Author's Note: I'll be posting drabbles or one shots of Sterek here! Mostly from prompts and they will be relatively short. The prompt for the first one was the word grief.
Clutching onto the smaller male's frame, jade hues were struck with shock and fear swirled beneath them. His heartbeat was erratic, his blood ice cold; his limbs frozen in an invisible thickness. Fingers wrapped around the crimson fabric of the younger male's hoodie. Carefully, his fingers ran up the article of clothing and came upon the chin of the brunette, running up the sides of his face before palms cautiously cupped his face. The violent rhythm of his heart caused his chest to ache, his eyes to burn as tears gently welled up within them.
"Stiles?" Derek questioned softly, his hands falling to Stiles' shoulders.
"Stiles?" He repeated.
This had to be a bad dream, a figment of his imagination. His eyes traced the wounds on Stiles' face, his torso, his tattered clothing stained with blood. They fall back upon his lips, emerald hues watching as blood had dripped down the side of his lifeless face. Derek took note of his closed eyelids. Tapping into his werewolf abilities, he silently prayed for a heartbeat to signal; a sign of life maybe he was missing.
It never happened.
A loud crack from the sky sounded above, lightning illuminating the thick darkness of the night. Without another moment, rain began to pour down from above, drenching the pair. Derek's hair clung to the back of his neck and became a mopped mess upon his head. Slowly, the blood on Stiles' face washed away with the furious rain.
"Stiles, please," Derek pleaded quietly.
His shoulders slumped in defeat, his back rigid with turmoil. He felt like he was going to vomit as the revelation that Stiles was dead hit him in the chest like a wolfsbane soaked arrow. The usually strong male choked back a sob, tears now began to stream down his face. Slowly, he propped up Stiles' lifeless body and cradled him into his arms.
"Mieczyslaw," Derek prompted desperately, hoping his eyes would pop open and he'd be his usually spunky self.
It didn't happen.
The light Derek had come to see upon Stiles' face had faded completely, his essence vanished. As he examined Stiles and the wounds across his body, it became apparent that another werewolf had done this. His sorrow fueled his rage, anger snapping within his blood, catching his veins on fire. Without another moment, Derek's eyes flickered crimson and his head shot skyward. He bellowed in agony, a roar escaping his throat that shook all of Beacon Hills.