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It’s like something fractures inside of him. It’s not the first time, it probably won’t be the last time but he’s pretty sure this is the deepest fissure so far.
He tries not to think about it. Tries to push it to the side and forgetforgetforget IGNORE it. Sometimes it works.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t work this time. Felt it when it started like malicious whispering at the back of his head. Like laughter bubbling from bedlam.
***
He wakes and there’s blood on his hands and leaves on his feet and mud on his sheets. It’s not the first time (it’s never the first time, the first time happened in panic and desperation and ice) and he’s just tired of it now. So very tired of walking downstairs and trying to explain whichever hapless prey animal is on their porch this time.
Except.
This time he walks downstairs and his dad’s looking at him with sadness and disappointment. Scott’s looking at him with something like misery and a little fear and his dad tells him he needs to come to the station.
***
Years and years later he can’t help but laugh when these people strap him down and try to kill him.
(the darkness was always there, Stiles just lost the light)