Chapter Text
The first time Derek watched Stiles die, he thought his entire world was ending.
It was a feral omega that they were hunting that week. Derek had gone over to Stiles’s house almost every night that entire week as they tried to track it down and figure out what strategies would be the easiest to take the thing down without any pack injuries.
Derek would never admit that maybe there was more than one reason behind his visit than research too. That he’d been visiting Stiles’s house nearly every other day in order to just see the boy. To talk to him. To see him laugh and suppress a smile when he offered his best sarcastic remarks.
No, he’d never admit that out loud. Though maybe he should have.
The day Derek watched Stiles die, he hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t even thought Stiles dying was possible.
Derek felt like his heart was being torn out.
Everything had gone to plan. They’d trapped the omega at the Hale house and Stiles had been the bait; with nothing but his wits and a baseball bat to defend him. Derek always hated nights like this. The nights he couldn’t be there to make sure Stiles was okay until the last moment.
This time, he was too late.
Derek remembered watching from the trees as Stiles led the omega into the planned spot. He’d lifted his baseball bat, said something witty, and then moved forward to swing.
The omega’s claws pierced first.
Derek didn’t think he’d ever escape the sound of Stiles’s cry. The shock and pain in the boy’s shout. The way he’d stumbled back, hands clutching at his bloodied chest as Derek had raced across the clearing, ripping the omega’s throat out in seconds.
Scott was already at the boy’s side.
Derek didn’t think it was possible for Stiles to die. He was the most constant of all of them. Stiles was always there, always moving. Always alive. He couldn’t sit still for longer than five minutes and he always had something to say. Something to do. Something to prove he was there and he was living.
Once upon a time, Derek was pretty sure he hated it. He hated Stiles.
Derek couldn’t imagine a day like that now.
He shoved Scott aside and gathered the boy up in his arms. Stiles’s face was pale as he clawed at his chest, desperate fingers curling into his sweatshirt as he tried to find the wound. Maybe even stop the bleeding. But there was no slowing it.
Not now.
“Derek— Derek, I can’t—”
Blood splattered his lips. Derek bit back a sharp howl and tightened his grip as if that would somehow help. His claws threatened to come out but Derek forced them back, pulling the boy into his chest. Stiles made a soft sound of pain and reached up, scrabbling at his arm.
“Derek, I can’t breathe.”
The last time Derek had cried, he’d been watching his family burn alive. But he didn’t even think before crying now, gathering the boy even closer into his chest. He already knew it wouldn’t do any good. Scott’s hand laid on Stiles’s arm but there were no lines of black creeping up his arm. Nothing to take away what slowly came.
“Derek—” Stiles gasped. Tears streaked his face and bloody fingers curled into his sleeve. “Derek, Derek I can’t—”
“Hey,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Hey, I’m here. You’re okay, Stiles, I’m here.”
“Derek, I’m scared.”
“I know,” Derek said, tears starting to trace down his cheek. “I know, Stiles, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to get you help and everything’s going to be fine. Okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Derek, please.”
Derek had no idea what he was asking for. But the boy’s fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket harder and all Derek knew was that he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t watch someone else he loved die.
Loved. That was new.
“Derek, please,” Stiles whispered again. “Take care of my dad. He’ll eat too much junk food if I’m gone and you can’t let him turn back to the bottle. Okay? He can’t go back to the bottle.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, lips curling. They were still stained with blood. Derek hated the sight. “God, I think that’s one of the things I loved about you.”
Derek’s heart stopped. But before he could say a word, Stiles’s eyes were dimming and the hand was slipping from Derek’s sleeve. The sudden scream struck the air was more of a howl than anything else and Derek realized it was Lyda. The others joined in. His pack, his betas, Scott and Allison.
There were shrill screams in the night that no one could stop and a boy in his arms that no one could heal.
Derek wanted to join in. But he couldn’t make a sound, clutching Stiles into his chest as blood stained his hands and the boy’s head lolled back against his shoulder. He could hear it. The steady thump-thump of Stiles’s heart slowing. The steady thump-thump going still all together.
Derek wanted to scream. He also wanted to howl.
Instead, he just sobbed, chin dropping against his chest. The boy’s death came with a dead omega, a dozen howls, and… a Derek couldn’t survive this. He couldn’t.
The moment that thought entered his mind, the world around him was fading. His pack’s howls went quiet and suddenly, Derek was surrounded by the darkness. He couldn’t feel Stiles’s body in his arms anymore. He couldn’t feel anything. Something was wrong.
Something was so terribly wrong.
And that was Derek’s last thought before everything went black.
- -
He woke up the next morning to Erica’s hand on his shoulder, tears streaking his face, and his sheets fisted beneath his fingers.
His fangs were out in seconds and Erica stumbled back, her eyes flashing gold.
“Woah, Derek, calm down! I was just trying to help!”
Derek sat straight up and looked around. Sunlight streamed through his window and he was… he was wearing the same clothes he’d gone to sleep in the day before. Derek blinked down at himself and then snapped back to reality, shoving himself out of bed in a second.
“Stiles. Where the hell is Stiles?”
“Uh,” Erica said, looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “Back at his own house, I’d hope. Because I’d hate to see the results of him attempting a bit of sarcasm when you’re in a state like this. You’re acting kind of crazy, you realize that?”
Derek stared at her. His knees felt weak.
“Stiles is alive?”
Erica’s face did a number of things. She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head and backing out of the room, quietly shutting it at her back. Derek stared at nothingness for a long second before blinking back to reality and grabbing his phone, dialing Stiles’s number.
It only rang a few times before the boy picked up.
“Uh, Derek? You realize it’s like, six o’clock in the morning, right? Because I never get my beauty sleep and I blame you furry assholes for that—”
“Stiles.”
“... Uh, yeah, dude?”
“You’re alive.”
Silence was his answer for a long moment. Then Stiles’s voice came back through, calm and careful. “Yes, Sourwolf, I’m alive. Are you feeling alright?”
“Stiles, I know I haven’t said this before, but—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “I have all the research done, you don’t have to growl at me. We can get the omega tonight if we follow the plan and use this hot bod of mine as bait. The omega won’t even be able to resist!”
Derek’s phone slipped from his fingers.
He could still hear the boy talking, but his voice was faint now. Derek blinked at the opposite wall and tried desperately to gather his thoughts.
Maybe it had been a bad dream. Maybe Stiles hadn’t died, Derek had been plagued by his stress about the newest Beacon Hills threat, and now they were finally facing it down. But it… it had all seemed so real. From Stiles’s scream to the boy dying in his arms, bloody fingers clawing weakly at the sleeves of his leather jacket.
“Uh, Derek? Derek?”
Derek snapped back to reality. Moving forward, he scooped his phone back up and shoved it against his ear. “Stiles?”
“Dude, are you sure you’re feeling okay? Because you’re kind of acting weird.”
“I’m fine,” Derek said gruffly. Stiles snorted at that.
“Yeah, I guess that tone is the big bad Alpha we all know so well. So, dude, what time do you want me by the loft? I can bring my bat and wear my awesome red hoodie so the omega really knows who to go after.”
“You’re no longer the bait.”
Stiles went quiet for a moment. Then carefully, his voice came back through. “Derek, are you putting me on the sidelines again? Because I swear to god, if you even attempt to do that, I’ll skin your little werewolf ass and use it as bait instead.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” Derek said. “I just want… to keep you safe.”
“Derek, dude, have you been replaced by a pod person?”
Derek clenched his jaw. He figured if everything he’d seen was a dream, he was acting overprotective for nothing. But if it wasn’t and if he had to experience all of that again— Derek couldn’t. He just couldn’t. “Stiles, just come by tonight, okay? No baseball bat, no red sweatshirt. Nothing. Just… come by. And be careful.”
On the other side of the phone, Stiles was silent for a long moment. Then Derek heard the sound of the phone click and realized the boy had hung up on him.
He looked at the black phone screen for a long moment before throwing on new clothes and moving out of his room. The betas were already in the kitchen and every single one of them gave him a strange look as Derek entered. He did his best to ignore them.
Boyd spoke first. “Derek—”
“No.”
The beta went silent and Erica rolled her eyes. “Dude, you’re acting weird. Are you doing to tell us what’s going on, are you going to continue with the ‘I’m the Alpha’ and ‘need no help’ act?”
Derek just glared at her. Erica sighed.
“So it’s the act, then.”
“The plan for tonight has changed,” Derek said. Boyd’s eyebrows shot up but Derek didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Stiles isn’t the bait. We can use a werewolf. Someone who can move fast enough to steer clear of the omega’s claws.”
“Derek,” Isaac said hesitantly. “We've used Stiles before—”
“Not today,” Derek snapped. The beta blinked at him before nodding. Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair, apology dying on his tongue. “Just… not today.”
Boyd nodded in affirmation. Derek didn’t stick around the loft.
He knew he’d told Stiles not to come by the loft until later, but Derek still swung by the Stilinski house to keep an eye on the boy anyway.
He lingered outside for a few long moments and then pulled himself up onto the roof. If he peered through the window, he could see Stiles sitting at his desk and typing away. The boy didn’t even notice him so Derek ducked out of sight again, settling down to wait.
About an hour in, he spotted the man standing on the sidewalk eyeing him curiously. Derek tensed and debated slipping into Stiles’s room just to get out of eyesight, but then the man moved away.
Derek relaxed for another five minutes. Then he heard the gunshot.
Derek moved in a second, racing toward Stiles’s window. The bullet made a hole in the side of the Stilinski house and Derek could smell the wolfsbane on it. Throwing Stiles’s window up, he dove inside right as another gunshot cracked through the air.
Hunters… hunters weren’t supposed to happen. Hunters hadn’t been a problem earlier. There was no reason for them to be in town.
Unless… The omega.
“Dude!”
Derek snapped back to reality as Stiles shoved himself up from his desk, glaring. But before the man could say another word, there was the sound of a gunshot again and Derek moved forward, driving Stiles to the floor. The boy squawked and then went rigid underneath him.
“Derek—”
“Hunters,” Derek said. “I think they’re after the omega.”
“No, Derek.”
Derek looked down at him in confusion. Then panic hit him like another wolfsbane bullet as he caught the faint scent of iron that had filled the air. The terror in Stiles’s eyes and the way that as he slowly shifted backward and pulled his hand from his chest. It was covered in red.
Covered in blood.
“No,” Derek said, moving forward. The bullet had met its target right below Stiles’s shoulder and already, there was too much blood. Derek’s heart lodged in his throat. “No, no, that’s not right. That’s not supposed to happen. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Derek,” Stiles said again, voice cracking. “Derek, Derek I think he shot me. I think I’ve been shot.”
For a moment, Derek couldn’t breathe. His throat constricted painfully and the room spun. His fingers hovered over the wound and terror crashed over him in wave after wave. This was another dream, it had to be. Derek had never woken up and he was just reliving this again. Only… in a different way this time.
But it felt real. The sour stench of blood and fear suffocating the room seemed real. Stiles… Stiles was real.
“He shot me,” Stiles said quietly, but he was trembling violently now. The boy stared at the floor— at his own blood— and his eyes were blank. “Oh my god, my dad’s going to kill me.”
Derek snapped back to reality.
In a second, he was gathering the boy up in his arms and starting to stand. But the moment he moved, Stiles let out a cry of pain that struck him to the very core. Derek quickly went back to his knees and felt warm blood drenching his own shirt. Stiles’s fingers scraped wetly over his arm.
“It hurts, Derek,” he said softly. “Derek, it hurts.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
Derek didn’t know what to do, what to say. He’d experienced this already. It felt like hours ago that he’d been holding Stiles in his arms, shock and grief crashing over him. He couldn’t experience it again.
I’m so sorry.
“D-Derek?”
“I’m here.”
“Tell my dad I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Derek said brokenly. “Don’t say that, Stiles. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”
“Please, Derek.”
Derek tightened his grip and Stiles whined in pain. And that- that was real. No matter how Derek tried to spin it, no matter what he tried to tell himself. Stiles was dying in arms and once more, there wasn’t anything Derek could do about it.
“Please, Derek,” Stiles said again. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
Silently, Derek nodded. The boy gasped wetly and reached up, tracing bloody fingers across Derek’s jaw. The blood felt like poison burning into his skin. Closing his eyes, Derek focused on Stiles’s heartbeat, not the pain in his eyes. Not the blood on his hands or on Derek’s shirt.
He listened to the faint thumps. One and another. Two. Three.
A small skip.
Stiles’s shuddering breath as his hand dropped again.
Four. F... Five.
Silence.
This time, Derek didn’t even try to hold back a howl.
- -
Derek woke up with a start.
This time, his bedroom was empty. He laid there for a long moment, staring at his ceiling. Because… this couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t be doing this again. No part of it made sense.
He couldn't do this again.
Derek didn’t move for a long moment. Then, carefully, he pushed himself out of bed and plodded out of his room. The loft was terrifyingly silent.
Until he reached the kitchen, that is. Derek froze, gazing at his betas, and barely dared breathe for a long moment. From behind her bowl of cereal, Erica arched a curious brow.
“Uh, Derek? You want to come eat?”
“The omega,” Derek said. “Are we still after it?”
Boyd’s brows drew together. Sitting next to him, Isaac slowly nodded and Derek felt his throat constrict.
“And Stiles is still supposed to be bait?”
“That is the plan—”
“No,” Derek said. “That’s… that’s not anymore. Someone call Scott and tell him there are hunters in town too. I think they’re after the omega as well.”
“How do you know this?”
Derek couldn’t explain it. He didn’t even know where to start. So, instead of answering, he grabbed his wallet and keys and made for the loft exit. Isaac called his name but Derek ignored the beta, shoving himself out of the loft.
He drove straight toward the Stilinski household. But this time, he didn’t plan on waiting around.
Stiles was still in bed when Derek pulled himself through the window.
Derek moved across the room and poked the boy in the face a few times. It took Stiles a long moment to wake up but when he did, he startled so hard he rolled straight out of bed, blankets tangled around his legs as he hit the floor. Derek crossed his arms and scowled down at him, despite the nerves itching underneath his skin.
“Get up, Stiles.”
“No way in hell,” Stiles said, face smooshed against the carpet. “Dude, get out of my room! It’s like, ass o’clock in the morning. I don’t do research or anything at ass o’clock in the morning. Especially when it’s on a weekend.”
“I don’t need research,” Derek said, voice cracking. “I need to get you out of Beacon Hills.”
Stiles finally looked up. His amber eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Hurry up and get dressed,” Derek said, pulling him off the floor. “You don’t need a shower but pull on something comfortable. I don’t know how long we’ll be driving.”
Stiles swayed a little before blinking a few times and fixing Derek with a confused expression. But Derek didn’t wait around for him to say no again, stalking downstairs to grab the boy breakfast. He could hear Stiles stumbling around upstairs and cursing, but at least it seemed like the boy was following orders.
Ten minutes later, Stiles was trudging back downstairs with the worst case of bedhead Derek had ever seen. He rubbed his face and then dropped down onto the couch, fixing him with a flat look.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Derek said, shoving a granola bar and apple into his hands. “Come on, I’ll drive.”
“Uh, no way,” Stiles said. He didn’t move. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Stiles, there’s no time. My betas can deal with the omega and I called Scott about the hunters. We need to get you out of the house before something else happens—”
“Hold on, what hunters?”
Derek felt like he was on the verge of snapping. But instead of saying a word, he picked Stiles up bridal style and carried him toward the door. The boy let loose a litany of curses and tried to squirm loose, but Derek only tightened his grip.
He got out the front door and off of the porch before Stiles managed to free himself. Derek growled in warning, but the boy only stumbled back with his hands up.
“Okay, Derek, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Clearly, something is! Dude, why the hell are you flipping out?”
Derek snarled and glared down at his feet. He didn’t even know how he’d begin to explain it. He couldn’t. Stiles would think he was going crazy.
For a long moment, the silence reigned. Then Stiles sighed, stepping forward and pulling the keys from Derek’s hand.
“Fine, Sourwolf, we’ll go. Wherever the hell you want. But we’re taking my car, because Roscoe goes where I do.”
Derek wanted to argue, but he decided to pick his battles. Silently, he nodded, and followed Stiles toward the death trap of his jeep. Still, he supposed it was better than waiting around for the omega or hunters.
Less than five minutes later, they were on the road.
Derek didn’t know where they would be safe or where he could make sure Stiles stayed okay, so he just let the boy drive. Stiles kept shooting nervous looks over, eyes flitting across Derek’s face, but he never returned them. Just kept his gaze focused on the road and the eventual sign that read ‘leaving Beacon Hills’.
It was then that things went wrong.
Derek heard the familiar sound of the jeep groaning when Stiles attempted to pass a line of cars in front of them. He smelled the faintest traces of smoke before anything could even be seen, and gave Stiles a nervous look, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.
“Stiles—”
“Yeah, dude?”
“Something’s wrong.”
Stiles crooked an eyebrow up, but Derek was more concentrated on the smell of something burning that was slowly filling his nose. He tensed up in his seat and a shout rose into his throat only seconds before something exploded and then they were veering off the side of the road, Stiles spitting a loud curse before Derek slammed forward in his seat.
He could smell smoke. Feel Stiles’s terror and panic thick in the air. Derek’s heart beat like a drum against his chest and he blinked a few times, trying to clear the red spots away from his vision.
The… the windshield was shattered. Little bits of glass embedded through Derek’s shirt and into his chest but he didn’t even feel the pain.
The second his attention was drawn to Stiles, Derek felt his heart stop.
No.
The boy wasn’t moving. His body was limp over the steering wheel and his shirt was already stained red. There was a long gash across his forehead. Derek’s blood ran cold and he leaned across the seat, pulling Stiles toward him.
But there was nothing. No flutter in his pulse, no skip to his heart. Dead silence hung in the air louder than the nausea and despair that crashed over Derek in waves and he couldn't. Derek couldn’t— he couldn’t—
He woke up the next morning screaming.