to understand.

"L-lydia and I… we were in a-a basement." He paused, and closed his eyes hoping more would come back to him. "I-I…" He struggled to make sense of his memories. "I don't know. I-I can't remember."

"That's actually pretty normal for someone in your case, it'll take some time for the memories to come back, but they will eventually." Melissa explained to everyone.

Scott looked down at his best friend. "Stiles, you were shot."

The information spread through him like wildfire as everything came back to him. The basement, the shooting, the hospital, Lydia being able to see him, his mother.

His eyes met Lydia's in an instant. "Y-yeah," The word was practically forced from his mouth.

"I-I remember."

"You do?"

"I heard your scream." Stiles breathed out. "I heard your scream, i-it brought me back. I was dying. It brought me back. I-I don't know how…"

"Of course it did, she's your anchor." Deaton smiled unexpectedly speaking out. Both parties turned to him in surprise. "Never underestimate the undeniable power of an emotional tether. It can do miracles."

Lying on my own, my body straight, I fear for more.

Holding to a breath, my heart skips, warmth fills my chest

I overheard a broken heart a damaged love to say

That all is lost we've stumbled hard

there's nothing left to save

Oh I think I hear, in broken words,

a lover's spat

…

Its shorter than usual, but I just wanted to update faster, hope you enjoyed, I think there only one more chapter to go, but don't quote me on that. :)

(Song: A Lover's Spat, by Gossling. Which I don't own)

-C