[Moving, they told him, would come back slowly. He might be able to to manage it later, but actual walking around on his own? Probably not going to happen until tomorrow at the earliest. He was, he was pretty sure, taking this a lot better than he would be if they hadn't given him what he was pretty sure was enough sedatives to calm down a rampaging werewolf.
But he'd needed it. Apparently. And honestly, he was still on the edge of panic, even with all the drugs. The only thing that would move right were his fingers. Even talking was not quite his friend. And that was basically all he did.]
[Lydia has finally been let in. She is frantic to see him and actually bursts into tears when she sees that he's awake. Instinctively she knows just by looking at his eyes that this is Stiles, and she's so relieved those tears just can't be held back.]
[He's tapping his fingers where they rest, maybe he's trying to count there or maybe it's something else. He looks relieved to see her, but also worried.]
Oh...hey, come on. Don't...don't do that. I can't do anything about that now.
[Her hand is removed from his cheek, and move instead to rest over his fingers. Loosely, so he can keep tapping.]
He said you were asleep. Could you feel anything or see anything...? He's got almost everyone fooled and feeling sorry for him. [Her mouth presses against itself.] I thought you were gone.
[ It only bothers her a little that Lydia went in to see Stiles first. What upset her more was the reason he was there. Charlie had been on her way to the saloon to do something about the school lunches, even though she really should be giving her fucking arm a rest when she heard Lydia's scream and she knew exactly what it meant so she ran, followed Lydia to the clinic and then...
Well. It was a fine time for her PTSD to kick in. She'd had a mild flashback, probably from the stress, and it suddenly was The Shop superimposed over the clinic for a couple minutes. Logically, she knew where she was, but sometimes those fears and memories were hard to pull herself out of.
She's fine by the time Lydia leaves, seated on a chair inside near his room and listening to what the doctors say about his condition.
She prays he's not upset with her when she finally does enter the room though why he would be is anyone's guess. He's asleep when she enters the room so she curls herself into the nearest chair after pulling it over so she can hold his hand. Eventually, however, she drifts off, her head resting on the mattress and her hand still lightly grasping his.
Sleep comes quick when you're sedated. Even if you fight it, it comes. So of course he sleeps. And when he wakes up, it's to tapping his fingers. Counting. But he never, ever gets past nine.
It's the twitching fingers that wake her, and the subtle change in his breathing. She sits up slowly, watching him count and count, worrying some at him not getting past nine. Her voice is scratchy when she talks, her usual post-sleep voice. Maybe Stiles remembers it.
"There's ten. I promise." She shifts, sitting on the edge of his bed do he can see her. She remembers the doctors saying he won't be able to move much and that he's drugged to the gills, so she wants to make things easy on him.
"Hey, gorgeous. Good to see you." There's a faint swipe at her eye, brushing at the tears that waver. She's good. She's fine. Her boyfriend is back. She didn't lose him.
"Seems like ten to me," Charlie says, a faint look of worry on her face. She'll blame the sedatives. At the mention of the lichen, she leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead.
"Don't do that again, okay? I really hate losing people." She doesn't sound nearly as angry as she could. Just...weighed down by the information.
"I kind of suspected you weren't as buried as he claimed you were."
"And fighting back." Which impresses her. She stretches out next to him carefully, her hand once again holding his. She missed having him next to her and she was tired. This seemed like a good idea. She'll move if he wants her to.
"Do you remember buying me cookies? Because he didn't, but he left some outside my room back home."
[ Frances had to stay away when it was happening. She could feel too much. No, she instead retreated to her shrine. She prayed. The cast. She waited for the sound of the beetle. And when all was done she knew when she needed to visit. So there she is, looking as though she hasn't slept in days and cried for far too many of them. ]
[ He can actually move, a little, once she comes to visit. As in his limbs are more like limbs than lifeless things he's attached to. When she arrives, he is half-sitting up and trying to focus on...anything but the fact that he was dead and brought back to life. Vaguely counting his fingers and never reaching past nine. Trying to ignore the fact that if he relaxes too much, he starts having the strangest thoughts.]
Frances.
[He sounds, still, like he's more than a little sedated. He probably is.]
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But he'd needed it. Apparently. And honestly, he was still on the edge of panic, even with all the drugs. The only thing that would move right were his fingers. Even talking was not quite his friend. And that was basically all he did.]
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Stiles -
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Oh...hey, come on. Don't...don't do that. I can't do anything about that now.
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[She wipes her eyes, moving over to stand next to him and put her hand on his cheek.]
You were dead. I could feel it. Only now you're not. [And she's so grateful.]
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[He closed his eyes for a moment, tapping his fingers again.]
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He said you were asleep. Could you feel anything or see anything...? He's got almost everyone fooled and feeling sorry for him. [Her mouth presses against itself.] I thought you were gone.
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[She feels ashamed, even if she thought it was what she had to do.]
Is it gone?
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[He opens his eyes, shaking his head. Counting to nine, again.]
No I don't know. I don't think so.
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Well. It was a fine time for her PTSD to kick in. She'd had a mild flashback, probably from the stress, and it suddenly was The Shop superimposed over the clinic for a couple minutes. Logically, she knew where she was, but sometimes those fears and memories were hard to pull herself out of.
She's fine by the time Lydia leaves, seated on a chair inside near his room and listening to what the doctors say about his condition.
She prays he's not upset with her when she finally does enter the room though why he would be is anyone's guess. He's asleep when she enters the room so she curls herself into the nearest chair after pulling it over so she can hold his hand. Eventually, however, she drifts off, her head resting on the mattress and her hand still lightly grasping his.
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"There's ten. I promise." She shifts, sitting on the edge of his bed do he can see her. She remembers the doctors saying he won't be able to move much and that he's drugged to the gills, so she wants to make things easy on him.
"Hey, gorgeous. Good to see you." There's a faint swipe at her eye, brushing at the tears that waver. She's good. She's fine. Her boyfriend is back. She didn't lose him.
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"Don't do that again, okay? I really hate losing people." She doesn't sound nearly as angry as she could. Just...weighed down by the information.
"I kind of suspected you weren't as buried as he claimed you were."
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"Do you remember buying me cookies? Because he didn't, but he left some outside my room back home."
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Frances.
[He sounds, still, like he's more than a little sedated. He probably is.]
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[ She asks, at a loss for anything else to say, even though the answer seems quite obvious. ]
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I felt it. When it happened.
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You did? How?
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