_Storm Song

_Storm Song

It was late, dark and stormy. Lightning flashed while thunder cracked overhead and Stiles could barely see through the heavily pouring rain. He was on his way home from the station; his dad was working late tonight. Stiles was tired, he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he slept, but he knew for sure it hadn’t been in a couple of days, if not longer. The headlights of his jeep barely cut through the rain as he squinted to see the road and right now he wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot shower, and head of to bed.  

As he pulled up in the driveway and sat quietly for the moment before turning to the back seat to retrieve a jacket that he would use to run to the door. But as he looked down at the jacket and then back at the rain, he decided otherwise. “Screw it,” he said, throwing the jacket back to the back seat. He sprinted out of his car and to the front door. He shoved his key into the lock and twisted it before the bronzed knob and tumbled in through the door, slamming it behind him to keep most of the rain out. He was already soaked, his clothes drenched in the few feet it was from his car to the house.

Stiles flipped on the light in the main room and then headed for a towel to run through his soaked hair, but as he ambled through the house, there was strange banging on the back door. Curious, Stiles approached the back door, but not without grabbing his notorious baseball bat on the way there. He crept over quietly, the light in the kitchen off. Again, the knocking came and Stiles felt as though his heart was beating in his throat as his hand came into contact with the cold handle.

He turned it slowly with his left hand, bat clenched tightly in his right hand as he brought it back, intending to whack with great force whatever was behind the door. Stiles almost wanted to scream as he tore the door back, the wide doe eyes of a female staring him right in the face. She screamed, equally as surprised by him as he was by her, causing him to scream back. Instinctively, he swung the bat, but the adrenaline didn’t. He swung the bat weakly, enough for her to catch it in her hands.

“Stiles!” she yelled at him, after noticing it was him, “You scared the crap out of me!”

“It’s not like you didn’t scare the crap out of me, Becca!” he retorted, his heart no longer pounding in his throat, but what felt like through the cage of his chest.  Rebecca Chambers was the first person, besides Scott McCall, to ever show him kindness in such a way that made him feel whole. When Stiles entered Beacon Hills, Rebecca was always there. They’d grown to be best friends over the years, all three of them, but Rebecca was never close to Scott like Stiles had thought; in fact, they didn’t really get along.

Regardless, here she was, cold and wet, her lips tinted blue; he wasn’t sure how long she bad been there, but he knew he had to get her inside and warmed up. Without another word, Stiles grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet. She shivered against him, trying to gain any kind of warmth as he brought her against his chest. She didn’t bother look up at him as she pressed her face deeper into his warm chest, despite the fact that his clothes were also wet.

“Can I—”

“Warm clothes for you,” he interrupted. “You’re freezing! How long have you been out here?” he asked concernedly. She just shrugged her shoulders; he wasn’t even sure if she was listening anymore, or if she even cared. He didn’t wait too long for a response before dragging her upstairs, grabbing a towel on his way. He pulled her into his room and proceeded to raid his drawers for clothes.  

She stood and watched out the window. Though it was pouring hard, the lightning seemed far in the distance and the sound of the thunder was low. Her eyes glazed over, she was mesmerized by the site and her presence seemed to have disturbed Stiles from his frantic searching. He looked up from the dresser only for a second to look at her before he had to double take. The lightening light up her face every once in a while, more so than the lamp on the bedside table.

“How long were you out there?” he asked, resurfacing the question.

“Couldn’t have been long,” she replied.

“Your clothes are soaked, how long is not long?” he asked, pushing it a little more. “Why didn’t you call me?” he inquired, “I would have come to get you instead of you just waiting out there. Why weren’t you home, anyway?”

“I was just out walking and then it started to rain. I didn’t know what to do, your house was the closest but when I tried pounding on the door, nobody answered, so I thought I would just wait it out,” she said, her voice a little gravelly from the cold, and even more so as she shivered.

Stiles sighed heavily, “Rebecca,” he started, “You should have called me.” She just shook her head.  “Now you’ll probably get sick, hypothermia at best. Your skin is ice cold and your lips are bluer than a frozen blueberry.” His rant tapered off as he approached her. His deep chocolate eyes looked at her profile; her pale skin was still frozen despite being in the warm house. “I’m pretty sure your dad would kill me if he found out that you just lazed on my porch in the rain while I wasn’t home.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” she replied frankly as Stiles went back to the drawers in desperate search. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she commented. Stiles didn’t think anything of it, she knew her way around his house though he didn’t really expect her to excuse herself. He shrugged it off before finding a large shirt for her—the bottoms decision was still in the making. He tossed the shirt onto his bed before deciding for an old pair of underwear—it wasn’t like she hadn’t worn them in the past anyway. But when Stiles began to dig for some underwear, his face flushed slightly: was that the sound of the shower?

The thoughts going through his head were endless, flashing through his mind like a marquee. He didn’t blame her, but that’s kind of what he was hoping to do when he got home. What could he do? He sat down on his bed, clothes in hand, and waited patiently—it wasn’t long before the water shut off.  “Stiles?” his name rang through his ears. “Stiles, did you find me any clothes?” she asked. She sounded much better now than the rickety voice she had earlier outside.

“Uh…Yes! Yeah, I do!” he called back to her, scuttling to the bathroom where he grabbed the knob, but remembered one very important thing—her clothes were in his hands. “Uh, hey Becca?” he called through the door.

“Just leave them at the door and be on your way!” she replied, waiting to hear the sound of his footsteps drift away. They did soon enough and with a towel wrapped tightly around her she opened the door and quickly grabbed the clothes he had laid in a neat pile for her on the floor. But just as Rebecca had pulled on Stiles’ shirt and left her sopping wet clothes flopped on the ground, a loud crack of thunder rolled over head and the lights flickered until they stayed off.

Stiles sat wide eyed on his bed in silence for a few moments, the clock seeming to tick agonizingly slow. “Stiles?” Rebecca whimpered from the bathroom. The sound, her voice, it almost pained Stiles, and then it hit him. Rebecca was terrified, absolutely horrified of thunderstorms. He hand known this from the moment they first met, so when she called his name again, he leapt from his bed. He tore apart his drawers for a flashlight an after finding it raced down the hall to Rebecca.

A pang in Stiles’ chest came when he spotted her, shivering in fear, knees knocked together, eyes clenched tightly as she stood outside the door of the bathroom. He could tell she had wanted to make her way back to his room, but was fear stricken when the thunder hit.   Stiles was a foot away from her when a squeal ripped from her lips, another clap of thunder overhead. He didn’t know how, he didn’t even remember doing it, but Becca was pulled up against his chest once more; this time, though, the feel was different. Instead of the insatiable need for warmth, it was protection. His tender hold on the back of her head was pure and sincere protection.  Rebecca’s hands fisted in his shirt, her eyes clenched tightly and she whimpered his name once more.

“I’m right here. I’m right here with you,” he murmured to her. “Let’s go back to my room, there’s candles and a lantern in there,” he suggested, but she wouldn’t allow him to step away from her. She clenched on to him with all of her might. “It’s alright, I’ll be with you, right here,” he said and his hand slipped from her hair to her right hand. He laced their fingers, coaxing for her trust. She looked at him, looked into his deep brown eyes before she followed his gentle tug as he lead them to his room.  She curled herself up on top of his bed as he pulled a blanket over her, letting it give her some sort of comfort as he lit the candles and powered the lantern. 

“Are you doing alright?” he asked, lighting a few more candles.

“Yeah,” she responded, her voice slightly rickety. “Stiles?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” she paused, not really knowing how to formulate her question. Stiles finished lighting the last candle before he turned to her. He sauntered over to her. His strong warm hand came up to gently touch her cheek before cupping it entirely in his palm. He looked at her bright blue eyes, ones he had seen many times before but had never quite appreciated the beauty of them.

“Are you scared?” he asked quietly. She nodded in response. He could tell, her brown was drawn together, worry lines covered her forehead, and her pupils were extremely dilated. Her body shook gently now and again and her fists were clenched tightly as she awaited the next clap of thunder. He didn’t even have to ask her if she wanted comfort, it was written clear as day across her face. “Do you want me to sit with you?” he asked, not sure if she just wanted him to sit by or something more. When she nodded, all he could do was crawl onto his bed with her. He took the blanket and placed himself behind her, wrapping them both up in it until he dragged her into his lap. She sat sideways, her legs draped over his crossed leg as he held her. Her shoulder pressed against his firm chest, her head rested on his padded shoulder and her forehead rested against his neck.

Rebecca’s eyes fluttered closed when his hand weaved through her hair, massaging her scalp softly to hopefully relax her. “It will all be over soon, I promise,” he whispered to her before gripping her tighter, the storm seemed to be right overhead now. Stiles didn’t know what to do; the girl was shaking violently in his arms and all he could think in that moment was to press his nose against her head and hum. He hummed softly despite the sound of the rain pounding on the roof; it was barely audible to her.

And there they sat in the midst of the storm, Stiles humming sweetly to her to calm her nerves. He could feel her relax against him as time progressed. Her hands had loosened on his shirt, barely having a grip on it at all—Rebecca had fallen asleep even with thunder rolling overhead. He smiled at her, almost chuckling and moved slowly to lay her down on his bed. He covered her up with the blanket and leaned over to kiss her temple gently. “You don’t know, but I’m really glad you came to me because I really care about you, and I want you to know that I would never let you suffer by yourself,” he whispered to her even though he was pretty sure she didn’t hear it.

Stiles found his way to his computer chair and sat down to watch over her but sooner rather than later his eyes closed as well and he fell asleep in that chair not long before the sheriff arrived home. “Stiles?” he called, and when no answer came he climbed the stairs to his son’s room where he found the sight in front of him. There was a body he couldn’t recognize for the time being on Stiles’ bed and Stiles fast asleep in the chair. He smirked and grabbed a blanket from the closet to drape over his son.

“Dad?” Stiles asked, shifting in the chair.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just go back to sleep,” he replied.

“Becca is here,” Stiles responded sleepily.

“I know, son. I’ll ask you about her in the morning,” he said before leaving the room. He closed the door quietly and only after that did Stiles open one eye to scope the scene. He stood and moved back over to the bed, wrapped in his own blanket, where he laid facing Rebecca. He draped an arm over her and quickly fell back asleep.