Little Red Prince

Chapter Nine

Stiles gasped for breath, stretching his lungs to the brim as he flung his eyes open. He panted heavily, his chest moving quickly as he tried to get as much air as he possibly could. His head felt like it was splitting open and his eyes burned as if he had been crying. He responded just in time to sit up so that he could empty his stomach on the floor next to the bed. He retched until all the acrid bile had been purged from his body. Now he was shaking and a cold sweat broke across his forehead. A hand placed on Stiles' shoulder and he whipped around to see who it was.

“Woah man,” said a boy Stiles age, “Calm down. It’s me—it’s Scott,”

“Scott,” Stiles breathed. His voice was scratchy and his throat hurt. Had he been screaming?

“Man, I can say that you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Scott mumbled. He grinned crookedly at Stiles, “I leave on an errand for Deaton and this is what I come back to?”

“I thought we agreed that you were the glue that held this place together,” Stiles joked. He returned Scott’s smile and clapped their hands together. They came together for a semi-hug and back pat.

“But Stiles, my brother, you look absolutely wrecked,” Scott sighed as he sat down. He grabbed a rag from a bowl next to Stiles’ bed. He squeezed out the excess water and dabbed the rag along Stiles’ forehead. The coolness made Stiles let out a breath and he relaxed in to the bed once more.

“When did you get back?” Stiles asked softly, reveling in the coolness from the rag.

“Two days ago,”

Stiles looked at Scott, his eyes wide, “Two days—how long have I been sleeping?”

“Mom says that you passed out on the Day of Thorns,” Scott frowned slightly, “It’s now the Day of Dew,”

“Five days,” Stiles whispered, “I’ve been out for five whole days?” Scott only nodded.

“Mom and I have been taking care of you,”

“What about the stables?”

Scott waved a dismissive hand, “Deaton said he could handle the horses himself—he’d been doing it for a long time before I ever got there,”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Stiles began, “But could you tell Melissa that next time I would prefer my nursemaid to have a little more chest?”

Scott punched Stiles on the shoulder which caused Stiles to laugh. Scott and Stiles had been friends since they were born. Scott’s mom was actually the midwife for Stiles’ birth. She had been pregnant at the time with Scott. Stiles’ dad always remembers it as more of a comical sight—seeing a pregnant woman yelling at another pregnant woman who was yelling back just as much. Stiles and Scott grew up together. Scott’s mom, Melissa McCall, was the Royal Physician. So Scott was able to get a job as a stable hand in the palace. The two boys were inseparable. When Stiles wasn’t in his classes or training, and Scott wasn’t tending to the horses, they were running around causing an absolute ruckus.

“You really had us worried there for a while, Stiles,” Scott said softly. If he was a dog, Stiles thought, Scott would be looking down with his ears turned backwards. Stiles blinked—where did that thought come from?

“What happened?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t really know. One second I’m in the throne room,” Stiles frowned, his eyebrows coming together, “Then Sir Argent brought in a suspect for the recent killings,”

A ringing was beginning in Stiles ears. His frown deepened. The man had set something off inside of Stiles. He felt his stomach clench. Why was his body reacting this way? He tried to see the man in his head. Short, impossibly messy hair that swooped characteristically as if he had just woken up and not bothered to style it. A chiseled jaw covered in a permanent shadow of stubble. Surprisingly expressive eyebrows. Lips that could pull back in to a brilliant smile to melt anyone’s heart. Brilliant, piercing green eyes.