After Stiles' beloved jeep has a run-in with the tree at the end of season 3A, the master of sarcasm falls into a coma. Stiles' friends sit by him every day and pray that he'll wake up, but little do they know Stiles is fighting a battle for his min...
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It felt like an eternity until Scott's ears finally picked up the wailing sirens, before the ambulance and two police cruisers screeched to a halt near the destroyed Jeep. Scott felt a twinge of sadness as he realized that it was probably totaled.
Stiles hadn't stirred the entire time. The sheriff was cradling his head in his lap to elevate it, clutching his shoulders and begging him to wake up. As usual, Stiles wasn't following his father's orders very well.
"He's over here!" Scott shouted as the paramedics and officers jumped out of their vehicles. He spotted Parrish among them.
"What happened, Stilinski?" the young man called as he looked the wrecked Jeep up and down. The paramedics threw open the back doors of the ambulance and dragged a stretcher out.
The sheriff either ignored him or didn't hear him, his hands shaking as he continued to squeeze Stiles' shoulders. The paramedics tried to get in closer to start treating him, snapping on rubber gloves and shining a light in his eyes. Scott crouched next to them, heart hammering in his chest.
"Dilated pupils," one said. She turned to the sheriff and gave him a brief nod. "Good work elevating his shoulders and stabilizing his head, Stilinski. We were told he was in a car accident, do you have any elaboration on that?"
"No elaboration whatsoever," he said, staring as the paramedics took his son away from him and strapped him to the stretcher, clipping a brace around his neck in case it was broken. "I have no idea what happened. We were having a...meeting, and he never showed. We went out looking for him and found this."
The same paramedic gave her head a little shake as her partner finished securing Stiles to the board. "We need to take him in for emergency x-rays and a CT scan to check for brain damage," she said. "We won't know how severe it is until we can get those done."
"Wait," the sheriff said as they hoisted his son into the air. "Shouldn't someone go with him? Someone he knows, in case he wakes up?"
Neither of the paramedics answered until they had Stiles secured to the gurney in the back of the ambulance. "We have room for one," the guy said, face flushed from the work. "But if you interfere or get emotional, then we're gonna have to force you into the cab."
"I can do it," Scott said, raising his hand. "You can debrief Parrish or whatever, do what you need to do with his Jeep, and you can meet us at the hospital."
The sheriff didn't hesitate. "Deal."
Within the next few minutes, Scott was seated on a bench parallel to the gurney, his hand gripping the metal pole for dear life as the ambulance sped along the road. He shouldn't have been this nervous; after all, he was used to reckless driving. Stiles was one of the worst drivers he knew.
Guess it finally caught up to him.
Stiles still didn't move a muscle even as the paramedics clamped a plastic mask over his mouth, squeezing air into it with a big blue balloon. It made Scott's chest ache with anxiety, but as he stared down into his best friend's pale, unconscious face, it was hard not to be mad at him. After all they'd been through, after all the battles they'd fought, this was what he needed hospitalized for? An irresponsible car crash that was clearly driver error?
