Derek falls to the ground as Braeden begins to shoot randomly in the direction that she thinks the Berserker is. She momentarily loses composure after seeing Derek stabbed and simply fires at will hoping to hit something as opposed to methodically aiming and firing.

Once Braeden's shots seem to have scared the creature off into the distance, as she assumes due to a horrendous screech and some bushes rattling, she runs back to Derek who is now hunched against a rock clenching the wound that has gone flush through from one side of his body to the other. Stiles is at his side, just staring at him, knowing he can't do anything, knowing he probably doesn't have long left.

The others stand behind Stiles looking at Derek, pain visible in their eyes, even for the ones like Liam who barely knew him, but nothing that could amount to that which is in Braeden and Stiles's eyes. They know it isn't good. Anybody could see that it isn't good, even for somebody as resilient as Derek Hale. When Braeden landed hard on the dirt next to Derek, she grabbed his arm. A sign of 'love' or worry, no doubt.

"Hey," she says, voice quivering, still holding it, "It'll be okay. I'll stay with you."

"No," Derek snaps back as quickly as he can without recoiling in pain. "You have to go with them. You have to find Scott. Save him."

"Derek, I'm n–," Braeden starts out before being interrupted by Stiles.

"No, he's right, Braeden. You go with them. Leave me the gun. I don't know how to fight without one. You do. Go with them, please. Find Scott. Find my best friend," Stiles says, his voice calm and unwavering, unemotional and uncharacteristic of the energetic and jestful Stiles that everybody knows. She looks at him, intently and confused, not wanting to concede defeat. When he doesn't return the gaze she goes to speak but he simply says "Braeden" before she can, and she knows he's right.

She slides the gun over to him and then looks back at Derek before telling him she'll be back. She and the others run off as he nods and begins to cough blood which leaks from the corner of his mouth.

"Looks like you finally get a gun," Derek says weakly with a laugh which turns into a painful cough.

Stiles chuckles ever so slightly. "How'd you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things, Stiles, I thought you'd have known that by now," Derek says, smiling, looking the boy square in the eyes.

There's a somewhat awkward silence between the two as Stiles breaks off the connection and avoids Derek's gaze which stays fixated on him. They both know that there's nothing that can be done right now, but Stiles doesn't want to admit it. Derek, on the other hand, seems content with his fate, knowing that he's about to die. In one last effort to act as a mentor to the teenage werewolves and their human emissary, he maintains that eye contact with Stiles, wanting to make him realise that it's okay to be sad – to be mad. It's only when he begins to cough once more and blood spurts from his mouth; when his eyes clench shut and he begins to wince in pain, that he unwillingly breaks that connection.

Once he recovers, obviously only going to be able to hold on for a few more minutes, Stiles looks at him once more. Now only inches away from each other, Stiles begins to speak knowing that time is something he and Derek do not have the luxury of right now. "D–Derek… I," he pauses. What he wants to say is hard enough to say when the person you want to say it to is beside you healthy and alive, but when you want to say it to someone who is on the brink of death, it's nearly impossible.

"I know, Stiles," Derek says, managing a smile as he puts his non-bloodied hand on the boy's arm, "I love you too."

As the words drop from Derek's lips, uncontrollable tears that he was just managing to hold back well in Stiles's eyes. He leans forward, putting his forehead to Derek's, both dirty and sweating and cold, and tears begin to drop from his clenched eyes and land on Derek's cheek. In the cold dark of the night, all alone, seemingly so insignificant in such a big world, Stiles begins to talk. "I can't do…I can't do this without you, Derek. None of us can," he says through gritted teeth, his breath laboured and his tone distraught.

Derek goes to say something but Stiles interrupts him. "I have to say it Derek, I do," he pauses, "I want you to know that I love you and that I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

As soon as that last syllable is spoken, Stiles plants his lips tenderly on Derek's, his eyes still wet from the tears. Derek's lips are a soft texture; similar to any girls Stiles has ever kissed, but at the same time so much different.

Derek's stubble brushes up against the bare skin around Stiles's mouth, also different to what Stiles has experienced before. It's course and rough and sensual but it feels natural and normal and if it were not for the circumstances Stiles feels like he could very happily get used to it. Derek's lips are warm and taste nothing like metal. Instead they taste of a mix of mint and sweat, but in a good and rugged and manly and inviting way. At the same time they're delicate and precious; they're plump and soft and pink, and up close Derek smells of fresh rainwater and strength and comfort and home.

When Derek pushes back, giving as much effort as he can muster into the kiss, Stiles knows that this is him longing for it and wishing that it could have been their first as opposed to their last. It's desperation and need and want and desire and lust and love all rolled into one simple gesture that the man who lost all of his family to someone he once loved has missed and has craved for so long.

Stiles rests his hand just above Derek's waist to stabilise himself and the kiss. Just about as soon as he does, he feels the breathing subside beneath him. Derek's last breath is spent on that kiss as his lips fall away from Stiles's and he slumps back, now gone, against the rock. In a split second when Stiles realises what has happened, he turns from blissful to distraught as he falls over Derek, tears once again rushing from his eyes. He holds the man beneath him praying and swearing and begging and crying for him to come back. When he realises that he isn't going to, Stiles resorts to cradling Derek in his arms, rocking back and forth with his eyes sealed shut while kissing the man's forehead repeatedly, muttering incomprehensible admissions of love.

The weight on Stiles begins to shift, and holding Derek the way that he was begins to become more difficult as something begins to change, forcing Stiles to open his eyes and look down. When he does he is unable to understand what is happening beneath him. There is no longer a pale man below him. Now there is a large black wolf in the man's clothing lying still but still breathing.

Stiles looks down at the animal and begins to remove the articles of clothing from its body so that he can gain a full perspective of what happened. He rests the wolf on the ground and stands up, wiping tears from his eyes and sniffling. When the wolf's chest begins to rise and fall – much more obviously than in a human – Stiles falls back to his knees and puts his hands to its body. It opens its eyes, slowly, and looks up at him.

"Derek?" Stiles asks, not really sure about anything that is happening right now.

The wolf simply gets to its feet, slowly and seemingly non-painfully, then looks at Stiles, to the moon, and then lets out a loud howl.

"Derek, you're alive," Stiles exclaims. He seems to have stopped crying now and despite his eyes still being noticeably puffy, the smile that is now present on his face would indicate to anybody that he is more than happy.