Chapter Text
Roscoe was loaded down with werewolves yelling at Stiles's everytime the thing changed directions as if he wasn’t also watching it. Stiles's eyes followed the figure in front of the jeep as it ran through the trees, trying to lose them.
The jeep was violently protesting the number of people inside combined with pushing 50mph on a shitty path through the preserve. His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white, driving over the uneven ground and over the brush made it shake. He silently begged Roscoe not to roll when they’d hit a thicker branch or turn too sharp.
Thanks to Jackson refusing to let his car be used, they had to cram the entire pack in Stiles's and Liam's cars. Which meant that Liam, Isaac, Malia, and Ethan were all in one car, leaving Stiles, Scott, Kira, and Jackson in the jeep. Chris Argent followed them, having been completely against taking any of the unruly werewolves in his car.
He found himself once again questioning why the Hell the fucking Chupacabra was in California and, more specifically, Beacon Hills when Lydia's voice came through his phone again.
"Guys, are you still there?"
"Haven't lost service yet," Stiles answered.
"Okay, so here's what we got—" Lydia was cut off as the Chupacabra made a sharp turn and the car filled with yelling of directions even though Stiles had already turned. "Oh my god. Can you guys shut up? This is important," Lydia told them and the yelling quieted. "Thank you. From what we can tell, anything that would kill you, kills it."
"Oh, great! So no friendly fire," Stiles remarked. "That will work great when the Calaveras make their next appearance."
"Stiles, shut up," Jackson huffed.
"He has a point," Scott mutters. "Has anyone told Liam?"
"Well, considering you wanted me to tell you idiots first and I'm still talking to you, no."
Stiles half hides his smile. He could hear the eye roll in Lydia's voice.
Speaking of hearing things, Roscoe made a popping noise and started to slow. “Oh no no no no no,” Stiles said.
He cranked the wheel as best he could into a less wooded area, trying to move out of the way for Liam. The path they were on was barely wide enough for a single vehicle, there was no way Liam could get by if he was still in the path. Too bad for him, Liam followed Stiles and stopped too.
There was a rush of people getting out of Liam’s car, thinking they’d cornered it. At the same time, people piled out of the jeep, knowing they’d lost it.
Scott paused at the jeep door. "Stiles—"
"Ya, ya. I know. Stay in the car, Stiles. You'll get hurt. You only have a bat," Stiles said in his best Scott impression. "This is why I should have a real weapon, so I can be more helpful," Stiles said, cut out the impersonation brieflyonly to go right back to it. "You know why you don't have one," he said back, once more doing his Scott impression.
"I think you need to keep working on those impressions. I sounded a lot like Derek," Scott joked, walking off towards the pack.
"You're saying the same crap he does," Stiles called after him as Scott went to talk to the pack. Stiles groaned, laying his head on the wheel.
“Roscoe, buddy, come on,” he sighed, turning the jeep off and pulling the key from the ignition. "We can't afford this again."
Stiles looked up just in time to see a rush of black fur run past the group. He froze, fearing there was a second Chupacabra.
The werewolves of the group took off after it in an instant.
Stiles got out of the Jeep, grabbing his bat along the way, and stumbled over to Chris Argent. “Uh, so, what was that? I mean, uh, did you get a good look? Was it– was it another one or….”
Chris shook his head as he loaded himself down with weapons. “I don’t know Stiles,” he said in a groan. "You saw about what I did."
“Ya, but like,” he made awkward gestures to go with the words, “you have, like hunter training and… stuff.”
Chris sighed, closing the trunk of his car. “Listen—”
A howl rang through the forest. Stiles felt it calm his nerves in a way.
He laughed at himself, a wolf howling was calming. That showed how messed up his life was.
It was familiar and strange all at once. It sounded like a real wolf, not a werewolf. And there are no wolves in California. That, combined with the black animal that ran past…
“Derek,” Stiles whispered, certainty filling his mind.
Without another thought, Stiles ran.
He ran and ran. He could barely breath. His lungs burned, he stumbled through branches and over exposed roots. He felt himself being cut. He felt the blood dripping down his legs. He didn’t know where they were. He couldn’t hear them. But somehow, he felt a pull to them from deep in the trees. He was being drawn in, drawn towards them.
Chris yelled after Stiles. He chased after him. He had grown to trust him.
Stiles always found his way. He knew where to go no matter how lost they were. It didn’t matter what was going on, he found them, he knew, he lived every single time.
There had been whispers lately.
Deaton and Scott talked after everyone else left.
Chris saw the whispered conversations between the wolves. Once, he’d heard Liam telling Scott about something Stiles had done.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something up with Stiles.
Chris was, at max, six feet behind Stiles when he broke through the tree cover. Chris stepped out and stutter-stepped to a stop.
Where was everyone? How did Stiles disappear that fast?
Stiles stared at the Nemeton in front of him.
His friends were fighting, struggling to get a shot in on the chupacabra without hurting each other.
He wanted to help but felt pulled to the Nemeton.
They kept trying to attack one at a time, as if that had ever worked.
He wanted to touch it.
He needed to touch it.
“Stiles,” Chris called.
He heard him but couldn’t pull his eyes away.
“Stiles,” Chris said louder.
Stiles seemed to break out of a trance. He turned to look at Chris. He was standing in the clearing, looking around like he was still lost in the trees. “Relax,” Stiles told him.
Stiles voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It echoed around him and he turned.
“What,” he asked, pulling unwanted attention.
Stiles looked back and saw the Chupacabra’s attention change. It turned away from Isaac, ignoring his attacks. Instead of turning to target another pack member, it went for Chris. His eyes went wide.
“Chris, watch out,” Stiles yelled at him.
He turned toward the chupacabra and drew his gun. For a moment, Stiles thought he’d been able to see through the Nemeton’s veil.
“Where is it,” Chris yelled, looking more frantic.
Stiles didn’t answer.
He raised his bat and swung with every once of force he could muster. At the same time, Isaac ran up to attack the chupacabra from behind and Chris took aim at something he couldn’t see.
“Front low,” Scott yelled.
From there, it was all a blur. A mess. They were out of sync and they screwed up. Big time.
Isaac launched himself, trying to attack the creature.
At the last moment, the chupacabra made a sharp turn and went for Stiles.
Chris took the shot, following Scott’s direction.
The bullet hit Isaac and he screamed.
Stiles was knocked to the ground in front of the Nemeton.
His head hit a rock and he felt the world start to fade. Pain brought him to reality as the Chupacabra's claws ripped through him.
Worry filled Chris and the veil lifted, showing the damage he'd done. He ran to Isaac and kneeled by him.
"I’m fine," Isaac hissed, digging his finger into the bullet wound to get the bullet out. “Help Stiles.”
Chris looked up and pointed the gun. He tried to find a shot that wouldn’t risk Stiles. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll hit him too,” he said, fear filling him as blood started to pool around Stiles's head. “I don’t have a shot!”
Everything sounded like Stiles was under water. He was dying, he could feel it. No. No, not like this. Not without a fight.
A sense of fear and knowing washed over the clearing. They all felt it. They knew it would be too late to help.
No matter what they did, it would be too late. It wouldn’t be enough.
They couldn’t save their friend.
Stiles reached for his bat. He gasped in pain at the stretch of his damaged muscles. His bat had landed on the Nemeton. He couldn’t reach it.
He hurt. It hurt so bad, like his arm would rip off if he stretched anymore.
They tried. Desperately, the wolves clawed at the chupacabra. They wanted to help but nothing they did would stop it.
His fingers brushed the Nemeton and he lost his breath. It was like being lit on fire. It was white hot as it burned through his body. He screamed, tears pouring down his face.
His tears washed away the blood, leaving the only clean spots on his body. All he could feel was pain and pressure.
He swung his arm in a last attempt for life. He felt the pressure leave all at once.
The chupacabra was thrown from Stiles's body by an invisible force. It’s skin started to charr, burning without a flame. It gave a shrill screech, curling into itself when it hit the ground. The sound grew weaker, going silent as only when it had died.
Everyone was thrown away from Stiles. All of the wolves were knocked back, their hands burnt where they’d been touching the chupacabra. Even so, they healed quickly.
They healed but Stiles couldn’t.
His arm fell onto his stomach and he wanted to vomit.
He could feel the shreds that were his skin. He could feel the exposed muscle and organs. Warm blood coated his arm as his fingers grew cold.
He was dying…
“Stiles! Stiles,” Scott yelled, running to his best friend. He fell to his knees at Stiles's side.
Stiles knew he was dying. He’d lost so much blood. He was going to die. He was bleeding out.
Stiles was going to die in the middle of the woods.
He’d never see his dad again.
Scott felt useless. He felt powerless. He didn’t know what to do. Even touching him would hurt Stiles.
His stomach churned as a familiar smell met his nose.
Stiles smelled like death. If he took away the pain, he was sure Stiles would die.
His dad would never see him again. Just like mom.
“Hey, hey. Look at me buddy,” Scott pleaded. Scott could hear Stiles's breathing turning from heavy and labored to rough hick-ups. His heart was slowing, becoming weaker and harder to hear. “Stiles,” he said through tears of his own.
Stiles looked up. He couldn’t see the sky. The trees blocked the moon light. He didn’t remember it being this dark a second ago…
“Stiles please. I need you. I can’t lose you,” Scott whispered.
He couldn’t take the pain. It was the last thing keeping Stiles with them. If he didn’t feel pain, he’d slip away.
The tears slowly stopped rolling down Stiles's face, leaving clear, clean lines on his face. His pale skin turned white and waxy.
Stiles eyes were barely open, like he was falling asleep, but they were glassy.
His arm lay next to the Nemeton, his fingers seeming to twitch. His heartbeat was slow.
It was so slow Scott almost thought it was gone.
Chris walked closer to Scott and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Scott,” he whispered.
Stiles saw Scott and Chris looking down at him. It reminded him of Allison. Karma. His last view would be the same as her’s.
Derek shifted back to his human form, panic and terror flooding his brain.
He ran over to Stiles, yelling at Scott, “help him, damn it! He’ll die in pain if you don’t!”
“If I do that, he’ll die,” Scott whispered, his voice too weak to yell as tears fell down his face. “He’s my best friend, Derek… I can’t lose him. Not him too.”
Stiles's body felt stiff. He couldn’t move. Like being stuck in tar. Even his fingers could barely move. He couldn’t do anything.
He was really, truly helpless.
“Then save him,” Derek told him, standing on the opposite side of Stiles as Scott. “You can save him if you really care so much! I saved Cora! If you’re so worried about your best friend, you could save him!”
He watched Scott’s eyes, watched him consider it. He was taking too long.
“Your being selfish,” Derek growled. “If you can’t give up your power to save him, them give him the bite or take away the pain.”
Today was the day Stiles died.
What was today? Wednesday? Thursday?
He could take the pain. He could save Stiles. He could give him the bite. “He didn’t want that,” Scott said clearly, grabbing Stiles's bloody hand. He was being selfish.
It was June.
His mom died in June too…
Derek watched Scott and watched the pain slowly leaching from Stiles's body.
Stiles exhaled as the pain went away. It was replaced by cold. He felt so cold.
Derek shifted back into his wolf form and laid down beside Stiles.
He didn’t want him to feel alone. He didn’t want Stiles's last moments to be alone. Derek couldn’t do much, he knew Stiles didn’t like him, but he could be there. He needed to be there.
Watching Stiles die… it made something deep in his chest ache. Why did this hurt so bad? Why did losing Stiles hurt so much? They couldn’t stand each other, right?
He tried to keep his pain to himself, a small whimper managing to escape. He let himself nose at Stiles's arm– to comfort Stiles, he assure himself.
Derek’s nose bumped Stiles's arm and it hit the Nemeton.
Stiles sat up and screamed in pain.
Scott and Derek both moved away.
They saw Stiles's eyes roll into the back of his head and he fell limp. Scott caught him before he could hit the ground again.
Scott looked Stiles over and his jaw dropped. Stiles's life threatening wounds were heal. Raw, ugly, fresh scars were left in their place.
“What the Hell,” Chris muttered, looking at him too. “Did you…”
“No,” Scott said quickly, almost defensively, “I wanted to but…”
“We better get him to the hospital,” Chris muttered.
Isaac walked over, his bullet wound having already been treated, “to the hospital or to Deaton?”
“Maybe both,” Scott said it with a nervous air.