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Stiles Stilinski (runswithwolves) wrote in wariscoming,

Stiles had stayed off the battlefield until he'd gotten confirmation that Lucifer was in the pit. Then he was off and running, looking through enormous amount of people that were around. A lot of them were hurt, and he was pretty sure a couple of guys to his left were about to come to blows. Right then he couldn't care less about anything other than finding Scott and Allison, and making sure they were okay. There was thick smoke and he had no idea where it was coming from -- hellfire was an idle, and disturbing thought.

He spotted Scott then, sitting on the ground, shoulders slumped as he cradled Allison's too-still body. Horror shot through him. "No, no, no," he whispered, his heart beating hard in his chest. He shot forward, nearly bowling someone over in an effort to get to his friends. His family. The amount of blood covering Allison's shirt told a story he'd never wanted to hear. And Scott was rocking back and forth, whispering to her even though she wasn't moving. He felt ill.

How many times had they gone through this with other people they cared about? He'd lost track. The deaths, the near-misses. But none of it was like this. Allison had promised him she'd be okay. She'd promised. Because if she wasn't, Scott wasn't going to be okay. He knew that much. This would destroy him.

Blinking back tears of his own, Stiles reached out and let his hand rest on Scott's shoulder, feeling sick to his stomach.