The recent episode is killing me. To death.
Disclaimer: I don't own shit
Stiles comes back to himself in the living room of Scott's house, swathed in bandages and unsure if he is himself or not. He can feel the edges of the his mind tainted with the Nogitsune's residue, he can feel the mad hate of the creature seeping through his body, but under that, he can feel himself, he eventually decides. And his self?
I'm not clean any more.
He can feel his love of all things comic book, he can feel his love for Scott, the stupid crush he has on Lydia, the guilt from lying to his dad for so long.
And those emotions? They hurt. They burn with white hot agony, shining too brightly for his diseased mind, for his ruined psyche.
I'm not clean any more.
Because although familiar, he feels distant from them. The all consuming hatred from the Nogitsune, the mischeviousness, the discordant laughter rattling around in his head, it dampens everything he is, even though the source is gone.
I'm not clean any more.
They should all hate me, he thinks bitterly. That thing wore my face and tried to slaughter them all. He runs a hand over his face, sighing shakily.
Except they don't hate me. He thinks. Why don't they hate me? I remember everything. I remember twisting that sword in Scott's stomach, I remember the feel of his pain in my head, I remember the taste of Lydia's fear, and Derek's bones grinding when I threw him at that wall, I remember all of it.
I hate me.
Why don't they?