Can I Lay by Your Side?

Blood. So much blood.

Drying onto his skin, beginning to flake. He grips the wheel tighter to stop his hands shaking, but the effort is futile. His knuckles are a stark white in contrast to the darkness of the car, squeezing the steering wheel tighter to stop the tremors. He knows it's coming, the shortness of his breath, the burning in his eyes.

But he has to go back, he has to know for sure.

Stumbling out of the Jeep, Stiles blinks against the sudden onslaught of dizziness, the world around him swirling into a blur as he runs back to the scene of the crime.

Slamming thought the double doors of the library, he comes to a skidding halt. There's no body. There's no blood. There's no...nothing. Like it was all a dream. Eyes darting every which way, he frowns, trying to concentrate. If he could just think, if he could just focus for one second. He staggers over to where the body should be in a daze, not processing a single thing, his brain firing a single sentence at him, as if on a loop.

There is no body.

There is no body.

There is no body.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he looks up at the railing he was just standing on and takes one step towards it. Lifting a finger, he swipes it down the metal.

Blood.

He lurches forward, heart hammering in his chest, feeling overwhelmed. Panic. Her icy grip twisting his insides, pulling and pushing, stretching and snapping. He blinks as the world begins to spin, swallowing down the bile in his throat. He can't think, he can't breathe.

Running back to the Jeep, he launches himself inside and sparks it to life, his fight or flight response kicking into over drive. He can feel his grip on reality loosening, can feel himself tumbling over the edge into an abyss he is terrified of.

The rumbling of the engine has no calming effect on him, tears flowing steadily down his face. He can't lose control, he can't, not now. Screwing his eyes shut, he shakes his head to try and clear it but it's no use, there is still that all-encompassing feeling of dread.

He needs something to hold onto to, someone to stop him from falling.

He needs him.

He needs Derek.

Stopping in the middle of nowhere, his trembling fingers reach for his phone. He stumbles over the keys, the number permanently etched into his brain, and waits, leaning heavily against the dashboard.

"Stiles?"

The relief that Stiles feels hearing that voice is paramount and he latches onto it with everything he's got. "Derek, I -" Laboured breaths, choked off sobs.

"Stiles, what is it? What's wrong?"

He can hear a commotion in the background but it's unimportant. What matters is the tether Stiles feels from just hearing that one voice. Grounding him. Anchoring him. "Derek." His breath hitches, but he pushes out the words in a hush of a whisper. "I did something bad."

"I'm coming, hold tight."

As he waits, Stiles tries to focus on Derek's voice, the timber of it like a soothing lullaby as he replays the conversation in his head, over and over. He surrounds himself with it, leaning back against the seat, trying to control his breathing.

He doesn't know how long he waits, but he's startled by a flash of light and he blinks against the harshness of it to see a figure walking towards him. Pushing himself further and further away from the door, fear has him in its hold for just a second before he sees the brilliant blue of Derek's eyes.

All but falling out of the car and into Derek's arms, he breathes a sigh of relief so big, Derek thinks the weight of the entire world is resting upon him. "Derek," he sighs.

"I'm here now," Derek murmurs, folding Stiles up into his arms, breathing in his anxiety tinged scent. "You're okay. I'm here."