"Look, we’re all worried about you! I know that something’s not right with you, but I won’t push you any longer. If you want, you can tell me, I won’t force you.” She thinks she has it sussed, she can remember how it went before and she can read the signs just like she did the last time. Though she knows that if she’s right, it’ll be a whole lot harder this time around. “I’m here Stiles, don’t forget.”
"Well, you need to stop worrying. Because I'm fine. I... maybe don't feel so hot, but I'm fine." His words were defensive, his jaw clenched. He doesn't want to inconvenience them. The pack has already gone through so much, and they're already walking on eggshells around him because of the last incident. But Stiles doesn't know how much longer he can hold his own. "I mean it, Bronte." His gaze flickers to the side of her, over her shoulder, where he can just barely make out a bandaged figure entering a room down the hall. His lungs sputter; his eyes widen. The figure comes out again, sharp teeth forming a haunting grin. Stiles stares. It stares b a c k.
