"You promised. You promised me that you would do it." Stiles was too weak to sob. His voice cracked a bit and tears leaked from his eyes. All Scott could do was stare at his friend.
Stiles had always been skinny, but this wasn't that. He was emaciated. He had tried to eat for weeks, but nothing would stay down. The doctors had wanted a feeding tube installed. They'd mentioned it just the day before. One day. Of course Stiles wouldn't even give them one day.
"I said I would do something. I don't want to do this. Do you know what you're asking of me? You want me to kill you, Stiles. I can't do that. You can't ask me to do that!" Scott sniffed and wiped at his eyes with his sleeves. A piece of lint or something scratched his eye and made the crying even worse. And now that it had started, it wouldn't stop. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then wiped that on his pantleg. "I love you, Stiles. You know that, but I can't..."
"You don't have to," Stiles held his hand out for a second, but he couldn't support it. Scott caught it before it could fall back to the bed. Stiles closed his eyes, smiled, then opened them and looked directly into Scott's eyes. "That's all I need you to do. Just that. He'll take care of the rest."
Scott didn't need to ask who Stiles was talking about. It could have been God, though Stiles was an atheist, or it could have been his father who was having a breakdown downstairs after Stiles said he wanted home hospice. But it was neither. They waited a few moments in silence until Danny came into the room. Danny: he who had been the first person to tell Stiles that he loved him that wasn't family.
"Hey, Babe," Stiles coughed with a smile. Scott grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood from his friend's mouth before Danny kissed him.
Danny didn't say anything. He looked ready to break, like if he said even one word he wouldn't be able to do what he was about to do. Scott didn't want him to do it. He wanted to take the white paper bag from Danny and pour its contents down the drain, whatever it was. But Scott couldn't move. All he could do was squeeze Stiles' hand and resist the urge to beg him to reconsider.
"Sodium Penthotal?" Scott guessed when he got tired of them all staring at each other. Danny nodded. Even though he knew where Danny probably got it, and he really didn't want to be right, Scott blinked back his tears. "Do you even know how?"
"We've... he's made me learn," Danny explained in little more than a whisper.
Weakly, Stiles curled the fingers in his other hand. Danny set the bag on the bed and grabbed at it, kneeling on the floor and kissing the knuckles. He held it to his forehead for several seconds and just cried. After collecting himself, Danny looked at Stiles.
"Do you still... If you change your mind, just let me know." Danny was saying what Scott couldn't, but Stiles just apologized and told Danny he loved him.
"I'm dying, Danny. Whether now or next week, it doesn't matter. But I want to go peacefully. I want to go while I'm still me. I don't..."
"It's okay," Scott whispered as he squeezed Stiles' hand and rubbed his head where his hair used to be. He still wasn't used to Stiles being bald. There hadn't even been enough time after the failed surgery for a good bit of stubble to grow. "We know. We won't let that happen."
Danny sniffed and nodded in agreement. "It'll be fast, right? And you won't suffer?"
"It can't be any worse than the last time I died." Nobody laughed at Stiles' joke.
Even though he had only seen her like that once, Scott remembered how Stiles' mom had been in the weeks before she died. He remembered her glazed eyes and incoherent mumbling. She couldn't respond to anyone or anything; her breath was a horrifying rattle before they brought in the machine to breathe for her.
Stiles didn't want to go out like that, and Scott didn't want to see him like that. And when he'd first gotten the diagnosis, Scott had offered the bite. He had promised his friend that he'd take care of him. But Stiles just shook his head and declined. He wanted to die as he lived: human.
"I love you," Scott reminded his friend as Danny prepared the syringe. He was the weakest one in the room. His heart was beating a million miles a minute and his stomach was in knots, but Stiles was waiting to die and Danny was going to kill him.
Danny gave one one last kiss to Stiles, whispered his farewell and held his hands on either side of Stiles' face. Then he injected the poison into Stiles' system.
Even though his eyes were on Danny, Stiles was holding Scott's hand. He squeezed it as hard as he could as death overtook him, and then he wasn't. Scott and Danny both held onto Stiles, crying inside so the people downstairs wouldn't hear them.
After about ten minutes, Scott stood up, releasing Stiles, and collected the syringe and the bag from where Danny had left it on the bed. "I'll make sure nobody ever finds it."
"Thank you," Danny choked out. He never looked at Scott. The man kept his eyes on Stiles'. Scott reached out to close them but stopped. This wasn't his son or his lover. It wasn't his place.
After removing the needle from the syringe and sticking it back into the bottle so he wouldn't accidentally inject himself, Scott put everything into the bag and crumpled it up in his jacket pocket. He gave Danny one last look, then looked at what used to be his best friend. Then he left.