Stella Argent - Stiles Stilinski

Chapter 12

TW//Suicide 

We hurried Scott to the bathroom.

Allison carefully cut away Scott's shirt to get a better look at the wound.

"Oh, my God," Stiles gagged and averted his eyes from the scratch.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Allison said, her tone a mix of anger and concern.

"Sorry," Scott replied simply.

"Okay, just give us a second, okay? This shouldn't be happening. I've seen him heal from worse than this," Allison said, anxiously biting her nails.

"What should we do then? Should we call an ambulance?" I inquired, still not entirely familiar with werewolf injuries.

"What if it's too late? What if they can't help?" Allison's worry escalated.

"We have to do something," Stiles urged.

"You know, it could be psychological," Lydia interjected, looking in my direction.

"What do you mean, like, psychosomatic?" I asked, realizing that I'd been spending way too much time with Lydia and Stiles.

"Somatoformic," Lydia clarified, assuming it might be an easier term for me to grasp.

"Som..." I repeated.

"A physical illness with a psychogenic cause. Yes, it's all in his head," Lydia explained, simplifying it for me.

"All in his head? Because of Derek. He's not allowing himself to heal because Derek died," Stiles said slowly, connecting the dots.

"So what should we do?" I asked, looking over at Stiles. Our eyes briefly locked, but I quickly averted my gaze.

"We need to stitch him up. Seriously. Maybe all he needs to do is believe it's healing," Lydia suggested. She rummaged in her bag and produced a needle and thread.

"He's going to need another shirt. Where's his bag?" Allison grabbed the needle and thread from Lydia.

"I'll go get it. I hate needles anyway, so... uh, do you know what you're doing?" Stiles asked before heading out.

"Yeah, my father taught me," Allison replied, then reached into her bag and pulled out a lighter.

"I mean, how quickly can you... I mean, the bus, it could leave," Stiles voiced his concern.

"Well, you just make sure it doesn't leave," Allison instructed, determined to help Scott.

"I can help." Me and Lydia said we walked out of the bathroom letting Allison do her thing.

Moments later, Allison emerged from the bathroom with Scott draped over her shoulder.

"Stella, come help me," Allison requested, struggling a bit with Scott's weight.

I hurried over to her side. "God, Scott, what have you been eating?" I grumbled, not wanting to admit that he was just unusually heavy.

"Sorry," Scott mumbled.

"Where's Stiles?" Scott inquired.

"He's stalling Coach," I replied, glancing over to see Stiles engaged in a conversation, blocking the door to prevent Coach from entering. I couldn't help but smile and shake my head.

"Are you just going to leave the car?" I asked Allison, recalling Lydia's comment about the car running out of gas.

"Well, I'm not leaving him," Allison asserted, continuing to walk with Scott.