DANGEROUS LIAISONS ◦ STILINSKI [2]

twenty three; aching chests

ACHING CHESTS

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The sound of an incessant buzzing echoed loudly through the ears of the sleeping brunette, but the girl seemed almost hesitant in the action of lifting her head from her pillow to pick up her phone. The past couple of weeks, Carter had been dreading phone calls like those; the ones that she would receive in the dead of night declaring that something horrible had happened. She couldn't live with the fear that settled in her chest every single time her phone went off, that alone would've been enough for her to go spiraling down into insanity.
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She let her hands sweep over her face as she grabbed ahold of her flashing iPhone, sliding her thumb across the screen before allowing herself to sink back into her fluffy pillow.
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"Hello?"
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The only sound she received was someone's nervous and heaving breathing on the other end, there had also been the sound of crackling - like electricity had been floating around the room. Carter's eyes snapped open, pushing herself into sitting position before pulling her phone away from her ear to see the caller ID. Why was Stiles calling her so late? The wavering in his breathing had been enough for her to go from drowsy to panicked in a matter of seconds.
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"Stiles, are you there?" Carter asked, voice shaking as she tried to regulate her pounding heart. "Stiles?"

​"Carter?"
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"Hey, I'm here," Carter rushed out, frantically pushing the blankets off her legs before allowing her feet to dangle off the side of the bed. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

​"Car, I don't - I don't know where I am," Stiles began, his voice had been so low and quiet that Carter was having to strain her hearing in order to understand what he was saying. "I don't know how I got here. I think I was sleepwalking."
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A wave of pure panic coursed through the brunette, enough so that for a moment she felt as though she were going to throw up. Just the idea of something being wrong with Stiles had her pushing herself off the bed, eyes wide as she quickly moved around the corner of the mattress. Her movements were frantic, maneuvering toward her closet in a state of panic as she stumbled to find a pair of jeans.
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Just as the coarse material of her jeans brushed her fingers, she found herself subconsciously spitting out words: "Okay, um, can you see anything? Just tell me what you see, Stiles."

​"Ah," Stiles pondered for a moment before he continued: "It's dark - it's hard to see. I think there's something wrong with my-"
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The call suddenly dropped and she had been left with a black screen as she clumsily tried to yank on her jeans. She quickly redialed his number, but to no avail as his voicemail recited itself to the panicked Were-Pheanix. "Hey, this is Stiles and you missed me. Leave a message-"
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Carter ended the call and tried again. Running her hand over her face she knew that she needed to keep a level-head, understanding that having a panic attack or a metal breakdown wasn't going to help her find Stiles. Just as she ended the failed called, her phone began to buzz in the palm of her hand. The tip of her finger slid across the screen with force, placing the device against her ear.

​"Stiles?" Carter asked quickly.
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"Carter, I don't think I can get out of here," Stiles explained, voice quivering with fear. "I can't move."
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The brunette snatched a random jacket out of her closer, pulling it on, "Where are you? Come on, Stiles, I need you to help me so that I can come and find you, okay?"

​"I don't know - I don't know, it's too dark. I can't see much and something's wrong with my leg." Stiles replied, Carter tilted her head to the side before she glanced down at her jean clad legs. "It's stuck on something. And it's...I think it's bleeding."
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Carter knew that not feeling something was one of the worst things that could have crossed her mind. For once in the past couple of years, not experiencing someone else's pain meant that there was something wrong with the link that she shared with Stiles, and if he really had been hurt then there was no possible way for her to know the severity of his injury. If the said injury had appeared on her body she would've at least been able to tell if it was life-threatening.
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And, despite being useless, she continued to believe Stiles had an actual injury - and she was going to treat it like his life depended on it.
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"How bad? Stiles, how bad is it?" Carter asked, but his silence ensued more panic. "Stiles, are you there? Can you hear me? Say something, please - talk to me. I need you to talk me, Stiles, come on, say something." She pleaded, chest burning at the harsh reality of the situation.