Before you ask, yes I know that the title is almost identical to one of my pervious stories, "Perishing". I did that on purpose. This is not supposed to be a sequel to that, it's more like a… companion to that story. Hope you like it and don't hate me by the end of it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters.

Perishing in Grief

Derek sat on the edge of his bed, his head pressed between his hands. Why? Why did she have to come back? Why did she have to try and help? Why did they have to get killed? Why did he have to be useless, useless human? Why? Why? Why?

How did Stiles deal with being human when he was surrounded by so much of the supernatural? Werewolves and kitsune and a banshee. Even Deputy Parrish wasn't entirely human. How could he deal with being so weak, so fragile?

Derek scrubbed at his hair, tearing it out in small chunks. An anguished scream rose in his throat, harsh and sharp and burning. He curled further in on himself, screaming until his throat no longer produced any sound, until his lungs held no breath, and still he screamed.

What was he without being a werewolf? Who was he without Cora and Peter to connect him to his past? What was he to Scott and Lydia and Stiles when he was only as human as Stiles was? He hadn't even been able to protect them. Cora and Peter, they'd died trying to protect him, the weak human.

Standing, he paced a circle around his apartment, clawing with stunted nails at his own skin, drawing blood and creating wounds that wouldn't heal anytime soon. He screamed again, harder, louder, longer. He sobbed, swiping everything from his table, throwing his fist into the metal surface. Pain lanced through his hand, but he didn't care. He slammed his fist into its surface again, denting the metal and feeling the bones grind together. He kicked the books and maps and pens he'd swept from the table as hard as he could, sending them across the apartment. Glass shattered beneath his foot.

Stopping, he glanced down. Under his foot was the picture frame Cora had forced on him when she'd come back. She'd put two pictures in it, one of her and him in South America looking up at the camera, her grinning and him scowling. The other was of him and Scott's pack on one of their better days before Allison and Aiden had died, before Isaac and Ethan had left. He didn't know how she'd gotten the picture, but by the way Stiles, Scott and he had their heads leaned together, faces serious as Stiles pointed something out to them, it had been one Melissa had taken at a pack meeting without their notice.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, picking the frame up and placing it back in the middle of the table where it belonged.

He couldn't be a human, not if it meant that others were going to die because of it.

…..

"Stiles, where do you think you're going?" Stilinski asked his son who wasn't even trying to be sneaky about slipping out the front door. He had his phone pressed to his ear, arguing ridiculously loud with what sounded like Lydia on the other end. Though she wasn't there to see it, he was waving his hands through the air more than usual.

"No, you don't understand! Something is seriously wrong! I don't know how I know, but I do!" Stiles shouted, stopping just as he opened the door, clutching at the doorknob with white-knuckled fingers.

"Stiles!" Lydia yelled back, her voice shrill and tired and stressed, "I haven't gotten anything since we found Cora and Peter's bodies, but it was really strong for just two bodies. It might mean that someone else is going to die, but if they are, I haven't felt anything leading to them."

"Just meet me at Derek's, alright? I'm really worried, and even if nothing is happening, he shouldn't be alone. Not after his only remaining family members just died." Stiles voice had dropped to a low, almost pleading, whisper.

Lydia was quiet for a moment on the other end. "Do you really think he'd try to do something?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but he's human now. Anything could happen." He went silent, trying to calm his racing heart. "I'm just really worried."

"Alright, I'll meet you there in a little while. I'm going to go tell Scott and maybe bring him along, just in case," Lydia said, keys jingling on her end.

"Thanks, Lydia," Stiles whispered before hanging up. He dropped his forehead against the side of the door, breathing out a shaky breath. His hands were trembling, but he forced them into tight fists.

The Sheriff stepped up next to his son, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder that Stiles leaned into. "Stiles, what's wrong?" he asked quietly.

Stiles remained where he was, eyes closed. "Cora and Peter Hale died today protecting us, you know that. They were the last two surviving members of Derek's family, of his old pack. When he left the coroner's office after the identification, he looked devastated and defeated. And to add salt to injury, he's completely human now. I'm just worried that… he might do something stupid," he explained, shoulders tight and imagination destructive, "Losing Mom was so terrible. If I lost both of you, I don't know what I'd do. He's lost his entire family. I can't even imagine, I don't want to imagine, what that might be like."

Stilinski nodded, squeezing Stiles shoulder. "If anything happens or you need me, call alright. I'll be here waiting when you get back."

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles murmured as his father pulled him into a short hug. He tried to muster a smile, but it turned into something akin to a grimace. His dad still watching him, he clambered into the Jeep and sped away at an increasingly dangerous speed.

…..

Stiles found Derek in what could only conceivably be considered a puddle of blood, the crimson liquid leaking from one vertical slash up each of his forearms. The puddles were beginning to spread, reaching out grasping fingers for anything they could touch, remaking everything in their own image.

"Derek!" he screamed, keys and cellphone cracking against the concrete as he scrambled towards Derek, his face ashen and stomach roiling. He was going to be sick, if not from the sheer amount of blood, then from how deep Derek had cut into his own flesh. The blade he'd used lay a few inches away, only a thin line of blood along the edge. "Derek, what did you do? Why did you do it?"

Derek's eyes fluttered open revealing those green-blue-whatever-they-were eyes of his, blinking slowly and trying to focus. "Stiles?" he murmured, voice already soft and fading quickly. His skin was pale, drained of color. "I thought that… maybe if I… cut deep enough… it would shock my wolf awake. He had to… be there still. We were… born together." Talking felt like a chore, but for once, breathing wasn't.

"Derek, why would you try something like that?" Stiles shouted, eyes wild, heart pounding in his ears, mouth cotton dry, "Why would you do this?" He tore his sweater from his shoulders and the blanket from the couch, pressing them frantically to the open wounds, tying them down tightly. "I know your family is gone, I know how much that hurts, but they weren't your only family! Scott and Lydia and the rest of the pack are your family too! I'm your family." He choked on his words, dragging Derek at least partly into his lap. He started down at him, tears clouding his amber eyes.

"I'm just human," Derek breathed out, searching out Stiles' fingers. Nothing hurt, not anymore, but he enjoyed the feeling of their fingers slotted together, the warmth their palms created.

"I'm only human too!" Stiles cried, desperately clutching at his cold fingers.

"But you matter. You're smart and you solve problems that no one else can solve, and you bring humanity and logic to the pack. Without my wolf or my sister or uncle, I don't matter."

"Yes, you do! You bring lessons and experience that the rest of us don't have!" Tears were making slow tracks down his face, spattering against Derek's cheeks. "And if that's not enough for you, you matter to me!" His voice broke.

Derek blinked slowly, his eyes already becoming dull. He lifted a weak hand, brushing away Stiles' tears. "You matter to me too."

Stiles lips trembled. "No, you don't understand! Derek, I-I love y-you! You can't leave!" he sobbed, grabbing for the hand against his face.

"I know… what you meant… stupid. I meant the same…" His voice trailed off, barely audible over Stiles' sobs. His eyes drifted shut.

Stiles couldn't feel Derek's heartbeat.

"No," Stiles whispered, his sobs and tears and trembling suspended in shock for one, unbelievable moment. "No. No! Derek, no! You can't leave! Derek!" he screamed as loudly as his voice would allow.

When Lydia and Scott found him, he was still crying those words, still sobbing Derek's name, clutching at his hands. "Stiles, we have to call the police. We have to call your dad," Scott coaxed, bile and a numb sadness rising in the back of his throat. He pressed gentle fingers to Stiles' shoulders.

Lydia crouched beside him, gently trying to pry his fingers from around Derek's. Tears washed down her cheeks, staining them with mascara. "Come on, Stiles," she choked, gripping his hands, "You have to let go. He's gone. I'm so sorry."

Stiles didn't seem to hear a word she was saying, or that Scott was whispering, or the EMTs who forcibly dragged him from Derek's body, or Parrish who wrapped his coat around him, or Liam or Kira or Malia who had shown per Scott's call. He couldn't hear any of them, only Derek's last words. How had things gone so wrong? How had this happened?

"Stiles?" The sound of his father's voice, tentative and worried, broke him from his near catatonic state.

Looking up at his dad, all of the pain and grief washed over him anew, sending a flood of tears down his face. The Sheriff was hugging him to his chest in a less than a moment, Stiles holding onto the back of his jacket like he would be washed away if he didn't, like he was a child again. His sobs were loud and wracking, making his entire body shudder.

Suddenly, he was being enveloped in the heat of the entire pack, even young Liam. They wrapped their arms around him and each other, and even Stilinski some, but nothing could comfort him in that moment. Nothing cold warm the ice creeping through his veins.

"He's gone, Dad, just like Mom! He's gone and he's never coming back!" he sobbed almost incoherently into his father's chest, the hitch in both Scott's and Lydia's breathe just barely audible.

How had things gone so wrong?

This is what happens when I write at three in the morning. Maybe I just… shouldn't. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I figured if I'd written a story where I'd killed Stiles, I should probably do the flip side and write one where I kill Derek. Probably wasn't my brightest moment.