#sorewolf

@sorewolf

The very minute Stiles saw another body washed up on the god-forsaken island he had been tossed onto, he thought he was dreamed. Or maybe hallucinating from the lack of food he had. Or maybe the bone-deep frigid cold had slowed his mind down that much, that he was just seeing things.

But, as he approached the body, the torn and not nearly warm enough winter jacket crinkling from the frost, he knew the person in front of him was most definitely real. Pulling the stubby, half-dull knife from his waistband, he nudged the guy with his foot a few times, trying to see if he was alive. He seemed to still have color in his face, but Stiles couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Crouching down to his knees and adjusting his hood for he could see better, he reached out tentatively to feel for the guy’s pulse. Through the wind and sound o the cold waves, he heard a steady thrum a sign of life.

                 “Knock knock! The fun police!” Spark was standing in front of Derek Hale’s door, a stupid smile stretched across his features as he knocked on the door. Not that it stopped him from SAYING knock knock. He could be obnoxiously annoying; better make sure his team members knew what they had signed in on before getting in too deep.