Stand Still // [tw/spn/sh/twl]

Chapter 27

FORKS, WASHINGTON, MONDAY, 8:02 A.M.

Stiles let out a tired sigh as his body finally came to a halt. He didn't understand how the Cullens ran so fast every day and didn't get even the slightest bit dizzy.

The spark lifted his head upon hearing an evident growl to see Rosalie staring at him with bared teeth and wide eyes.

"You have no idea what you've just done," Rosalie snapped, anger pouring out of her like water in a broken vase. "You didn't have to kill Caius. We've gone from rivals to enemies!"

Stiles stumbled back when Rosalie lunged. Emmet caught the blonde midair and wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her back as Stiles backed into Derek.

Derek, unpleased with Rosalie's threat, bared his fangs, his eyes flashing blue. He shoved Stiles behind him to protect him from the angered vampire.

"You've started a war," Rosalie snapped as she squirmed in Emmet's arms.

Stiles scoffed, saying, "I'm pretty sure those cultists started a war the second they kidnapped me, drained me off practically all the blood in my body, and threw me in a cell like an animal."

"From what you did back there, I'd say you're far more than an animal," Rosalie hissed.

"I can do the same to you, Blondie," Stiles threatened, showing his still bleeding wrist. "One drop."

"That's enough," Carlisle stated sternly as he stepped between the two. "We can discuss what happened earlier in a bit. Right now? I need to patch up Stiles' wrist and get some blood back in his system. I don't care what you all do to pass the time while I do so, but there will be no fights, and no more threats."

"Load of Bullshit," Rosalie scoffed as she ripped herself from Emmet's arms and stormed off. Emmet spared his adoptive father a glance before chasing after her.

Carlisle turned to Stiles, sighing before he asked, "what's your blood type?"

"A," Stiles answered shortly as Carlisle began to examine his wrist.

"I'm A," Derek stated gruffly.

"Me too," Scott chimed in.

"I don't know what that means, but I'll help," Malia said dumbly, seemingly just wanting to be a part of the conversation.

"Thank you, Malia," Carlisle nodded with a small chuckle, "but I'm afraid only Type A or Type O blood will help," he looked at Scott and Derek. "You two come with us."

Derek and Scott hovered around Stiles as the four of them headed inside the Cullen residence, ready to catch him if he were to stumble or fall.

Carlisle lead the three of them to his study where he rummaged through drawers and cabinets before pulling out the necessary tools; IV's, bandages, needle, thread and more.

"Have a seat," Carlisle nodded toward one of the few chairs against the wall.

Stiles slowly made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down. He let out a sigh of relief as he allowed himself to sink back into the cushion.

The room was silent as Carlisle cleaned Stiles wrist before giving it a clean stitch and bandaging it.

"Why didn't it heal?" Scott asked.

"My guess is that he's so drained and tired that his powers aren't strong enough to activate on their own," Carlisle explained. "I'm sure once he's gotten some rest and blood back into his system, it will heal perfectly fine."

As soon as Stiles' wrist was taken care of, Carsile turned to Scott and Derek, who each offered one of their arms after a few seconds.

Stiles watched with guilt as Carlisle took several ounces of blood from each of the werewolves. The spark new they'd both heal quickly due to their supernatural nature, but he still felt bad. If he had been stronger, none of this would have happened.