I'm Sure

They don't really know how they got there. It all seemed like kind of a blur to the three of them, but there they were, sitting quietly in their own private hells, shoulders slung, spirits diminished. Bodies aching against the hard patted foam of the chairs in the waiting room.

It was Stiles who got the call at four am in the morning. His dad was working the graveyard shift. Deputy Parish explained something about a domestic violence gone wrong on the phone, but Stiles could barely comprehend.

Scott insisted driving him to the hospital with his mom, and they did. After all, the young Stilinski was in no state to drive. Once there, Scott patiently stayed with him in the waiting room while his mom went off to see what she can find out.

All Stiles could hope, was that he was not about to lose another parent.

The feeling came to Lydia in the early hours of the morning interrupting her regulated sleep. It was a gut wrenching sensation in the pit of her stomach, fueling her energy for a scream. Someone's going to die. And she knew it wasn't a complete stranger. The feeling was too familiar—too personal for her to simply ignore it and go back to sleep.

So she called Scott. She didn't care of she came off paranoid, she was a banshee after all. It'd be more unsuitable to go against her instincts at this point rather than worry about waking someone in the middle of the night.

Scott's phone rang, snapping Stiles out of his shock trance. "Who is it?" He asked dryly.

As the alpha eyed his phone, he was afraid to answer. Lydia was calling him, and he had a pretty good guess why. But he responded anyway, not daring to meet his best friend in the eye.

"Lydia."

That was the first time in his life Stiles dreaded hearing her name. It could only mean one thing.

Scott, seeing the life drain from his best friends eyes, softly offered. "Look, I'm sure it means nothing." But that was only a pointless lie. They both knew that nothing supernatural was a coincidence. Voiceless words were exchanged between the two as Scott quietly answered his phone and spoke out a simple "Hello?"

Stiles could only watch in horror as the alpha conversed with the strawberry blond on the line. Now knowing his father's fate, he held his head in a tight grip in his hands, not knowing what to do now.

Lydia came soon after, no makeup, hair tousled in a bun, looking like she just threw anything on from her closet. But somehow managing to look completely put together.

Both stood up as she paced in. "Hi." She greeted faintly standing before them. She held Stiles' gaze for a mere second; both seemed to be communicating some unspoken language of comfort.

I'm sorry.

His eyes seemed to hold the weight of the world.

It's not your fault.

Stiles stood up as he wrapped his tight locked arms around her welcoming petite body, finding some sort of silent comfort in her embrace. When he was ready, he released his grip and cleared this throat, avoiding her gaze for he didn't want to look so vulnerable in her eyes.

"Have you heard anything?" Her voice quivered as she clutched to the bag hung on her shoulders for dear life.

Both boys shook their head in utter dread, but it was Scott who spoke out. "Uh, no. My mom is running around trying to find any information, but she hasn't come back yet."

Lydia nods, fear filling to the core. Her heart aches for Stiles, and as she observes him she can't help but pity him. She doesn't want to, she knows he doesn't want her to, but as girl who's experienced too many traumatic events to count, she feels for him.

Red rimmed Stiles' eyes from the lack of sleep, his body seemed more jumpy and strained than usual, but she knew that was just a side affect of the being in the hospital. She quickly remembers his rough history with them and gives him a small smile of compassion. She doesn't know what else she can offer.

They sit side by side, Stiles sandwiched between the banshee and the alpha, his love and his brother. Lydia's hand loiters over Stiles'; drawing endless patterns into it, but he doesn't mind, in fact, the lull of her fingers against the plan of his hand is a comforting distraction. It's six am now, but neither care, they wouldn't be anywhere else but by Stiles' side.

Melissa comes back later than expected. Stiles immediately recognizes the look on her face; it's not the one that bares good news.

They stand up once more to address her, Lydia's hand lingering to his like salt on wet skin. Scott hears his best friends heart beat thunderously race against his chest as he awaits the news of his father. It's unsettling but there's nothing he can do.

"H-how is he?" Stiles intoned.

Melissa swallowed nervously, but she knew she had to deliver eventually; and no matter how long she hesitated the news wasn't going to get any better. "Your father was shot in the upper abdomen, the bullet hit his spleen so they are going preform a splenectomy to remove it. He's still in surgery as of right now, and it's going to take awhile. But there's been no complications so far—nothing to really worry about just yet." Melissa insured the restless teen.

Stiles swallowed, and drew in a deep breath, grasping Lydia's hand as if to balance himself. Scott placed his hand firmly on his shoulder for support. "S-so," The human boy struggled out not really knowing how to piece together the sentence. "i-is he gonna be okay?"

"You know as well as I do, that I can't promise anything Stiles," Melissa said softly. She wished so dearly she could mouth that he was going to be fine—that they all were, but she could never be that cruel, she could never let her self amount to providing false comfort.

"but if the surgery goes well, then I can't say there's not a reason for him to make a full recovery."

Hours pass, and this time they wait with Melissa.

Stiles can't help but think the clock is wrong. To him seconds feel like minutes, minutes, like hours, hours like days. He doesn't know how much longer he can just sit there and wait. He's anxious and jittery, and in a constant battle with pacing his breathing. He can feel the panic lingering in the back of his throat taking too much space that there isn't room for breath.

His legs bounce uncontrollably, the impatience is getting to him. This feels too much like the day his mother died and he was sitting alone outside her room, head hung in his hands waiting for his father to arrive. Knowing his mother was dead, and it was all his fault.

He couldn't take it. The apprehension was getting to him too quickly.

"Stiles, you okay?" Lydia asked under her breath. He turned to her as she griped his hand tighter and gave her a firm nod though it was a complete lie. What a stupid question to ask. She thought cursing at herself as she stood up, wiping her skirt off, and faced him.

"Come with me." It was more of a demand than a question. Stiles looked up at her in inquiry, but after she threw him an encouraging glance, he stood up and followed her. Dragging his heart on the ground. Their hands never parting.

Lydia led him around the corner of the hall where she stopped and looked up at his defeated gaze.

"Look I know it seems impossible to keep calm right now, but Stiles, if you don't stop you're gonna have a panic attack."

"Are you saying that as a Banshee or just being pessimistic?" He tried to joke, attempting to keep his nerves at bay. Lydia nearly chuckled upon hearing his words, no matter the situation he still manage to keep certain level of normally to himself.

"No, I'm saying it as a person who is concerned. You don't want me to have to kiss you again."

"Well, if you put it like that I might want to have a panic attack." He breathed out a smile significant smile.

"My bad; poor choice of words." Lydia apologizes as she converts to another way of helping him reach tranquility. "Stiles, just listen to me. Your dad, he's going to be fine. I'm saying that as a Banshee."

He eyes her.

"I had the feeling okay? Thats why I called Scott." She reasoned. "But it's gone. I-I wasn't going to tell you because I wasn't sure, but my instincts have been right about everything so far, so why not this? It's gone Stiles. And if my Banshee tendencies are telling me he's going to be fine, then he's going to be fine."

"You're sure?"

Lydia nods. "I'm done going against my powers; I'm sure."

He doesn't even think about it as he brings his arms out and embraces her tightly. He doesn't want to let go. Everything was too real, too menacing, and all he wanted to do was stand there, holding her petite body for dear life.

He's gonna be fine. Stiles repeats in his head, trying to process the information.If Lydia can sense that, then he's okay.

"Thank you." He finds himself saying once he gathers the courage to finally let go. She doesn't say anything else, she doesn't have too. She just watches him, standing there so alone and it vulnerable it nearly kills her. She thinks about her dysfunctional family and can't help but feel guilty.

She gets along perfectly with her mother; they've never had problems, but its her father she can't say the same for. Her parents divorced when she was younger, sure it affected her, but not that much. They were always fighting; money always being the subject of all their indiscretions. So when they parted it was like a sense of clarity was brought upon her. But their divorce created a gap in her relationship with her father. They were distant; they had always been but at least there was that common curtsy of respect in the house. Now, he didn't even exist. He'd call a few times a month to check in, but that was the context of their interrelation.

But she was at fault too, she didn't try. She didn't want to.

And that's why she felt guilty. There she was, standing before one of her best friends who's only remainder family was his father who was serenely injured in the hospital. His mother had died years ago in this very hospital, and he had no siblings. He had no one. He was alone.

Well, he had Scott, and Melissa and god, even her. And even though they acted like each others family, she knew it wasn't enough. He needed his father, he couldn't lose him too.

At least she had her family—whatever was left of it. She could work things out; they all could. She had that chance, he didn't.

"Come on," Lydia said, latching on to his hand, not wanting to think anymore. "lets head back." Stiles offered her a nod and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He was better. All because of her.

…

It's later that day when Stiles gets words that his father is out of surgery and is going to be fine. He feels like he can breathe again, like the air was somehow thickened and was now thinned with the news.

He's sitting by his father's bedside when Lydia comes back. She had left earlier, offering to bring a change of clothes for them all. After all they were all practically wearing their pajamas.

"Thank you." Stiles smiled softly as he saw her standing there from the corner of his eye, clothes in her hand stacked under a styrofoam container filled with food.

He's so grateful for her.

Lydia smiles. "I gave Scott and his mom their things, they're in the cafeteria. Told me to bring this to you." She hands him the container. "And said to be sure you eat it." Stiles chuckles, setting the food in his lap.

"So hows he doing?" She asks taking a seat next to him.

Stiles swallows. "He's good. Fine, actually. Still hasn't woken up but the doctors say it'll take a while."

She nods.

They sit there in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"What about you?" Lydia asks.

"What about me?"

She glares playfully at him. "Come on Stiles, don't play around. You know what I mean."

He takes a moment. He doesn't want to lie. Not to her.

"W-what am I supposed to say Lydia?" He mumbles out in confusion. "That I'm fine? I'm not fine… I hate this." He struggles out. Lydia meets his gaze, she can see the tears that threaten to escape his eyes, her heart nearly breaks.

"I've been through this before—a-and this… it's like a freaking nightmare." He admits.

Lydia places her hand on his arm for support, trying to find the right words to say, but failing. "It's jus—w-when I got that call… I thought—I thought he was…" He could bring himself to finish that sentence.

"Stiles, look at me" Lydia pleaded softly. He slowly brought his gaze to her.

"Your father is alive. He's here. And he's okay now." Stiles nodded, and sniffed trying to stop the tear from falling. But he couldn't help it, seeing his father like that brought up so many unwanted memories of his mother years ago.

"I hate this." He repeated.

"I know. But we got through the hard part. Now we just wait. Time heals all wounds."

Stiles scoffed out a small laugh. "God Lydia is I knew you were gonna be this cheesy, I'd order pizza." Came out of his mouth. Lydia frowned in amusement, what he had said was so typical of him. She loved that he still had a sense of normality in these types of situations, and then she remembers that its how he deals. Jokes.

"Everything's gonna be fine." She continues.

Stiles, losing the sense of humor for a second, and glances at her from his fathers view.

"You sure?'

"I'm sure."

…

Just a short little one-shot. I was bored and had a massive case of writers block, thought, maybe writing something else would help. It did. Yeah. Hope you enjoyed it.

-C