@hastodosomething
This wasn’t how their graduation trip was supposed to go. This wasn’t how anything was supposed to go. A trip away from Beacon Hills, away from California–it was supposed to be fun and supernatural-trouble-free.
As if they ever got that lucky. As if any plan that involved relaxing and getting away from the supernatural has ever worked for either of them and hasn’t ended in complete disaster anyway.
Lying in the snow, breath caught in his chest, pain spiking through his arm when he tries to roll to his side, Stiles is pretty sure this qualifies as the least-supernatural and thus most fucked-up disaster they’ve ever survived.
They. Scott. It feels like the ice he’s been lying in is now in his veins when his vision clears and he sees the destruction. Debris, shattered and cracked glass, scattered chunks of metal, blood (his own blood, at least, Stiles realizes with another ice-water feeling. He can feel it on his shirt, in his hair. ...How much of it is Scott’s?) He can’t see his best friend from here, can’t hear him either. The cold wave is replaced with one of nausea.
Stiles struggles to his feet, gasps in pain and shock when he puts weight on his right side. His good hand comes up, steadying his injured arm, teeth gritting as starts trying to move around the totaled car. At least he can move at all, he thinks numbly. “Scott?” Voice hoarse, he calls out, praying to anything possible he’ll get answer back. He hesitates to look through the spider-webbed glass, breath shaking as he reaches to tug on the door. “Scott, come on, be alive, okay? Please be alive...” The last words half-gasped half-whispered when he looks inside, eyes wide.
