Just a short one
Stiles reaches to, god he doesn't even know. To check? To reassure himself that yes, Derek's alive? It doesn't matter, because Boyd's dead, and Erica's dead and Heather's dead and he can't. Fucking. Stop it.
So Stiles grabs Derek's shoulder and feels him shake, feels the shudders wracking his body and he grabs Derek's other shoulder. Because Derek feels like he's going to shake apart under Stiles' fingers. And Derek's crying, at first it was quiet, little hitching breaths as he shook but now it's loud. Huge gasping sobs, it's like they're being ripped out of his chest. And mixed in with the sobs are little half spoken words. "I'm sorry"s and "This wasn't meant to happen"s and "I promised"s.
And Stiles can't look at Boyd. Can't stand to turn his head and see Cora cradling his face and crying. And it's worse. It's worse than Erica, whose body he didn't even get to see, it's worse than Heather, laying on the slab in the morgue draped in a sheet. It's even worse than his mom, wasting away on a hospital bed. Because Boyd had tried to help, had tried to protect and now he was dead.
Derek was still staring at his hands, shaking and looking at them like he didn't even know what they were. He looked, he looked like the world had shattered and now he had to pick up the pieces.
So Stiles dropped, just dropped down and wrapped his arms around Derek. Just pulled him back so that he could feel Stiles' breathing and heartbeat and he whispered to him, "It's not your fault." and "No one blames you." and "You tried, we know you did. He knows you did."
And cradled in Stiles' arms Derek shakes and shatters and cries and cries and cries.