Chapter Text
Stiles watched the rest of the pack drive off. He wished more than anything that he would get to see them again. But, something deep within him kept telling him that you can’t have everything you wish for.
“We need to drive by my jeep before we go to the warehouse. I need to grab something.” Derek nodded solemnly and got into the car without a word. Stiles could tell that he had a lot to say. Derek always said nothing when he had everything on his mind. It was something Stiles had come to love about him.
Derek stopped the car by the jeep and Stiles hopped out, going to the trunk and pulling out his lacrosse bag. Derek quirked and eyebrow.
“Supplies,” Stiles said matter-of-factly. Derek tilted his head up, a small smile playing at his lips. Stiles loved it when that happened.
They made it to the warehouse just as it was getting dark. The moon hung low in the sky, and Stiles looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time in his life. He suddenly felt like writing a lot of poetry. He chuckled to himself, and Derek looked at him like he was insane. He shrugged and waved him off as if to say Don’t even ask.
Derek came up to him and looked at the moon, too. Stiles watched him look at it like it was his guiding light. Stiles wanted more than anything for Derek to look at him, the way he looked at the moon. Part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, he already did when Stiles wasn’t paying attention. Stiles smiled.
Suddenly, Derek looked very grim. “Stiles…”
Stiles sighed, frustrated, “No, Derek. We are not having this conversation.” He stepped in front of Derek, placing his hands on the slightly bigger man’s shoulders. “You and I are going to wait here to see if Deucalion shows up, and if he does, you and I are going to fight, and I am going to make sure that you end up okay. Got it?” He huffed, but nodded his head.
As if on queue, a high shrieking noise filled the warehouse, like claws on a chalkboard.
It was pretty damn close. Deucalion walked into the warehouse, his claws dragging along the metal wall. He pulled them off the wall, grin on his face, and simply said, “Hello boys.” Stiles felt like barfing.
“Derek…” But, Stiles was too late. Derek ran at Deucalion. But, Deucalion had expected his attack and caught Derek by his neck, slashing up his stomach with his other hand and throwing him off to the side like a piece of trash into a waste basket. Stiles screamed and ran to Derek’s side.
“Derek! Derek, are you okay?” Derek shook his head yes, but spit up some blood. These were marks from an alpha, and he was a beta now. It would take too long for him to heal.
It was up to Stiles now.
“How about this, Stiles? You let me kill Derek, and I’ll let you go. You’ll never see me again. How’s that?” Deucalion was smiling, and it made Stiles sick. He hadn’t changed one bit since his last encounter with the pack. Some people just can’t. Stiles knew that.
“Stiles, please—,” Derek began.
“No, Derek! I will not leave you here. Don’t ask me to do that, you don’t get to ask me to do that!”
“Please, Stiles, you don’t have to save me.” Derek was a wreck.
“Yes, I do, Derek. It’s my job to save you,” He smiled at Derek earnestly, warmly, “It always has been.”
He steeled himself and knelt down, opening his lacrosse bag.
Deucalion chuckled darkly, “What are you gonna do, Stilinski? Beat me to death with your lacrosse stick?”
Stiles smiled humorlessly at him, pulling out his last line of defense. It was something that Deaton had given to him as a gift to start his training. He’d been practicing with it every night since the sacrifices and the battle with Jennifer. “Beauty, isn’t it?” Deucalion actually looked a little bit worried, and Stiles took that as a small victory. “This is what my fellow emissaries and I call a druid quarterstaff, Duke. It’s five feet long, filled with enchanted mountain ash and lined with the zest of our good old friend mistletoe. Sure, I’m barely trained to used it, but I think I get the gist of beating the shit out of someone with a big stick.” Deep down, Stiles knew that he was doomed, but it was still nice to see that pale, terrified look on his enemy’s face. It gave him the motivation to try and survive until Scott could arrive.
“It was you!” Deucalion fumed.
“I’m sorry?” No, he wasn’t.
The alpha continued, “When I attacked Scott out by the nemeton, I sensed an emissary. More powerful than any I’d ever encountered before. I assumed it was Deaton, so I fled. But, it was you.” Stiles’ jaw was on the floor. He was powerful?
Score.
“Well, now that you mention it, Duke, it was me that stopped you from killing Scott,” Deucalion glared at him, enraged. “And, I’m going to stop you from killing Derek.”
His glare hardened and then transformed into a sick grin. Stiles tried not to wet himself as Deucalion took his true form as theDemon Wolf.
“Well then, fearsome emissary Stilinski,” Stiles felt bile forming in his throat. He sensed no fear from the alpha wolf.
“Let’s begin.”
Deucalion lunged at Stiles claws-first. Stiles deftly stepped to the side, avoiding his attack and swinging the staff into Deucalion’s left side. The impact was strong enough to shatter a human’s ribs, but the demonic werewolf was hardly fazed. Stiles jumped back and out of the way of Duke’s next slash of claws, twisting the staff above his head and bringing it down on Deucalion’s head, knocking him to the ground. The boy started swinging down relentlessly at the alpha’s fallen figure. He landed a blow to his chest, stomach and right cheek. Deucalion rolled away, hopping up but showing some labor in it. Stiles was honestly just proud of having caused him even the smallest bit of pain. It meant that his training had actually shown improvement, which he hadn’t expected in the slightest. Stiles hadn’t realized his own potential.
What a shame it was for him to realize it when he was about to die.
He prepared for Deucalion’s next attack, getting into the power stance that Deaton had taught him, feet slightly more than shoulder width apart and staff out in front of him. Deucalion surprised him, though, front-tucking over him and slashing his back open through his shirt. Stiles fell forward in agony; he’d never felt any pain like it before. But, he quickly rolled back and stood, swinging the staff around his whole body and hitting Deucalion in the face with one giant WHAP. Stiles felt the blood soaking his back, and he felt a little woozy. Deucalion had obviously sunken his claws in pretty deep.
Stiles tried not to think about it.
All that could be heard in the warehouse was Stiles’ ragged breathing, he was getting tired. Deucalion lunged forward again, but instead of side-stepping, Stiles simply swung down on him right there. Stiles felt all of his hopes dissipate when Deucalion caught the staff in his hand. He threw Stiles nearly twelve feet off to the side by the staff. All of the air left his lungs when he hit the wall. Deucalion was on him in a moment, lifting him by his throat. Stiles’ feet were off the ground, but the staff was still in his hand. If he could just…
Deucalion cut off his thinking by digging his claws into Stiles’ chest. Stiles sputtered and coughed, felt blood filling his lungs, it hurt.
Stiles quickly reached into his pocket, grabbing a handful of the mountain ash he carried with him at all times, just like Deaton had taught him. He smiled at Deucalion morbidly, spitting out some blood onto his feet. He lifted the handful of ash up in front of him, “See you in hell, dickhead” and blew it into Deucalion’s face.
Deucalion gasped, started choking and coughing. He fell back in a heap, and Stiles cried out in pain as his claws, still deep in Stiles’ chest, dragged down the boy’s torso as he fell.
With all the rest of his strength, Stiles stepped forward and plunged the end of his quarterstaff into Deucalion’s heart. The alpha howled in agony. For good measure, Stiles’ broke it off where it had sunken in, spilling the mountain ash into the werewolf’s open heart.
Deucalion’s veins started bulging, a sickly green color, as he gagged and wretched. The same black goo that Stiles had seen spill from Gerard began filtering onto the ground from Deucalion’s eyes, mouth and nose. Stiles felt like yakking, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the black goo or from his wounds. He was ripped open, front and back, but when he looked over and saw Derek regaining his strength, he knew it was worth it.
He fell to the ground, eyes to the ceiling, imagining what it would be like to see his mother again. Maybe he would get the chance to see her, just one more time, before he was sent to hell. There’s no way you can hang around with werewolves, killing supernatural creatures, and not go to hell. He tried laughing, but all it came out as was a choked-off garble. He remembered his mother’s smell, her voice and her lovely brown hair; he remembered the way it would float in the summer wind while they would plant flowers together. He smiled, no longer feeling the pain.
Suddenly, a voice sharpened in his head. It was Scott’s.
Scott had finally arrived.
He was safe.
Good, Stiles thought.
“Stiles! No, Stiles!” Scott fell on his knees next to Stiles. “Stiles, please don’t do this to me, buddy, please—,” He started sobbing, and Stiles didn’t like that. He heard someone saying Shhhh and It’s all right, and he assumed it was Allison. He lifted his head to see that he was right, she was cradling Scott’s head, combing her fingers through his hair. But, there were tears in her eyes, too. She was so strong. Stiles loved her for that.
“Sc-Scott, come here bu-bud,” Stiles garbled out. Scott’s head lifted swiftly, and he lifted Stiles’ head into his lap.
“I’m here, buddy, I’m here. You’re gonna be all right. I… Stiles, I—,” But, he just cried again, his tears falling onto Stiles’ face.
Stiles felt his breathing slowing down. It wouldn’t be long. He only wished that—
“Stiles!” And there he was, Derek Hale, the one person Stiles wanted to see, appearing just when he needed him most, like always. “Stiles…” Stiles didn’t want him to say please don’t go or don’t do this to me. It would hurt too much. “Stiles, you were so brave. You were incredible. I’m s-so p-proud of you,” he was holding back a sob, Stiles could tell. It made something twist in his already aching chest.
“Do you think it’s too late for that conversation we were talking about earlier?” Derek huffed a somber laugh. Stiles smiled at it. Even on his deathbed, he could make Derek laugh. He was proud of that.
“I love you, Stiles.” It was everything Stiles had ever wanted to hear. Just those four words from Derek Hale. He felt a peaceful, languorous warmth flood over him.
“I love you, too...” Stiles felt his breathing hitch. This was it. He smiled up at Derek, "So long, Sourwolf."
And everything went black.