Blurry » Sterek

Chapter 24

Derek coughs harshly, scaring Stiles like a frighted cat as he paces his bedroom. Once Derek groans and begins sitting up, Stiles races to his side.

"Hey, hey," He ushers, trying to stop the werewolf from standing, "You're in pretty rough shape, just stay there." Derek slowly moves his eyes up, then drops them to the hand Stiles has on his arm. "Sorry," he quickly apologizes, retracting the hand he hadn't realized was touching Derek.

The beta scoots himself against Stiles' headboard as he carefully examines the bedroom, noting it's set up the same as when they were young, just different furniture and decorations. Stiles' voice breaks the trip down memory lane.

"What happened? You're not dying, are you?"

"Yes," He croaks back, "I am. I was shot by an Argent with a wolfsbain laced bullet, and if it reaches my heart...I die." Derek moves his gaze to the floor when Stiles goes white, he can't stand knowing Stiles cares so much for him still, even after being a dick to him for an entire month, he somehow still manages not to hate Derek.

After regaining some of his composure, Stiles exhales an uneven breath and takes a few steps forward. "Is there something we can do, some way we can stop it?"

"Find the bullet she shot me with. It would be at her house, you'd have to get in an—"

"Wait," Stiles interrupts, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation, "Who did you say shot you?" Not realizing the significance, Derek rolls his eyes, "An Argent."

"An Argent? As in Allison Argent...Scott's girlfriend?" Stiles tries to clarify, he can't believe that he was hopeful for even a second that today would be semi-normal. Not only is Derek dying, Scott is dating a girl that has family trying to kill Derek. "That's just perfect," he grumbles to himself.

"Allison is one of them? Is she a hunter already?"

"Wait, what? There are supernatural hunters?" Stiles cannot begin to describe how unfortunate their lives are. Frustrated, Derek clenches his jaw, words coming out through his pressed teeth, "Yes, Stiles. The Argents are werewolf hunters. What else do you know?"

"Um, uh," Stiles begins pacing again, biting his nails nervously, "Scott said Allison's aunt got to Beacon Hills last night." He shrugs, not knowing if that's helpful in anyway. But Derek immediately turns away, like he knows exactly who Stiles is talking about.

"Derek?" She question gently, he moves closer but figures he shouldn't invade the werewolf's personal space again. Derek swallows, still staring at the wall so Stiles can't see him. "It was her, she's the one who shot me. Can Scott get the bullet?" His voice is strangled with emotion and Stiles feels his lips dip into a frown.

"I'll call him and make sure he does."

—

Stiles can only assume Derek has a few hours left before the wolfsbain reaches his heart and kills him. He had taken his shirt off, and the infection of black veins is now at his shoulder. Derek is hardly conscious, breathing raggedly.

Eventually, Stiles decides enough is enough. If Derek really is going to die tonight, then he'll be damned if he's going to respect the stubborn males wishes by keeping his distance. Stiles crawls into bed besides him, and much to his surprise, isn't immediately pushed away.

Derek leans his head onto Stiles' shoulder, struggling to swallow. "You're going to be okay," Stiles assures, but really he's only trying to reassure himself. Derek manages a small scoff, coughing after the action. The human squeezes his eyes shut and presses his head again the wall. His hand moves to pet Derek's wet hair, hoping to provide even the smallest amount of comfort.

"You know the woman who shot you, don't you?" Stiles inquires, glancing down at the werewolf moving closer to him. "Yes," he whispers, body tensing at the memories. "Who is she?"

"She's the one that killed my family," Derek utters, blinking the tears from his eyes. Stiles feels bile rise in his throat, a huge chunk of his past clearing up. A family of werewolf hunters had set Derek's house on fire when he was just a kid. Then his free hand clenches into a fist in utter disgust, these people are monsters. They can kill a kid for something he was born into? Trap an entire family inside while they scream in agony...and still live with themselves?

"Just stay with me, Derek, okay? Just a little longer," Stiles whimpers, continuing to card Derek's hair through his fingers while the male lays unconscious on his chest.