A/N: This may be the saddest fic I've ever written, and I've written quite a few sad fics. So keep your tissues ready.
Warnings: Major character death, cancer mention, blood
They were playing video games at Scott's house when Stiles told him.
"Scott," he said, pausing the game and putting down his controller, "we need to talk."
Scott put his own controller down, looking his best friend in the eye. "What is it, Stiles?" he asked, prepared for anything.
Or so he thought.
TWTWTWTWTWTWTW
Leukemia. Stiles had leukemia.
Some rare form of the cancer that not even Stiles could pronounce.
"One in a billion," Stiles said sarcastically, "all the doctors want to study me."
After numerous hospital visits, the doctors had determined that there was no cure for this type of cancer. They could slow it down, but...
"How long?" Scott choked, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Stiles, how long do you have?"
"Five years," he answered with a shrug, as if it was no big deal. "So I can make it through college, but never do anything with my degree." Stiles grinned, trying to lighten the mood, as usual. "That means I can slack off as much as I want."
Scott didn't know how his best friend could be so casual about this. Scott himself felt like the ground was falling out from under him.
"Hey, it's okay," Stiles said quietly, dropping the smile. "I'm scared too, trust me. But if I only have five years..." He swallowed. "I want to make them count."
"Stiles," Scott said, choosing his words carefully, "you know I can..."
"I know," Stiles responded quickly, cutting him off. "Trust me, I've thought about it, and I'll keep thinking about it, just... Not now, okay?"
Scout just nodded mutely. What else was there to say?
Stiles watched him for a second, as if waiting for a response. When none came, he sighed, picked up his controller, and resumed the game.
TWTWTWTWTWTWTW
Six months passed before Stiles brought it up again.
"So my dad and I have been talking," he said, while they were lying on Scott's bed reading comic books, "and he thinks you should do it."
Scott, of course, knew exactly what Stiles was talking about, and was shocked by the information. "Your dad thinks I should..." he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Stiles nodded. "Yeah." He looked at Scott, and said quietly, "I think he's willing to do anything at this point."
At that morbid comment, the conversation died again, and both boys spent the remainder of the evening in silence.
TWTWTWTWTWTWTW
One month later, and Stiles had decided.
"I want you to do it," he said, while they stood together on the otherwise empty lacrosse field one Sunday afternoon.
Scott looked up sharply from where he had been fiddling with the ties on his stick. "You what?" he asked, making sure he had heard Stiles correctly.
Stiles took a deep breath, and finally said the phrase they had been avoiding for months, "I want the bite."
At that point, it was settled. Stiles wanted it to save his own life, and Scott could give it to him. So Scott just nodded, slightly numb.
Stiles smiled and passed Scott the lacrosse ball.
TWTWTWTWTWTWTW
One week passed before they decided to get it over with.
"We'll do it at my house," Scott decided, "while my mom isn't home."
So after school that day, both boys went to Scott's house. After a moment of uncertainty, they ended up in his room.
"So what's the best way to do this?" Stiles asked, standing uncomfortably in the middle of his best friend's room.
Scott took a deep breath. "Arm, I think," he responded, trying to remember every lesson Derek had ever given him. "It's going to hurt a little, but not for long. Trust me."
Stiles just nodded and pulled off his hoodie, leaving his arms bare. "Whenever you're ready, Scotty," he said with a small smile.
Scott took a deep breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, the irises glowed red, and his fangs were out. He looked at Stiles, who nodded resolutely and closed his eyes. Not giving himself any time to think about the action, Scott bit down on Stiles' upper arm, hard.
Stiles winced, but otherwise stayed perfectly still until Scott released his teeth. After the alpha backed away, Stiles opened his eyes and glanced down at his arm. "Wow," he breathed, staring at the red ring of teeth marks in his arm.
Scott was watching him intently. "How do you feel?" he asked, wanting to make sure Stiles' body hadn't rejected the bite.
It seemed like it hadn't. Stiles smiled and responded, "I feel fine. You know, other than the deep holes in my arm."
Scott laughed, partly at the remark, but mostly from relief. Stiles was going to be okay. Everything would be different, for both of them, but they would be there for each other through all of it.
"It'll probably take that at least a day to start healing," Scott told Stiles, "and once it starts, it will be healed in minutes. That's how you know for sure that..." Scott stopped suddenly as Stiles gasped, staring at his arm in horror.
The bite had started oozing a thick, black, blood.
Stiles looked up at Scott in panic. "I'm guessing that's not supposed to happen," he said, struggling to keep his voice even.
Scott shook his head, unable to form words as he watched his best friend's arm leak more and more black fluid.
A sign that his body was rejecting the bite.
Stiles gasped again, this time in obvious pain, as the blood began flowing freely from the holes in Stiles' arm. All too soon, Scott could see the black sludge dripping out of his nose and ears, too.
"No no no," Scott muttered, completely at a loss of what to do. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
Stiles was clutching his stomach, doubled over completely in pain. He sank to the floor of Scott's room, crying out when he hit the floor. "God, Scott," he panted after a moment, "you said it wouldn't hurt for long."
"I don't... I didn't..." Scott tried, but no more words came out. He joined Stiles on the floor, staring in horror as his best friend's eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain wracked his body. The black blood was oozing steadily now from Stiles' nose, ears, and mouth, not to mention the open wound on his arm.
Why was this happening? Why Stiles? The bite was supposed to save him, but right now...
Scott's thoughts were halted as Stiles cried out again. "Scott!" he shouted in pain, eyes still squeezed shut. "Scott, what's happening?!"
Scott had no answers to give, but he had to try and find the words. "It's... Your body..." He stopped, hesitated, and continued, "It's fighting the bite."
Stiles' eyes opened for a moment, looking right at Scott, but they soon shut again. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes as Stiles asked brokenly, "Why?"
"I don't know, Stiles," Scott answered, feeling tears forming in his own eyes. "I don't know."
The blood was still flowing freely, and Scott resisted the urge to wipe it off Stiles' face. He knew it was pointless, that more would just as soon replace whatever he cleaned, but he hated the sight of Stiles covered in it.
Suddenly, without warning, Stiles screamed. It was a sound of pure agony, born from a pain that forced him to curl into the fetal position, the tears still falling from his eyes and mixing the black blood running down his chin.
Scott jumped at the sound of his best friend- his brother- in so much pain, but he didn't know what to do. He laid a hand on Stiles' arm, trying to lessen the pain, but Stiles somehow noticed and pulled his arm away.
But the brief contact told Scott what he needed to know. The amount of pain in Stiles' body was more intense than anything Scott had ever felt.
No human could survive that... And Stiles was, tragically, still human.
And Stiles kept screaming.
Scott knew that he should do something, anything, but there was nothing. Nothing he could do to remove the pain, nothing he could say to improve the situation, nothing. Because Stiles was in agony because of what HE, Scott McCall, had done. Stiles was dying, and it was all Scott's fault.
The screams cut off abruptly, leaving Stiles panting for breath. He looked up at Scott, and his eyes were surprisingly lucid. "Please," he said, voice breaking, "Scott, it hurts."
"I know," Scott responded, although he didn't, not really. "I know, Stiles."
But Stiles shook his head. "No, Scotty, please, I can't... I can't do this." He looked up at Scott, his eyes pleading while black blood dripped and tears fell. "I can't take this anymore."
And suddenly, Scott knew what Stiles was asking him to do. "Stiles..." he said, trying to put all his emotions into that one word. "Don't ask me to do that. You can't."
But Stiles was grasping his hand and squeezing it tight. "Scotty, please," he said again, and there was true desperation in the words.
And then the pain returned full force, and Stiles screamed again, voice raw and hoarse. Scott watched in horror as the black blood began to drip from Stiles' tightly closed eyes. It was ending, but it was ending too slowly.
And all Stiles had asked him to do, really, was stop the pain. And wasn't that what Scott always wanted to do? Watching Stiles in pain was the hardest thing Scott had ever done, and his brother had asked him to make the pain stop.
Scott swallowed hard. Was he really going to do this? Stiles was curled on the floor beside him, yelling and screaming in pain. Scott grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up so Stiles was leaning against his stomach, still shaking and screaming. Scott held onto him, tight, and then...
He transformed. Eyes, fangs... And claws. "I'm sorry," he said, right into Stiles' bleeding ear. "God, Stiles, I'm so sorry." And in one motion, Scott pushed his claws upward and inward on Stiles' chest.
Stiles' screaming stopped, just for a moment, and he looked up at Scott and, somehow, smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, before the pain and the blood loss overwhelmed him. His eyes slid shut, and his body stilled.
And Scott McCall, holding the body of his best friend, wept.
A/N: ... please review?