Right Beside You | Stiles Stilinski | Two

14 - You're Not Her

It took a long time for the world to swim back into focus. At least, it felt like it did. It's hard to tell when you're unconscious.

It started with a quiet ringing in my ears, stirring me from the darkness and altering me to the presence of my own thoughts. Once I realized I was in the process of waking up—and the feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I was definitely supposed to be awake—then the real struggle began. I tried to find the motivation to move my fingers, to wiggle my toes, anything that might break my body out of its stunned state. I could feel the cool breeze on my face, the murmur and clamor of voices, feel someone's fingers brushing the back of my hand...

I groaned, my head lolling to the side on the paper-thin pillow under my head.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," a familiar voice whispered by my ear. "I got you, Blake."

I relaxed as the smell of curly fries washed over me, but with that realization, the rest of reality came crashing back down. I sprang up and instantly regretted it, the world spinning around me.

"Stiles?! Where is it?! I—ow..."

"Whoa! Hey! What part of 'it's okay, I got you' did you not get, Scarlett?!"

Stiles wrapped his arms around me as I clutched my head, lowering me back to the cot I'd woken up on. I blinked furiously in an effort to make sense of my surroundings, which soon stopped spinning and arranged themselves into that of an ambulance.

"What...?"

"You fainted," Stiles explained. He squeezed my hand a little too tight, giving me an intent, pointed look. "We walked back into the workshop, you saw the mechanic's body, and you fainted. You hit your head pretty hard on the floor, so it's okay if everything a little blurry."

I nodded feebly. Right. The mechanic. Just the thought of him made a whole new wave of nausea wash over me. Stiles had definitely said "body," not that the sickening crunch of bone had left much room for debate. He'd died unable to scream, killed by the same demon-lizard that had thrown me to the ground. And now it would go off to kill new victims, all in new, disgusting ways. All because I'd been too scared to shoot it.

That thought jogged another memory, and I almost sprang out of the cot again.

"Oh my God! My gu—"

"Your purse is right here," Stiles assured me, glaring as he shoved me back to the bed. He lifted the bag as evidence and shook his head. "Seriously, could you be any less subtle?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped. "The human-sized lizard must have knocked some of that out of me too."

"I didn't...okay, you're right. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, as soon as my head stops spinning."

"You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement. You've probably got a concussion."

Stiles laid his hand over mine. He opened his mouth to say something else, but cut himself off with a wince, his fingers spasming over the back of my hand. I squinted at him in concern.

"Forget me. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, as soon as my hand stops spazzing."

I gave him an unamused look, flipping my hand over on the blanket and lacing my fingers with his. It wasn't much, but it gave him something to anchor onto, and that was a start. He smiled tiredly, wiping his free hand down his face.

"Don't do that again," I ordered, and he snorted.

"Don't...? Scarlett, I opened a door for you. You're the one who ran out and faced Babyzilla with a gun and a sledgehammer."