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( XIV. IN A HEARTBEAT )
TO SAY THAT STILES STILINSKI WAS GOING THROUGH IT would be an understatement. The boy was lacking sleep— and more importantly, patience. Right now? He couldn't breathe. Scott had dragged him out of class to the locker rooms to calm him down, to bring him out of this dull haze that covered his sight and mind.
"Stiles? Look at me, man. Is this a panic attack?" Scott's voice echoed in his head. Stiles wanted to respond, he knew the answer. Yes, I feel like I'm dying— he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't roll of his tongue.
"I need —" Stiles gasped, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't even recognize himself anymore.
"What is it? What do you need?"
"I need—" Stiles tried to breathe, a specific voice in his head reminding him to. "I need Amelie. Get Amelie."
🥰
Meanwhile, Amelie sat in her art class with Allison. The last time she was here, she was having a traumatic moment ( that surprisingly reminded her of Lydia and that time they made her try automatic writing ). She was drawing the man in her nightmares, the man who roamed the hallways of the hospital to this day.
Dabbing into the dark grey color she was about to use to shade, the door abruptly swung open— revealing Scott who called out for her in the middle of class.
"Amelie," He called out. "It's Stiles."
That made her world slow down. Just this morning, he was in her bed, sound asleep. They woke up together, drank coffee and head out the door. She drove them to school— she drove Roscoe. She still didn't believe Stiles let her, he loved that car more than he loved anything else. All was well, until now.
Without a second thought, she dropped her brush and ran out the door, following Scott to the boys' locker room. Stiles was still leaning on the marble sink, rambling to himself. "It's a dream, it's a dream, it's just a dream..."
"Stiles," She rushed to him, grabbing his face. "Hey, this is real. You're here. You're here with us."
Stiles was dying for a breath. He just kept shaking his head like he didn't believe her. "Okay, how do you— how do you tell if you're awake or dreaming?"
"Your fingers," Stiles said through his ragged breath. "You count your fingers, you have extra— extra fingers in dreams."
"Okay, then," She raised both hands in front of her, turning to Scott for a moment, who looked just as panicked. "Count with me— Hey!" He turned around to face the girl, leaning his entire weight on the sink.
