Payment (revised)

Chapter 9

Late but on the correct day woo

edited: 5/12/20

edited: 6/20/23

Stiles's trembling contrasted horribly with Scott's still body.

Stiles was sprawled across the bathroom tiles, counting his friend's frantic heartbeats. Hoping, praying, they wouldn't unjustly cease.

There was a morbid sense of fascination in the way Scott's chest heaved. Stiles didn't want to see it stop, but he didn't know how to help either. A minute ago he had been panic-stricken and out of control.

Now his mind was blank.

This wasn't Stiles's world. He had never been trained to deal with death. Never once did he wake up fearing the pain of a bullet piercing his body. He had been thrust into a reality he was terribly unfamiliar with, and he was about to pay the price.

Scott's body started to convulse.

Stiles had to do something.

He blinked his eyes hard and color flooded his senses, no longer was he staring at the muted red that had surrounded him. Instead of the monotone fuzz he had been listening to, the sound of Scott's wheezing breath provided an anchor to grasp onto. Stiles inhaled deeply, feeling for the first time since he had walked into the room that he could breathe without a weight on his chest.

Scott was in trouble, and Stiles needed to get over himself and help him. The boy's eyes narrowed in determination. Memories started flashing in his head of what to do in situations like this.

When his father was still the Sheriff, he used to quiz Stiles on emergency protocols.

If someone had hypothermia you take off any wet clothes and wrap them in blankets. If someone was severely burned you had to clean out the wound with antiseptic and wrap it. If you were shot you... if you were shot..

He wanted to scream. He couldn't remember.

Fuck. Why couldn't he remember?

Stiles knew the answer lay somewhere in his past, but the information wasn't coming to him.

He could remember his father explaining it to him once after seeing a particularly nasty shootout.

Stiles's father had lain on the floor and pretended to be unconscious. The sauce Stiles's mother made the night before was used as blood.

As a boy, Stiles had giggled through the entire demonstration. His parents smiled along with him.

But never once did he think that lesson would become necessary in his real life. This wasn't Stiles and his father playing pretend. More importantly, the liquid pouring out of Scott definitely wasn't sauce.

Stiles could feel the panic welling inside him once again.

'You're weak Stiles,' a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father slithered in his mind.

'You're the reason your mother is dead. You're the reason I lost my job. Now you're going to be the reason your friend dies?' Stiles outwardly flinched, feeling the sting of his father's words.

'I should have left you out on the street a long time ago.'

Stiles bit his lip to keep from speaking out against the voice. It was right after all. This was Stiles's fault, it was always Stiles's fault.

But then another, quieter voice sounded, gaining volume the more Stiles focused on it.

'Calm down Stiles. Breathe. I trust you to handle this.'