Narrative or Open Multi Spam
[He skips the party tonight and makes his way to the hospital instead. The people Liv shot are in critical condition and just because he's broken beyond repair doesn't mean she has to be too, and that's exactly what would happen if these people ended up dying. He gets to the ward and glamours the doctor into letting him in to see the patients. He won't give them a lot, the last thing he needs is to be supernaturally bonded to a bunch of locals after this. After this, he doesn't want to be bonded to anyone at all. He borrows a syringe from a nurse's tray and visits each victim's room one by one, injecting them with a small amount of his healing blood. After he's done, he disposes of the evidence and heads back out.
There, it's done. He doesn't owe her anything and she'll never hear about this so she'll just keep on hating him. The thing no one ever told him about loneliness is that it's as addictive as any drug. After a while, you stop feeling like you're being crushed under a weight and the emptiness of solitude becomes company in itself. You become so accustomed to the void that you can't imagine life without it. You don't want to. He let himself slip last week. As difficult as it was to take care of someone who believed herself to be an apocalypse survivor, her company was easy and light. She trusted him. She wanted to be near him. She wanted to stay safe with him. Her wants, her fantasy of making it together had become his too. He let himself dream of permanency and normalcy; it was more than dangerous, it was reckless and he knew better than to be swept away into something that was clearly so temporary.
He thinks about what Scott would say... he'd say nothing. He would look at him with disappointment, but not surprise. Not anymore. There wasn't enough between them anymore for Scott to be surprised by Stiles's selfish antics, and that's all they were. That's all they ever turned out to be.
He's alone again, as he should be. He touches a drop of wetness gathering in the corner of his eye and rubs the red slick tear between his fingertips, once again removing all of the evidence that he sometimes he allows himself feel something. Emotion is for the living.]