Stiles had wished for death a few times, though typically it was in his sleep and without even realizing it. He had no idea what he was putting Derek through honestly. From the time that he had come and picked him up, literally off the ground, somewhere along the edges of where it was even safe and then the places people had always mentioned odd alien activity and just not going out there alone...Stiles had managed to get worse.
With a broken nose, and fractured cheek his eyes had been swollen shut those first few days but he was able to see now. On the other hand he looked a hot mess, and couldn't really speak all that well. Which is why he had a notebook somewhere on the mattress with him. His conscious mind fell in and out without having pain meds and not being able to handle anything that was going on.
He had wrecked so much. He knew what he told Scott by staying away from him had hurt his best friend, but he was positive that sleeping with him had only messed things up even more than the confusion of possible feelings. He'd hurt Malia. He had watched her shift right in front of him, and he was completely ready to have her tear him to pieces too. It killed him inside to know that he was the cause of her pain. That so much had broken between them, and he had no idea if any of it could ever be fixed. Why was Derek even helping him? It made no real sense.
The bruised boy blinked open his eyes and shock sent through his body from the ice water and he tried to talk but the string of pain shot up from his jaw into his skull and he fell silent. Grumbling he sent Derek a nasty glare. He hadn't told the werewolf that he hadn't been able to move his legs from the knee down for the past two days. He needed to tell him soon.