chapter sixteen

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if you have intelligence but you're really fucking stupid clap your hands.

*clap clap*

thursday, july 31
the lupus lacum
third person pov

"The wounds here indicate that the cause of death was in fact exsanguination, and the beheading was done post mortem."

The crisp british accent came from Thomas, who leaned over and pointed to things that were projected from Tony's tablet. It cut through the fog that seemed to cover Stiles'  thoughts.

He blinked slowly, and rubbed at his temple, trying to relieve the stabbing pain attacking his head. Words started to blur again as he shut his eyes and clenched his teeth against the constant pain.

He dropped down into one of the dusty chairs as the rest of his team continued to talk and discuss options.

A hand on his shoulder had his head shooting up and his eyes meeting ones of chocolate brown. Concern shone in Thomas' eyes and Stiles looked around to find they were the only ones left in the main room of the motel.

"Where'd the others go?"

Stiles' words came out slightly slurred the beat matching the feeling of his brains sloshing around painfully in his head.

"After we called your name about thirty times, I told them to let me have a shot," the british accent came out rough, but it was a soothing sound to Stiles.

The brunette grabbed his boyfriend's hips and tugged him down into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Thomas and buried his face into the blonde's neck. Tears slowly trickled down his cheeks, and he sobbed into the suit clad shoulder of the doctor.

Thomas curled into him, sweet everythings leaving his lips, as he rubbed Stiles back with long, nimble fingers.

"I'm sorry," Stiles choked out, "So sorry."

Thomas pulled back and stared into Stiles' crying eyes, "Why are you sorry? You have no reason to be sorry."

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"It's okay to not be okay, Stiles."

"I don't want to bother you, Tommy."

Stiles glanced at the floor the tears still running down his face, "You could never bother me, Stiles."


"Stiles," A hand on his chin had Stiles looking up into glassy chocolate eyes brimming with intelligence and compassion, "Never hide what you feel, not from me."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything, just let me hold you."

Thomas tangled his finger in Stiles' hair and rubbed at his scalp, causing the pain to slowly lessen as a comforting feeling came over him.

"I just, I keep seeing it."


"My father, his head ripped off, blood all over him. I just, oh god, it's all I can see sometimes."

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