FREAKISH stiles stilinski

chapter fifty-four

Georgia ran as fast as she could. It was different than any time before. Tears threatened her eyes from the whipping of wind across her face, but she ignored it. Georgia needed to find Stiles.

Her feet fell against the ground beneath her with ferocity. She wasn't slowing down, regardless of her breath growing labored and the pain creeping up her legs from exertion.

"Stiles," she whispered helplessly, pathetically, "I'm coming. I promise I am, just wait for me. Please."

* * * * *

Georgia slowed to a stop, panting. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her lungs contracted and expanded with fresh air. In the darkness, she examined Roscoe. She'd found it, although the battery was dead.

It didn't make sense. Did Stiles drive there while asleep? Or did he forget? Georgia glanced at the hospital in front of her before getting behind the wheel.

She couldn't quite reach the pedals. Her hands gripped the wheel as she took a deep breath, concentrating. Why were you here, Stiles? Where did you go? She closed her eyes, imaging Stiles sat there himself. Georgia could picture him, sweat gathering on his brow. He didn't stay for long once arriving at the hospital.

Georgia got out, approaching the building. Following Stiles' trail. She weaved between doctors and nurses, retracing the same path Stiles went. He stuck to the edges, like he didn't want to be seen. Why? It didn't matter right now.

She followed the past tense of Stiles all the way upstairs onto the roof. As soon as Georgia broke out up top, she was gasping and stumbling.

Run, run, run. No, stop! Leave me alone. I don't want to do that—I can't, I won't! So many emotions struck Georgia all at once. Anxiety made her heart pound and she had the urge to yank it from the chest and throw it over the edge, if only to catch a break.

But it wasn't her own anxiety.

"Stiles," she whimpered, realizing it was his. He was there, and he was far from okay. Georgia searched the place, but couldn't find any blood. She could sense the fight, she could feel it in the air. It was strong. Georgia always felt Stiles' chemosignals stronger than anybody else's.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Stiles had asked the night prior, both of them sitting in Roscoe. Georgia turned to look at him, sighing. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"I should check in with Willow. She'll wanna know why I blew off school," Georgia grumbled, not excited to say no, "I was supposed to meet with the guidance counselor."

"Guidance counselor?" Stiles echoed, brows furrowed, "Georgia, why didn't you stay at school?"

"I wanted to go with you to the hospital," Georgia said simply, squeezing his hand, "I care about you, Stiles. If you're stressed, so am I."

"Why were you meeting with the counselor?" Stiles asked on, avoiding her previous statement. He didn't want her stressed. Especially not if it was over him.

Georgia hesitated, looking out the window as the scenery blurred by. She didn't want to tell him. She was embarrassed.

"Georgia?" he repeated, wanting an answer of at least some sort.

"I think I have dyslexia," Georgia finally admitted, "Willow picked up on it. Apparently it's a family thing."

"Oh," Stiles blurted, "I thought you knew that."

Georgia panned over to him, her lips parting, "What?"

Stiles shrugged sheepishly, "We're study partners, remember?"