Dylan O'Brien Imagines

World Without You // Stiles Stilinski

The bland, white walls of the hospital stood around you mockingly, your eyes close to burning holes into them under your harsh gaze. Your knees bounced apprehensively, your hands rested atop making them follow the same movement. Disbelief crowded your thoughts as your mind wandered back to the previous happenings of the day. You just couldn't find yourself coming to terms with what he did. It should've been you, not him. It should be your body lying on an operating table at this moment, your body succumbing to the pokes and prods of needles and other surgical tools. You should be in pain, not him. Not Stiles.

With your thoughts swarming viciously and your hands becoming clammy, you pushed yourself from the uncomfortable hospital chair and began pacing. Your dirty converse squeaked against the white tiles below as you spun and walked, continuing to move back and forth until you finally spoke. It almost didn't register in your head that you were talking, your voice coming out hoarse from its misuse. "How much longer do you think he's gonna be in there? We've been waiting out here for nearly three hours already."

"It's actually only been thirty minutes." Kira corrected uneasily, smiling at you sympathetically.

"Thirty minutes too long." You grumbled, ceasing your steps and pressing your back against the wall you had been formerly glaring at. Your fingers tapped your crossed arms anxiously.

"Y/N, calm down. He's going to be okay." Scott, the incessantly optimistic one, said as he suddenly appeared before you.

"It should've been me." You simply responded, your eyes averted to the ground.

"Don't say that, Y/N." He said softly, rubbing your shoulder tenderly. You shook your head, scoffing to yourself bitterly.

"No, you can't say that because you weren't there." Your eyes found his, your bottom lip trembling as you struggled to hold back the ever-building dam of tears reaching the surface. "You didn't see how that asshole aimed his gun at me. Me. Not him. Stiles was just stupid enough to throw himself in front of me."

You planned on saying more, so much more. About how Stiles was so ridiculous to jump in front of a bullet for you. How you had no idea if he would make it out of this alive, if he would live to see another day. If he could hold on for just a while longer, or just long enough for you to say goodbye. But you couldn't. Your voice wouldn't allow you, for your tears had different plans. Scott pulled you into his arms as you cried into his shoulder softly, latching onto him tightly.

"I can't lose him, Scott." You managed to whisper.

"I know, Y/N."

"Oh, my God. Stiles, you're so stupid." You laughed at your friend, watching in amusement as he tried to shove copious amounts of curly fries into his mouth at once. The two of you were sat in his dad's office at the sheriff's station to hang out.

"Shumpfurmphatuyurph." A cackle escaped your lips at Stiles's failed attempt to speak with his mouth loaded with food.

"Sorry, what was that?" You asked teasingly, taking out your phone to record the mess your best friend had gotten himself into. He merely rolled his eyes playfully and stood from his dad's chair to approach you. Before you had time to stop it, his slender fingers had already grabbed your coffee, tugging off the lid before spitting some of his food into it, swallowing the rest. He laughed loudly as you gagged, cringing at your ruined beverage.

"I said, 'Not as stupid as you'." Stiles smiled sweetly, feigning innocence as he hands you back your drink.

"You're such a moron." You whined, ending the video on your phone and getting up to throw away the disaster sitting in your hands.