Sorry i haven't updated in forever... i had originally planned this as a oneshot but accidentally marked it as unfinished so when i got followers i had to think of something to add... but i do have a full idea now, and i recently got a laptop so i'll be able to update more :)

i don't own teen wolf yada yada

Scott didn't know why he jumped out the window of the house. He knew Stiles' dad deserved to know what happened, not just walk into his room and find him dead with no explanation. He had

to stay, everything logical told him he needed to stay, but sometimes werewolves let instincts take over.

He ran out of the yard with unnatural speed, not caring if he started to transform in broad daylight. He found himself in the woods where he collapsed on the ground and let a howl rip through his lungs. Sobs wracked through his body as he lay among the dead leaves. How fitting, as he is surrounded by death in everything else.

He knew Derek was watching him a long time before he acknowledged him, but he knew the man had been watching him long before he even noticed. He finally got his sobbing under control enough to look up at him.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Come to watch me cry? You know, you're a big fucking help. All this experience being a werewolf and what advice did you have for the one goddamn time I needed help the most?" Scott's voice was getting louder and louder. He stood and walked towards Derek, blind hatred in his eyes. "Watch him die! Some fucking help." He looked as if he were about to attack, but he collapsed to his knees..

Derek had stayed leaning against a tree, not flinching at any of the words hurled at him. He waited a few moments after Scott had fallen to lower himself down to his level and put a hand on his shoulder. Scott looked up and stared into Derek's eyes a long moment before choking out an apology.

"I'm sorry." He let out a breath. "I know- I know you couldn't do anything. This isn't your fault. It's mine. I bit him. I fucking killed him, I-"

"No one could have known. You were trying to help him."

"Yeah, great fucking job I did. You know, I was talking to him about it and he was hesitating because he thought something might go wrong and I- I should have known. Friends know everything about each other, why couldn't I know this? You would expect that people who would reject the bite would at least smell different or something to just give a fucking warning." He broke into more sobs as Derek sighed and started to help him up.

"Come on, we have to tell his dad what happened. Let's go." Scott gave a small nod and started to walk stiffly back to his friend's house.

The sheriff may not have been a werewolf, but he had become all too familiar with the scent of blood. He smelled it before he flung the door to his son's room open to see him lying in a puddle of blackened blood, his eyes glossed over and incredibly empty. It was a shock to see the usually animated boy so still and unmoving.

He had seen so many crime scenes bloodier than this, but they could have never prepared him for this. He felt empty and cold, as if he were the one who died.

He snapped out of his trance enough to run over to his child and look him over to find out what the hell happened. He found a bite wound on his arm. A werewolf. But that hadn't killed him, it seemed as if he had ended up choking on the black liquid that was surrounding him and smeared on his chin. Had a poison caused this?

Maybe the werewolf had tried to save him from his death, but was too late. If someone cared enough about Stiles to try to save him, they would have had the decency to tell his father what had happened.

He vaguely remembered a story Stiles told him about how some people's bodies rejected the bite. They coughed up thick, black, blood and endured excruciating pain until they finally died. He told him it was not common, but it had happened to a friend of Derek once and he had to kill her to spare her the pain.

He looked down at his son with tears in his eyes as he realized this was the only explanation for what had happened. He brought the body into his arms and sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Eventually he heard the doorbell ring. His head snapped up and it occurred to him that he had to call this in, he should have already. Here were visitors coming and there had been a dead body upstairs for hours.

Before he had gotten up to turn the person away, his eyes fixed upon the open window. The bottom pane had been broken through before it was pushed up to be opened. If someone threw something through the window, there could be evidence left outside. He would have to check that after he sent them away.

He heard more frantic knocking before he opened the door to reveal a girl with tears streaking down her face.

"Lydia?"

"Tell me he's okay. Tell me he's alive. Please, Mr. Stilinski, I-"

The words tasted wrong in his mouth. "He's dead."