his hands are still shaking. registers this somewhere in the back of his mind, knows he needs to... do something. go home. get the wound on his side, pressed beneath a dirty t-shirt and a palm slick with his own blood, looked at before it gets infected or something. but the woods he just stumbled out of still crowd around the edge of the carnival like a promise, and— scott can't let anyone else get hurt. he has to warn someone. realizes someone's approached him in the very same instant that he blurts, gone stupid with adrenaline and the phantom of his best friend's paranoia, "i think there's a werewolf here."
"dude, i get it. you don't believe my vampire theory but you don't have to drag me about it." Stiles said, swinging around with a red and blue snow-cone in one hand and a large popcorn tucked in the crook of his free arm. Little bits of the popcorn went flying off the top with his momentum, scattering on the gravel to be pulverized beneath the crowd. "Want some? --" his grin fell as he looked his best friend up and down. something was way off. "are you okay? why are you sweaty?"












