Sorry, [he mumbles, and he's not sure if he's apologizing for what he did, or for the expression on his face, or for all the wrongs the universe has done them. He opens his hands, fingers laced between his knees, and stares at his palms. They were covered in her blood, there. He has to blink a few times, and when he can't banish the image, he looks back up at Stiles.]
Thanks. The ash, I mean. [For stopping him from going after anyone else, at least for a little while. The line had been broken eventually, and eventually he'd been stopped again.]
Stiles | Scott | Lydia Spam
Thanks. The ash, I mean. [For stopping him from going after anyone else, at least for a little while. The line had been broken eventually, and eventually he'd been stopped again.]