Part 1/5
His hands are slick with it. That's the first thing he notices once he's aware of things again. Then comes the smell. The scent of copper hangs in the air like a cloud, ever present and unfading.
He stares at his hands, dark with blood, and knows that things have changed.
-x-x-
The soap bottle on the counter is empty, and the sticky red blood in the shape of a handprint has already hardened over the label. Blood mixed like ink in the water drains, a gentle whirlpool bringing it down slowly.
When the water is all gone, there is blood staining the silver of the sink basin.
He has killed someone to protect him and the blood on his hands won't be so easily washed away.
-x-x-
He knows that he isn't a perfect person. But he's always believed that he would. . . that he couldn't do. . .
He has always known that if Scott or his dad or even Scott's mom were in danger, that he would do whatever he had to in order to protect them.
Murdering someone who trusted him is a completely different story.
-x-x-
It's not as if he and Derek had ever been Stiles and Derek. They had never so much as talked about that possibility, let alone acted on it. Stiles hadn't even thought about it actively before.
But when he was faced with the very real possibility that he could be accidentally helping someone take Derek's life, Stiles knew he had no choice.
He acted without a further thought.
-x-x-
There is a body on the floor of his kitchen. The body is wearing a uniform that's soaked in blood. It's just a body now. It can't do anything to Derek now.
But Stiles isn't so sure it can't do a lot to him instead.
-x-x-
He has panic attack in the kitchen (again?), in the room he has been unable to leave for six hours.
In the room with the body of a police officer he's known all his life. The tan of the uniform is black with blood, like it's been dipped in ink and left to dry.
-x-x-
He comes to in the early morning hours, before the sun. The house is cold and silent.
There is still a body on the floor near his feet. It hasn't moved.
He doesn't know what to do.
-x-x-
He doesn't remember what happened in the hours leading up to the event.
But he notices suddenly that his wrists are bruised and bleeding, and probably have been for hours. There is still a pair of handcuffs dangling from one wrist.
How hadn't he noticed when he ran his hands under the cold water of the kitchen tap?
Nothing makes sense anymore.
He almost wishes for the oblivion of thinking he killed a man in cold blood to protect someone he loved.
-x-x-
He continues to stay inside his kitchen, with the body he created pooled in blood. The night fades into daylight slowly, then all at once.
He's not sure he won't pass out at any time.
The handcuffs are still attached. He hasn't wrapped his wrists.
He hasn't moved more than four feet since he first became aware of the blood on his hands.
Every time he tries, the panic tightens in his chest. And he falls to his knees again.
And the cycle starts over.
-x-x-
He's not sure how long he stays there before someone finds him. It feels like years.
He hears the voice first, a panicked cry.
"Stiles?! Stiles!"
It doesn't click at first, that the person is calling for him.
When he finally tries to call out in response, only a hoarse whisper spills out.
-x-x-
It's his dad that finally bursts through the kitchen door after three agonisingly slow minutes with Stiles unable to make himself move.
The utter relief on his face at finding Stiles, at meeting his eyes and knowing he's alive, falls quickly.
There is a body on the floor of his kitchen. It's his dad's deputy and Stiles has killed him.
Stiles passes out again.
-x-x-
He wakes up in a sluggish haze and his mouth feels like cotton. The antiseptic smell of the hospital merges with the scent memory of thick coppery blood.
Before he's even opened his eyes fully, he throws up all over himself.
He has killed someone.
A human.
-x-x-
Moving is hard to do. He's not sure why. But the blanket covering him is too heavy and he feels like he might suffocate.
No one has noticed the mess he's made all over himself yet, but it's been several long minutes and he knows he's probably overdue for a check-up by a nurse.
He needs to get the blanket off.
Why isn't his dad here?
-x-x-
He doesn't recognise the nurse that comes in, and a panic builds in him until he hyperventilates and the machines attached to him go into a wild frenzy of beeping. The nurse shouts but the words are fuzzy in his ears.
He passes out again.