Marrish. Canon compliant, sometime into S5. Parrish is hurt, and Lydia helps him through it.
ps. VEENA MY MARRISH QUEEN. i hope you enjoy this. <333
He lifted his hand up, palm facing the evening sky. Tendrils of
smoke rose steadily from his skin. “What’s happening to me?” he slurred out. He
felt like he’d been lit on fire again. He head pounded, and his lungs burned
with every inhale. It reminded him of his time overseas, when it was 115
degrees in the sand and sun and you
better keep your sleeves rolled down, corporal. His mouth tasted like
ashes, too, and–why was he slumped over? He tried to push himself up, but a
stabbing pain lanced through his legs and he howled with it, a sound not unlike
an angry, snarling dog shattering the quiet.
“Parrish,” a voice called, as calm as you please, and his gaze
swung out into the dark. His vision swam in double, red tendrils like blood
creeping in on his periphery, but they receded after a moment. The voice called
his name again.
It was Lydia. “I’m here,” she said. She was a few feet away,
kneeling in the loam. “I’m here, and you’re okay.”
He dropped his hand beside his hip, a sliver of panic working
its way under his skin. As much as he wanted to believe her, he didn’t feel
okay. He felt like–like he was dying.
Again. Why was he always dying? “I’m a campfire,” he choked out instead,
gulping for air as more smoke billowed from his mouth, his nose.
She crawled over to him then, and she hovered her hand over his
smoking palm with a delicate smile. “Don’t try to be funny. You need to calm
down, okay?” she said, and then dropped her hand into his. She squeezed once,
twice. “Remember what we found out? Hellhound healing is triggered by massive
He squeezed her hand back. “I don’t like the sound of massive
“Neither do I,” she muttered, searching his face intently.
“You’re already through your second phase, I think. You just–have to stay
“I wish… it were that easy,” he hissed as another wave of heat
crested over him. His blood felt like it was boiling underneath his skin. He
tried to tug his hand free from Lydia’s–he must have been roasting her–but
she refused to let go.
“Your eyes are glowing,” she said. She swept a cool hand across
his forehead. “They’re orange.”
“Like a traffic cone.” He closed his eyes, focusing on Lydia’s
gentle touch. “I need a t-shirt.”
“‘I’m a hellhound and all I got was traffic cone eyes’,” he
said through clenched teeth. “‘And this t-shirt’.”
“They’re not like traffic
cones.” She touched his chin and tilted his head back, kept it there until
he opened his eyes. “They’re awesome.”
He tried to smile, another wave of heat that had nothing to do
with his healing curling through his stomach. The last time he’d been like
this, Lydia hadn’t actually been there; the real deal was so much better.
“Where’s Scott? The rest of the pack?”
“They ran off after the basilisk attacked you,” she explained.
“I stayed behind.”
“Is that safe?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m more than capable of handling a
basilisk.” She bopped his shoulder with her fist. “I had a really good teacher.
Don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, I do.” Those banshee screams packed a wallop. “Thanks,
by the way.” He ran his thumb along her knuckles, lips turning up at the slight
hitch in her breath. “For staying. Protecting me.”
She smiled, biting her lip. “No thanks needed.”