All about control

is it over now? (june)

The chrome of the truck's passenger handle is marred with blood, and Liam can't take his eyes off of where his hand had been a few seconds earlier. It's not real, not yet. The blood under his nails, that dripped over his hands, isn't dry yet. It's barely even tacky, by the way it smeared over the handle and covered the green six-ball settled in his shaking palm. His eyes flick down to the keychain, to the scuffs and scratches now all the clearer with the red seeping into the thin grooves, as it has spread through the grooves and valleys of Liam's skin. The keys dig into the meat of his hand as his fingers curl around the ball.

Leaves crunching beneath heavy footsteps has his wolf bristling in time with the barbed wire around his guts pulling tighter. The last thing he needs right now is a lecture or pity. There's not an ounce of him that's upset or that regrets what he did. He'll deal with the whole mess he made himself later, when his head isn't spinning from getting hit with the combined smells of the person he hates more than anything and the one he loves.

Before whoever it is can get a word out, he flings himself forward, jerking himself around to the driver's side. In the process, he unclenches his fist and fumbles with the keys. If not for superhuman reflexes, he'd likely be fishing through the leaves and twigs and general forest debris for the damn things. Somehow, he manages to hit the unlock button and gets the door open before the footsteps round the truck's front. He all but throws himself in, ignoring how his hands leave smears on the wheel, though he does avoid touching the seat as he scoots around, aiming to reach for the napkins and towels in the glove box. There's a stash there, always has been, despite how pristine the chimera keeps his vehicle.

He's never seen it dirty. Not even back when Theo was living in it, when he was apparently bleeding out in the back of it, if the discoloration of the backseats is anything to go by. The damn thing has always smelled damn near new, minus all the factory chemical smells. It's always clean, because Theo takes better care of it than he does himself. It's always clean, except now. Right now, all he can smell is blood and sulfur and wolfsbane and her ...

Stiles snatches the edge of the door, steadfastly holding it open.

"Hey, Liam, look at me," he says, snapping his fingers in quick succession, breaking through the fog clinging to him.

Liam sinks back in the seat, trying to make himself smaller. The edges of his vision are blurring, making him feel trapped, and his fingers are still numb. But he catches Stiles' eyes, even though he doesn't want to. He just hopes this isn't a lecture. Keeping himself as put together as he seems is as much as he can handle at the moment. He doesn't need a guilt trip piled on top of it. Especially not from Stiles.

"Atta boy." His smile softens for a second, though the pain creeps back in, as does the serious furrows creasing his forehead. "You sure you're good to drive? We can get someone else–"

"I'm fine!" He snaps, fingers tightening around the leather, falling into the divots Theo's hands had worn into the wheel. The ensuing deep breath and sigh soften his scowl and tone as he says, "Really. I can handle it. He–He wouldn't want anyone else to do it."

With a sigh, Stiles nods. "I get it."

Liam lifts his eyes back to the dash, thinking that will be that, and he can just put the thing in drive and get moving. True to form, though, he's entirely wrong. A hand on his arm brings his attention back to his friend, and the look on his face. A lump forms in his throat. There's too much sincerity and worry in those amber eyes.

"He'll be fine." Liam does them both a favor and doesn't mention the sharp blip in his friend's pulse. "Remember, the guy's a cockroach. "

"Yeah," he says, forcing a weak chuckle out after. "He always is, right?" He rolls down the truck windows, just to give himself something to do, something to smell other than his own fear, pain and panic. To hear anything other than their racing hearts.