The engine cools to a low hum as it turns off. Stiles stares ahead, in the back seat, Celia is vibrating with nerves.
"You should wait here." Scott says to her as he gets out, Lydia follows.
Celia and Stiles are alone in the car, his fingers tapping lightly on the wheel.
"We don't have to be here Celia. I can call them back and we can go right now, let my dad handle it."
She shakes her head.
"No. No, we promised her father we'd be the ones to find her..."
"Then what?" He prompts. "We find her, then what do we do?"
She's silent and he sighs.
"I just, don't want this to hurt you more than it already has." Stiles is gentle in his approach.
She shakes her head but he looks at her with concern.
"Seriously, Celi. You say the word and we're done. We'll leave and no one will know we were here."
At this she nods.
"Okay." Stiles whispers.
Climbing out of the car, Celia follows him. He starts to warn her against it but stops short. The two of them join Scott and Lydia on the rickety porch of the house.
"I guess we just let ourselves in." Scott remarks, half jokingly.
No one laughs. Instead, they take a step back as he turns the knob of the front door.
Inside the house, sunlight spills in from holes in the ceiling and walls. Support beams are splintered, every step they take echoes. The faint trickling of water far off can be heard but goes ignored.
"This is such a bad idea." Lydia swipes at the dust in front of her nose.
Stiles reaches behind him, finding Celia's hand. Scott leads the way through the rubble, taking cautious steps over broken glass and missing floorboards. Turning the corner around the large staircase, a gnawing, smacking sound grows louder. Snorts and grunting broken by a wet slosh ricochet off the walls. As Scott's eyes adjust to the darkness within the house he stops cold. Two animals, wolves, stand over what they've made their next meal. Throwing their heads side to side they tear bloody meat off the bone, growling at the other when they grow too close.
"Oh shit," he whispers.
Behind Stiles, Celia steps out to see. A shock of blonde hair peaks out from beneath the paw of a wolf. Gasping, she stumbles back, grabbing Stiles to steady herself. Her footsteps, though, are enough to alert the wolves to their presence. Scott turns to the group and yells for them to run.
The group is separated, running in different directions toward the exit. Stiles loses Celia and is cornered by a wolf. The other makes a break for Lydia, Scott pushing her aside to bear the brunt of the wolf's terror. Each one yelling for the other, Celia's last memory is the Stiles' voice distantly yelling her name, the feeling of split hardwood against her cheek.
———————————————————————————
Sunlight falls over the dashboard in broken beams through the leaves overhead. Celia's feet are tucked underneath her sitting in the passenger seat. In the distance, the Hale House is towering and beautiful, the Victorian home lit from within by orange light. As Celia begins to focus on someone moving past a first floor window, Stiles opens the driver side door.
"You ready?" He asks her as he climbs into the seat.
She looks at him confused. Stiles laughs, his head tilting sharply to one side. He looks away toward the house as black smoke begins pouring from its windows. Shrill screams sting Celia's ears as she paws at the handle to move, to do something to help, but it's not there. When he looks back at her, Stiles' eyes are dark and sunken. His usually shy, sweet smile is turned crooked and his face pale.
"Celia..." He sings creepily. "You have to wake up."
He lunges forward, gripping her neck between his hands. She claws at any exposed skin as he squeezes her throat tighter and her vision begins to fade. Gasping for breath, Celia's eyes shoot open.
"Stiles-" she yelps.
"Watch her head," He's saying to Scott. "Celia, you're okay baby."
Her eyes begin to focus and she realizes she's home. Lydia's rain jacket drips into a small puddle beneath the coat hanger. Scott and Stiles rush to place her on the couch as Lydia bolts the door.
"Fuck, fuck." Stiles mutters under his breath.
Scott winces.
"Are you alright?" Celia tries to say, her voice is hoarse and goes unheard.
"Fuck, we should go to the hospital." Stiles says.
"We can't." Scott nearly shouts. "I told you, after they find Emile we can't show up at the hospital with unexplained injuries."
Celia realizes this is a conversation they've had already, weighing each of their options while she was unconscious.
Stiles' voice goes low, "she's bleeding. And so are you."
Celia tries to sit up, both Stiles and Scott moving to catch her. A searing pain rips across her torso into her back, momentarily knocking the breath from her lungs. Lifting her shirt a bit, a gash the length of two fingers leaks blood.
"Fuck." Stiles says again.
"It's fine, I'm alright." Celia croaks.
"I'm calling my dad."
"Stiles, no." Lydia interjects.
Celia lies back on to Scott, who occasionally groans from his wound.
Stiles peers over, Celia meeting his eyes and shaking her head. They can't tell anyone. They would immediately be suspected of having something to do with Emile's death, especially after they were seen at Corey's apartment and currently possessed his phone.
"Celia." Stiles says, hoping she would change her mind and back him up.
She shakes her head again. "We can't."
Looking to Lydia, she reaches her hand out.
"Help me to the bathroom."
———
The sheets Celia lies on are drenched in sweat, each slight shift wafting the smell of rubbing alcohol. She lies stiff in her bed from a wound haphazardly surgical taped together. Stiles emptied three bags of tape, gauze, and various disinfectants onto the kitchen table, still panting from his race to the store.
"My dad won't stop calling me," he'd said. "Sounds like they've found Emile."
The four of them were quiet. Celia's wound so severe she stiffens as waves of pain radiate through her. Lydia works frantically to secure the wound closed and dress it in layers of cotton padding. Celia looks down to Lydia's hands working quickly, covered in her blood. She realizes her shirt has been cut off of her and for a moment feels the urge to cover herself. The urge is quickly replaced with embarrassment, that amidst all that's happened, she's most concerned with the boys seeing her bra. The threat of Celia losing consciousness looms.
"Celi? Celia look at me. Celia do not fall asleep."
She remembers the EMTs saying the same to Corey as they wheeled him away. Stiles' plea to stay awake sends a chill through Celia as she recalls her first trauma induced dream. Stiles' sunken eyes and wicked smile taunting her to wake up.
"Lydia, faster. Please?" Stiles begs, Celia's head propped on his lap. Each of her wails pulls him in closer and closer until his face is to hers. He brushes the hair slick with sweat from her forehead, kissing the bridge of her nose gently.
"I'm sorry." He chokes.
Had Celia had the strength, she would tell him it's not his fault, he had no idea what would happen, that she had walked into the house on her own volition. But she doesn't. Instead, she lies helplessly wishing she were relishing in his touch in much different circumstances.
—
"Celi?" He says quietly from her doorway as only a silhouette.
He moves in, now illuminated by the bedside lamp. His eyelids are weighed down by exhaustion and the sudden adrenaline crash. He rests a hand on her knee above the covers, rubbing his face with the other.
"How... how are you feeling?" His voice near a whisper.
"It hurts," Celia admits. "But I'll live. I hope."
Stiles lets out a laugh, caught off guard. His smile is genuine, but his eyes find her abdomen fighting for shallow breaths and it quickly fades.
"Get some sleep. I'll be right outside if you need anything."
He stands and she grabs his wrist with the last of her energy.
"Please stay."
He says nothing, carefully climbing onto the bed opposite her injury.
He doesn't sleep that night.
He stays up, watching her struggle for breath, making sure it doesn't stop.