Send my muse one of the following to see how they react
Feeling as the blade as it sank into his chest, piercing his right lung, filling it with blood, Derek howled out in pain.
This was wrong. A part of him knew that. The injury—-it shouldn’t have burned the way that it did. It shouldn’t have left him wanting to curl in on himself and lap at his wounds, trying to soothe the feel of fire, shouldn’t make him want to thrash and lash out, attacking anything and anyone who dared to come too close, including the teen.
With effort, the alpha lifted his head and met the boy’s gaze.
“Control it,” he’d gasped out before he slipped into unconsciousness, no longer capable of fighting the pain.
He knew the teen wasn’t in control of his body at the time he’d stabbed him and tortured him. He knew that it was the nogitsune possessing Stiles, and that he would—if he could, if he’d had control of his own body—have done anything to help him. They both did.
But knowing it and accepting it were two very different things, and Derek knew better than most that the guilt would stick with Stiles through the rest of his days.
He was healing from his wounds. Slowly, but at least he was healing. At the time, he couldn’t really tell anyone what had been done to him, body screaming in agonizing torture as the poison flowed through his veins, spreading its fiery destruction throughout his body, but afterwards, when he found himself waking up at Deaton’s and heard about the extensive damage done to him, he could only be surprised that he’d managed to hold on as long as he had.
And yet—-
And yet, despite all that had been done to him at Stiles’ hand, he never once held him responsible for the actions of the trickster spirit possessing him.
Derek met his eyes once more as he muttered the only thing that he could, the only thing that would be able to convey everything without having to open painful wounds for the both of them.
“I know.”
