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Stiles entered the loft and by the commotion going on he’d walked right into an argument.
He could barely make out what anyone was saying, but they were gesturing at the door, obviously deciding how to best approach this situation, but Stiles knew what they had to do.
What he had to do.
“I’m going to do it,” he said, grip sure around the handle of the knife, and all the wolves turned towards him.
“No,” Scott immediately protested and Derek shook his head as well. “You can’t.”
“Like hell I can’t,” Stiles sneered and Scott raised his hands.
“I know you can, Stiles. But you shouldn’t have to. One of us can do it.”
“One of you. You, what? Want to fight? You know he sees you as a threat; it won’t work. You’ll only get hurt on top of everything else. I’m the only one he doesn’t react violently to.”
Stiles tried very hard not to think about what they were talking about, what they were about to do, but Deaton had been very clear. There was no other choice.
“It has to be me. I’m going to do it.”
“Stiles,” Peter spoke up, for the first time, and Stiles turned towards him.
“It has to be me,” he said, voice shaking but determined to make his stand here. “It has to be me, Peter. I have to do it.”
Peter regarded him, holding his gaze way past anything that was comfortable but finally he looked away.
“Okay,” he said and nodded. “Okay.” His voice was softer than Stiles was used to.
Stiles didn’t know what to feel; he had his mind made up about this, but a small part of him had hoped that someone would take the knife out of his hand, would tell him that it was all going to be okay and lead him away so he didn’t have to think about any of this.
But there was no other way.
Scott and Derek protested, again, but Stiles didn’t pay them attention. He made his way to the door, confident that Peter would keep them away until it was done, and he didn’t hesitate to go into the room.
If he hesitated, he wouldn’t be able to do it, he knew that.
He closed the door behind him, attention already fixed on Deucalion who was pacing the wall opposite the door.
He had perked up at Stiles’ entrance and something in Stiles broke at seeing the canine behaviour Deucalion showed.
Stiles looked at him, hoping that there was another way for this, but there was nothing human left in Deucalion. Every motion, every sound was more wolf than man by now.
“Deuc,” he tried and Deuc tilted his head, slowly coming closer to Stiles.
“Deuc, please, this is your last chance. If you’re still in there, show me,” Stiles pleaded, voice breaking halfway through and Deucalion whined, high in his throat, obviously noticing Stiles distress.
But it wasn’t human, it was still only the wolf and Stiles tightened the grip on his knife.
He had dipped the blade into wolfsbane and if he hit the heart it would be over quick and almost painless. Deaton had promised.
"I love you," Stiles told Deucalion, his smile soft, and he stepped closer to him. "I love you."
Deuc made a happy noise at that but Deaton had said that he was way past human words. He reacted to the cadence of the words, nothing more.
The only reason Stiles wasn’t torn to shreds right now was because he was Deucalion’s mate, and no matter how far gone a wolf was, they would never attack their mate.
“I love you,” Stiles whispered again and he reached out, gently pulling Deucalion closer to him.
Deucalion immediately buried his face in Stiles neck, sniffing him and the tears finally spilled over.
“I love you. I love you,” he whispered again and again and some of his emotional pain must have translated into his scent because Deucalion was making that questioning whine again.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles sobbed and pressed one last kiss to Deucalion’s hair. “I love you.”
He held Deucalion close and snapped his hand upwards, burying the knife in Deucalion’s heart.
Deucalion made a painful noise, one that would haunt Stiles for the rest of his life, but it was over quick, just like Deaton had promised.
“I love you,” Stiles sobbed, as Deucalion went heavy against him, and he didn’t try to stay on his feet.
Stiles sank to the floor, Deucalion still cradled close, even as the blood spilled hotly on his hand, even as Deucalion went motionless against him and Stiles couldn’t say anything else.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated over and over again and he couldn’t seem to stop.
He couldn’t stop when Peter gently pried his hand off the knife, knuckles white with the tight grip Stiles still had on it, or when Derek and Scott took Deucalion from him and out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered as he guided him up to his feet and into the bathroom. “I’m sorry it had to be you.”
“I love him,” Stiles said, still unable to come up with any other words.
“I know,” Peter said as he wiped the tears off Stiles’ face, but they kept coming and Stiles couldn’t care.
“He loved you too,” Peter told him and Stiles started to sob almost immediately.
He cried and cried, Peter holding him close, not trying to comfort him, but offering support nonetheless.
“I love him,” Stiles cried, clutching at Peter’s shirt and shaking apart in his arms.
It was the last thing he said for a long time.