"Killed a bunch of vampires with Dean," Stiles mimics, ever mature. He's testy as hell; Derek comes back with a random bloody dude, says 'hey,' then proceeds to bleed out on Stiles' watch? Inconsiderate. He opens up the first aid kit and grimaces at the cotton balls and alcohol just because he knows what it means he has to do.
He looks over at Derek, takes a deep breath, and splays his hand on his neck, palm on part of his throat while his fingers tilt his chin back. Derek looks like a fucking mess; if he were human he'd be dead, and now he still looks like he's fifteen seconds from passing out.
"The fuck are you doing killing vampires with Dean? Why the fuck are there vamp-- no, don't answer that. But really, what the fuck are you doing killing vampires?" He's the kind of fervent that only happens when he's scared half to death, and it's about ten times worse when he has to touch blood at the same time. He dampens a cotton ball with alcohol and grimaces, reaching up to clean the wounds at his neck off gingerly.
"You can't fucking die, Derek. That would be bullshit, you dying."
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He looks over at Derek, takes a deep breath, and splays his hand on his neck, palm on part of his throat while his fingers tilt his chin back. Derek looks like a fucking mess; if he were human he'd be dead, and now he still looks like he's fifteen seconds from passing out.
"The fuck are you doing killing vampires with Dean? Why the fuck are there vamp-- no, don't answer that. But really, what the fuck are you doing killing vampires?" He's the kind of fervent that only happens when he's scared half to death, and it's about ten times worse when he has to touch blood at the same time. He dampens a cotton ball with alcohol and grimaces, reaching up to clean the wounds at his neck off gingerly.
"You can't fucking die, Derek. That would be bullshit, you dying."