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Summary
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.
"Turn it off." The pack looked up, stunned into silence by the first words they'd heard from him in weeks.
Stiles stood, trembling - his knees weak. He tried to run and collapsed, his bad leg failing him once again. Derek caught him. "Turn it off," he said, his voice unmistakably a growl.
The water continued leaking from the loose faucet, and all Stiles heard was Erica's blood against the concrete. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.
