Pack Mentality // s. stilinski

Twenty-Two

"Why do you have women's jewelry?"

Stiles jerked his head up at the question, looking at Lydia like a deer in headlights. "Oh- uh, ha. For, uh, for your birthday."

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, looking a combination of amused and shocked. "For me?"

Stiles spluttered to fix the admission. "Well, I was- I was going to return all of it, eventually, I-" Lydia turned to find a television still in it's box, giving Stiles another look.

"A flat screen TV?" she asked, deadpan, and Stiles laughed weakly.

"Heh, yeah, definitely returning that one," he said, moving to corral Lydia away from the heap of gifts. Stiles looked around for anything to distract the strawberry blonde, but he shouldn't have bothered- her phone pinged, signalling a text, and she looked down to check it. Just then her face was slack, fear showing in her eyes.

"You're gonna want to see this," she told Stiles, moving aside so that he could read it.

"Wha-" Stiles stuttered, frowning at the text message. "What, they think you can cure Jackson?"

Lydia, on the other hand, was overwhelmingly relieved that he wasn't dead. "I'll do it," she said, and Stiles balked.

"Wh- uh, no you won't!" he protested. "Lydia, it's dangerous!"

"Jesus, Stiles, I know that!" she snapped back, irritated. "But it's Jackson."

"Yeah, out-of-control, murderous, very dangerous Jackson," Stiles reminded her. 

"Still my Jackson," Lydia fought back. "I need to help him."

Stiles was exasperated. "Well I need-"

"Stiles?"

Stiles froze at the voice, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he recognized it. Turning slowly, he nearly broke down at the sight in his doorway.

Cadmus Argent stood in doorway. Well- stood was sugarcoating- he leaned against the frame, pale and sickly and sweating, looking hardly alive. There was blood running down his face, and Stiles couldn't tell what was new and what was old. Some started on his forehead- coming from the place his bullet wound had been, a hole that was now closed and scarred over. Some was coming from his nose, and trails of blood trailed his jawline as it escaped from his ears. His eyes held an unhealthy red tint to them. 

"Holy..." Stiles couldn't finish his sentence, but he did surge forward when Cadmus stumbled, catching him just before he collapsed on the floor. "Cadmus, Cadmus. Oh my god."

"What happened?" Lydia gasped, and she rushed over to them. Stiles sat Cadmus down on the floor next to his bed, coddling him. "Oh my- he needs the hospital!"

"No- no hospital," Cadmus gasped, and his chest heaved with the effort of speaking. "I-" he sucked in a wet breath and he winced, leaning forward. His body shook. He leaned back and his eyes opened, but this time they glowed a luminescent white. Cadmus blinked twice, hard, and the white faded. But the look of it stayed stuck in Stiles' mind like it had been seared into his memory.

"Cadmus, what was that?" Stiles asked, and Cadmus whimpered, the sound accompanying a sickening, full body shudder. Lydia pressed her palm to the boy's head, and immediately drew it back with a hiss.

"He's hot," Lydia said, and shock laced her words. "Really hot. He- he shouldn't be that hot. He should be..."

Dead.

And he should have been. Stiles, even with his limited vision while paralyzed on the floor, had seen the bullet strike Cadmus between his eyes. He had seen the body fall, he had endured minutes of lying feet away from the corpse of the boy that he'd just begun to realize he might love. It had been torture, seeing him lifeless.