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He does what he has to do. He does it to save them all.
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PIck up pants
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You don't think you can.
You're a good kid. Such a fucking good kid. You help anyone and everyone even if you don't like them, you try to be there for them, your father, your best friend, your alpha, your pack. You stretch yourself so far and too thinly. But you can't do everything because you are just human. You have limits. A line you never cross. The killing is done by the wolves, they protect the pack, the land, you. But this time you were the one who had to protect them. You were the only one who could save them all.
And you did it. You saved them.
But still your hands are covered in blood. Such a deep red. You can feel it running down your forearms now. Reaching the crease of your elbow. You touch your fingers together watching as it kind of sticks but doesn't. Blood such a strange liquid. A life source. Or was in this case. It once ran through the veins of the dead man. But now creates a pool at your feet. You shuffle back slightly, body pressed further against the tree. Your converse are white so you don't want blood on them, but then you realize. They already do.
"Stiles?"