High Infidelity [Midnights #2]

chapter 6

Stiles had been fussing with Lydia's blanket, trying to get it to lay just right, for the better part of ten minutes. And, yeah, he knew it was pathetic, but he couldn't stop himself either. It made him feel better. It was keeping him from totally and completely losing his fucking mind. Well, the whole blanket thing and the rhythmic beep of her heart monitor. There was just something about that thing that had always been comforting to Stiles.

Likely more trauma surrounding his mother. Not important right now. All he knew was he didn't want to think. Nope. No sir. Thinking was bad. Thinking made Stiles all weepy. Thinking reminded him that they could still find themselves without Lydia in the morning if shit went sideways. So, he fussed with the blanket to keep himself from thinking. He didn't want to think, damnit.

Not about the fact that Kate had shown up here earlier. Not about the way she had learned that her niece was more well-versed in all things paranormal than she had initially let on. Not about the way Stiles had forced them all out the door to concoct a plan to keep it from Gerard so Allison didn't get shipped away because no way Scott wouldn't unravel if Allison suddenly disappeared.

And not about the fact that they still had no idea who had shot at them.

Another two minutes and Stiles finally managed to sit the hell down. He put his hands in his lap and relaxed further into his chair, watching Lydia's chest rise and fall for a solid minute before turning to Jackson. No, he wasn't hurt, but Stiles knew by now he could never be too careful in this hospital. Or this town. Weird shit happened constantly in Beacon Hills.

His eyes started to close next, his blinks getting longer and longer, about the time Lydia opened hers. And he gave her a lazy smile.

"Hey, you," she whispered.

"Hey, Lyd," he returned. "How are you feeling?"

He sat up, careful not to jostle her bed too much. Jackson needed the rest and he didn't want to risk waking him up. Hell, Stiles probably needed it too, but he'd always had terrible sleep habits. There was no point in denying it or fighting them now when he could just put them to good use instead.

"Oh, you know, just peachy," Lydia joked.

She sighed deeply, her breath hitching in her chest for only a second, but Stiles caught it. She was in pain, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise. And he would never, ever forgive Peter for making her feel that way. His Lydia was excellent at brushing most things under the rug, but she'd learn soon enough that wasn't possible this time around.

Suddenly, it seemed to dawn on her where she was and why she was here. Her heart monitor reflected it shortly after too, like her memory was assaulting her with the moment Peter had bitten her. So, without thinking, Stiles reached forward and grabbed her hand, like it was instinctual, and gave it a kiss.

"Hey, it's okay. You're fine." Oh, well, no. She wasn't fine. Not yet. But he still needed her to calm down before Melissa came bursting in here. "We, uh, don't know where Peter is right now, but I already talked to Derek. He promised to hunt him down and make him pay."

"Stiles, I..."

She bit her lip, as if she was nervous to keep speaking, afraid of his reaction to what would be the next words out of her mouth. And that confused him. Nothing this wonderful, amazing, incredible girl could say would upset him.

"What?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," she rushed to say in one breath.

"If what's a good idea?"

"You didn't see him," she insisted. "He was so upset, Stiles."

He scoffed, shaking his head but never letting go of her hand. "Lydia, he bit you. Do you understand what that means?" She shrugged. "I'm not trying to scare you, but you could still die." He paused, allowing the severity of his words to sink in fully. People always had a tendency not to take him seriously due to his default setting of heavy sarcasm. "Your body could, like, reject the bite. He's not going to get away with this."