**Warnings: Character death and suicide**
Stiles looked at the innocuous gray pot; just a cheap piece of plastic, but it bore so much significance. Inside, it held both life and death. Within the soil, the miracle of life had taken place from a few small seeds, and now four little stalks stood proudly from the soil, leaves reaching out toward the welcoming orange sunlight of the late afternoon and little blue flowers delicately staring down toward the ground, as if ashamed of the power they held. This particular plant, aconitum napellus, had killed the love of Stiles' life.
A few months earlier, when there was snow on the ground, Derek Hale had been running with Stiles on his back. The man had taken a risk and gone to Stiles' house to see him, even though he knew that the hunters were after him. A wandering Omega had stumbled into Beacon Hills, seeking out a new Alpha. While he was in the area, he'd savagely ripped apart a young girl on the night of the full moon. Unfortunately, this girl happened to be Lydia Martin, a girl with a bright future and the hunter Allison Argent's best friend.
The Argents took their revenge on the stray Omega, but Allison pointed out that this could easily happen again. This wasn't the first Omega in Beacon Hills, and it wouldn't be the last if they continued to allow an Alpha to live in their midst. Having had her aunt, mother, and now her best friend die because of the werewolf population in their town, Allison decided that she'd had enough. As the matriarch of the Argents, she declared war on the wolves.
Hearing of this, Derek decided that Beacon Hills was much too dangerous for him now. Though his pack, his mate, and his memories were still in this city, he couldn't stay. The same night he heard the news, Derek Hale went to his mate's house.
Crawling silently through the window, he loomed menacingly over his mate, casting a shadow over the book he was reading. "Dammit, Derek!" Stiles yelled, grabbing at his beating heart as he turned around in his chair to face his lover. "You scared me half to death."
The man continued to stand in stony silence, quietly taking in the boy's face with a serious expression. Stiles' smile faded. "What's wrong?" he said, somewhat urgently.
"Lydia," Derek said, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. This was the first time he'd been bested by hunters since the death of his family, and he wasn't taking it lightly. "She... an Omega killed her."
"I know, Scott told me," Stiles said, confused. It had been all over the news for the past two days, so he figured Derek would just assume he'd heard.
"Allison had decided that I'm going to attract more Omegas," he said, staring intently at the worried, loving face. "I have to leave."
Stiles' face fell. "What... what am I going to tell my dad?" he said, standing and moving toward his closet. He quickly threw open the doors, taking out a backpack and filling it with clothes. "Will I ever be able to come back and visit him?"
"Stiles," Derek said, clenching his fists and tightening his jaw.
"Maybe he could come see us, where ever we are," Stiles said, avoiding Derek's eyes as he busied himself with packing.
"Stiles," Derek repeated more harshly, fighting his every urge to comfort the boy and bring him along.
"I mean, in a few years, of course. After things settle down," Stiles said, his pace slowing as reality caught up with him.
"Stiles," Derek said, more softly now as he saw realization dawn on the boy's face. He knew what was coming before the man even said anything. "You aren't coming."
"But I could-" Stiles started, looking hopefully up at the man he loved, tears in his big, dark eyes as the thought of living without Derek formed in his mind. He stopped seeing the pain in Derek's brooding face. He nodded, his shoulders shaking with the fear of never seeing the love of his life again. "I know."
"Look, Stiles, I didn't want this. I don't want this. If I could choose-" Derek started, finding himself on the verge of choking up. He decided that it was wise to stop before his dignity was compromised.
"I understand. I just don't know how I'll-" Stiles started, cut off by Derek quickly wrapping him in his arms. The tender embraced caught Stiles by surprise, and he looked up at the stony-faced man. Derek, however, was looking toward the open window, his defensive grip tightening around his mate as he tried to pick up any more sounds.
The pair watched as an arrow hit the windowsill with a dull thud. It stuck in the wood, and Derek's eyes widened as he dragged the boy across the room, smashing through the wooden door just as the entire window shattered in a contained explosion. The smell of sulfur filled the room as his window caught on fire from the blast. Slipping Stiles onto his back, Derek ran through the house, heading toward the front door.
"Leave me," Stiles whispered, leaning down to the man's ear. "I'll just slow you down."
"I can't," Derek said, multiple meanings passing through his lips with two words. "They'll use you to get to me."
The pair jumped through a window, skipping the door entirely as the man landed on the front lawn. Now they could see several dark vans surrounding the house, floodlights illuminating the darkness of the suburb. Hunters circled the house, their various weapons poised to kill the pair. Derek stood for a moment, assessing the scene. Suddenly, he jumped, clearing the yard and landing on top of one of the black SUVs in a single bound. However, Allison had foreseen this move, shooting an arrow into the air before he landed. It caught the man in his ribcage, which was exposed because he was holding Stiles.
Ignoring the searing pain in his side, Derek quickly bounded across the street, stealing into the inky darkness of the woods just outside of Stiles' neighborhood. The boy was surprised when he looked back, seeing only the distant light of the suburb in the darkness. Had he really run so fast that the hunters were unable to catch up?
"Derek, I don't think they're following us!" Stiles said gleefully, looking forward to escaping with his lover. "I think they're just gonna let us go!"
Suddenly, the pair crashed to the ground, leaves and the damp smell of compost filling Stiles' senses as he rolled into a tree. Once he righted himself, he looked toward Derek, who was laying on the ground. He crawled over to the boy, unable to walk on his now-throbbing ankle. Flipping Derek onto his back, he saw a familiar look on the man's face. He was poisoned.
He removed Derek's jacket and shirt from his left side, exposing the wound. Half of the arrow was still stuck in his side, blood spilling onto the ground as his veins turned purple and bulged from the allergic reaction. The arrow had clearly been laced with wolfsbane. This time, however, the infection had entered near his heart. There was no way to save him.
Stiles grabbed the arrow, trying to remove it. He withdrew his hand when it started to tingle, looking more closely to see the poison along his index finger. Wiping it off on his jeans as fast as possible, he bent down to face Derek, tears in his eyes.
"Derek?" he said, his voice breaking as the tears flowed more freely.
"Stiles," the man said, weakness obvious in his voice. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, I am," Stiles said, crying in earnest. "I slowed you down. I'm sorry. I- I don't know-"
"Shh," Derek said, his numb fingers touching along the boy's jawline. "It doesn't matter. You're safe now. That's all that matters."
"But you-" Stile was hushed by a numb finger blindly drawing across his lips.
"I love you," Derek said, his last thoughts lingering on the regret that he hadn't told Stiles those words from the moment they'd met, but also reflecting the happiness that they'd shared time together.
"I love you too," Stiles said, lying down next to the dying man.
The next day, Sheriff Stilinski found his son curled up in the woods, his cold fingers clutching a dead man's hand.
XxXxXxXxX
He came up with the plan while recovering from hypothermia in the hospital. He had a lot of time to think, and that was when the romantic notion set seed in his head, slowly flowering into a beautiful vignette of how he perceived his future. Convincing his dad that having his laptop in the hospital with him would get his mind off of his deceased lover, Stiles set the first part of his plan into motion. Sitting on a cold bed in a paper gown with IVs sticking out of his arms and hands, Stiles placed an order for monkshood seeds from a site selling herbs and vegetables.
By the time his package arrived, Stiles was out of the hospital. He hobbled to the door one afternoon, his crutches making the entire operation much clumsier than usual as he bent down to pick up the little box. Sitting on a rocking chair on his front porch, the boy hastily ripped open the tape with a set of keys, taking the bubble wrap out of the box and pulling out a little package. Setting the packaging aside, Stiles examined the seeds in the light.
It was strange, knowing that the tiny, shriveled dots had enough deadly potential to kill. To kill Derek. The thought made him shiver, and he awkwardly stood, having trouble gaining balance with his extra metal legs. He disposed of the packaging before his dad got home and wrapped the seeds in a damp paper towel, putting this in a plastic bag in the back of his refrigerator.
Over the next six weeks, Stiles purchased a little gray pot, a watering can, and some potting soil. He told his father that he believed gardening would help occupy his time, and help drag him from his depression. Meanwhile, his bones healed and his cuts faded into faint scars. Though his cast and scabs were gone, the pain stayed with him. He'd also lost all sensation in his index finger; the doctors said that this effect would likely be a permanent result of his contact with the wolfsbane poison on the arrow. He'd told everyone that he had found Derek in the woods while taking a walk in the middle of the night, since he knew that the Argents wouldn't allow him to testify against them. Furthermore, he didn't want to drag the case out any longer than necessary. Derek was buried, and the case forgotten soon thereafter (probably with some encouraging by the Argent family).
After six weeks, Stiles took his stash of seeds from their hiding spot, filling the pot with soil and poking several little holes in it. He dropped seven seeds into the dirt, covering them up and knowing that the next time he saw them, they would be much livelier agents of death. After pouring some water over the soil, he moved the pot to the end of his porch, setting it in the warm daytime sun. Though it was still cold, the temperature was climbing.
Stiles watered the pot regularly, spending more and more time sitting outside and watching the pot of dirt as it got warmer and warmer. His dad was happy to see that Stiles wasn't moping around, depressed and lethargic. The Sheriff still hadn't missed the fact that Stiles had changed. He no longer made jokes. He didn't see friends. When he talked, he sounded more and more like a Victorian novel every day. His thought patterns had clearly changed, now consumed with darkness and artistry. He'd become a different person. When his dad smiled at him while he was gardening, Stiles always smiled back, but inside, he wanted to cry and confess everything to the man. But he'd already started his plan, and was now determined.
After watching the plant grow for a few weeks, a few tiny little sprouts popped out of the soil. It was May, and the temperature was definitely getting to be summer-like. Stiles rejoiced in his first successful creation of life. He thought bitterly of how it would probably be his last. With an actual physical entity to watch grow, Stiles began talking to the plant as if he were talking to Derek. Every day, when he came home from school, he'd water the growing monkshood and tell it about his day. He'd talk about how much he missed Derek, what he'd done that day, how many times he'd wished Derek was there. The plant turned out to be a great listener, never interrupting or making stupid comments trying to console the boy. It was therapeutic, having someone there to just listen.
As time went on, the wolfsbane grew, the tiny green leaves adding new growth on every day. The attention Stiles gave to the plant helped it to grow and thrive, spreading long, pointed green leaves from its high stalks. As it grew, Stiles noticed that it grew deadlier, too. He sometimes touched it, careful to use only his numb index finger in order to keep from feeling the ensuing rash. Even slight contact with the plant could cause irritation, he'd read. As time went on, the little rashes got bigger and lasted longer every time he came into contact with his creation. The plant was thriving, becoming more deadly as it got to be more alive.
Toward the end of June, Stiles noticed little buds forming on the ends of the four bushy stalks. At first, they were just a few little balls, but they grew as the plant continued to thrive. By July, the first little bud had turned a deep purple and burst open, creating a little hood-like flower. The others rapidly followed, and within a week, almost all of the buds were open, creating four proud pillars of deadly beauty. One night, after his father had gone to sleep, Stiles stepped outside. The moon was full, casting a bright light on the delicate purple flowers. Its white light beamed through the translucent skin, revealing the map of veins carrying deadly toxins.
Bringing the little gray pot inside, Stiles set it on the kitchen table, sharing one last conversation with his dead lover.
"It's finally time. You've grown all the way up, and the moon is full," Stiles said, resting his chin on the table to come face-to-face with his killer. "You know, it's kind of funny to think that there are much deadlier things out there on this full moon. I can't believe how long it's been since Lydia died. Since... you died. It seems like it was forever ago. I've watched you grow, nurtured you, fed you, and encouraged you to be my downfall. Somewhere deep down, I think I hoped that giving myself time to get over you would make me not want to go through with this. But it didn't. It only made me more sure. This was what I have to do. I- I love you."
With tears in his eyes, Stiles grabbed the four little stalks, ripping them from the soil. As he tore them apart, his hands felt inflamed and irritated, the poison working its way through his skin. He quickly ate the roots first, since they were the most poisonous. They tasted incredibly bitter, and his body screamed at him to stop as his throat closed around the dirt-covered confection. Next, he swallowed the leaves, his vision already going. By the time he managed to stuff the last flower in his mouth, Stiles' entire body was numb. It felt as if he were floating, totally free from any physical entity. Darkness moved from the edges of his vision, closing his line of vision into tiny pinholes. His body convulsed, though he couldn't feel it through the numbness. As his dying mind wandered, he recalled the night that Derek had died. He'd said that he was just happy that Stiles was safe now. The man thought his death would mean that the hunters and wolves and other creatures of the night would stop chasing Stiles. But with his death, something darker began following the boy; his death sealed Stiles' fate.
His last thoughts were of Derek's dying face, whispering 'I love you' one last time. Stiles had no conception of an afterlife, but if there was one, he hoped he'd see Derek again. That wouldn't be the afterlife, though, he thought. This is the afterlife. I have no life without Derek. So if he's there, then that's life. I was already dead.
**For anyone that actually knows me, don't worry. I just heard about a woman who tried to kill herself by eating a pot of poinsettias, and it made me think of this story. A little dark, yes, but I hope the romance in it is obvious.**