red || stydia

chapter eight: sweater.

The paramedic was talking but Lydia couldn't hear a thing.

She could see him working, his hands flying all over Allison's limp body and his mouth spewing words she didn't know the meaning of. Her genius IQ was high enough that she knew she was in shock, but she just couldn't snap out of it.

She could recall arriving at the hospital and watching as they loaded the stretcher out. She saw doctors come rushing out in colored gowns, like an episode of Grey's Anatomy and she still couldn't move. The paramedic muttered something to one of the doctors and suddenly, she was being helped along to the waiting area, watching as they wheeled her best friend away.

She still couldn't move.

That's how Isaac found her; immobilized, pale and empty-eyed.

"Lydia, oh my god," he mumbled, pulling her to her feet to crush her in a hug. "We were so worried. Are you okay?"

She didn't reply and he pulled away to study her. Her eyes flickered to Scott and Stiles looking on worriedly, but she still couldn't speak.

"Hey Lydia, you're bleeding," Stiles commented, walking closer to inspect, but couldn't see any signs of injury. There was blood all up her arms and across her torso, but then he noticed the blood all over her hands. "It's not yours."

Isaac paled, "oh god," he muttered turning to Scott. "Scott, I need to find your mom. She needs to be okay."

Scott nodded, "okay, let's go find her."

Isaac looked hesitant to leave Lydia. She was staring blankly ahead, almost as if catatonic. "It's okay, I'll stay with her," Stiles reassured him and both boys took off.

Stiles sat Lydia back down. Her face was still blank but now she was playing with her fingers nervously. "I can tell you're in shock," he started saying, "it's totally normal. That must've been hard. But she's going to be okay, you know? She's strong."

"There was so much blood," he was surprised that she said anything at all and his neck snapped up. She was staring at her hands, eyes watery. "Look at all this blood. It's not mine," her hands were starting to shake. "This isn't mine, it's not mine," she started to frantically rub her hands on her thighs and the tears finally fell. "I need to get this off! I need it off now!" She screamed, grabbing the hem of her shirt, and pulling it away from her sticky skin.

Stiles rushed into action, grabbing her hands, and pulling her up with him. "Okay, hold on, hold on!"

He quickly led them to a single washroom, painfully listening to her cry. "It's so much blood," she whined, scrubbing her arms and hands under the faucet.

Stiles held back for a moment, letting her do what she needed to. She was a mess. Her hair was messy and half undone from where it was pinned, her mascara was running down her cheeks where blood was smeared and her blouse was completely covered in blood. She was crying and she wasn't stopping and Stiles felt absolutely helpless.

"I can't get this off!" Lydia screamed and he finally snapped out of his thoughts.

He shoved up the sleeves of his black sweater and cautiously approached her. "Hey, I'm going to help you, is that okay?" She looked up at him with watery eyes and nodded. "Okay, great."

In silence, Stiles used the soap dispenser and gently cleaned the blood off her arms and hands. Afterwards, he grabbed a moist paper towel and rubbed off the smears of blood and mascara from her face. She stopped crying.

"I can't wear this shirt anymore," Lydia said quietly. She was looking down and Stiles was afraid she'd start crying again.

"Here, take it off," he replied and she raised her eyebrows but he was shrugging off his zip up sweater and handing it to her. "You can wear this."