Derek hazily opened his eyes. He felt like he'd been asleep for hours but the surroundings were only marginally darker than he remembered. He had a splitting headache and he could feel multiple wounds in his body beginning to heal themselves. He winced as broken bones mended and torn muscles joined back together. It only took him a moment to remember what happened and he jerked his head toward Stiles.

"Stiles! Oh god…" The door was caved inward, forcing Stiles against the seatbelt and toward Derek. There was blood on the dashboard and the window was completely shattered, glass shards everywhere. Stiles had a gash across his forehead and several cuts on his arms. Derek could smell more blood than he could see, and that terrified him. Stiles was completely still. "No.. not again… please not again…" He unbuckled himself and slowly tried to inch toward Stiles without causing too much movement. He groaned at the sharp pain shooting through his arm as he reached up to put a hand on Stiles' face. "Stiles. Wake up. Please. Stiles. You have to wake up." Derek began desperately slapping his cheek and talking louder and louder until Stiles blearily opened his eyes. Derek almost cried with relief.

"Derek?" Stiles' eyes were glassy and unfocused. "Oh my god-" He cried out in pain as he tried to move closer to Derek.

"Don't move. You're injured."

"So are you…"
"I'm healing. Try not to move, ok?"

"Hurts…" Derek's stomach dropped. Stiles never complained. Something had to be incredibly painful before Stiles would admit that he was hurt.

"Where? Stiles, where does it hurt?"

"My side… I think it's bleeding…" Derek swore.

"I'm coming over to take a look, ok? Hold still." Derek ignored the pain to the best of his ability as he opened his door and stumbled out to the other side of the jeep. He gripped the mangled driver side door by the handle and ripped it off if its hinges. His head spun as the scent of blood hit him square in the face. He gasped when he saw the source; a large, jagged piece of glass deeply pierced into the left side of Stiles' abdomen. Blood was pouring out of the wound. Horrified, Derek quickly ripped off his jacket and gently pressed it up against the wound to try to staunch the flow of blood. Stiles moaned at the contact. "Shh… I'm sorry. What do I do? Stiles, what do I do?"

"I have to… get out... of this... position…too cramped…" Stiles took shuddering breaths with each word. Derek tried and failed to keep his composure.

"I'm afraid to move you with the glass still inside of you. Should I-"

"Can't take it out."

"Are you sure? If it keeps moving around-"

"Too much blood. You can't take it out." Stiles voice was quiet but firm. Derek felt a few tears drip down his cheeks, noting that Stiles seemed very determined to stay calm despite clearly understanding the reality of the situation.

"Ok. Ok. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to pick you up slowly and try not to jostle you at all and then I'll sit you down so you can lean back on the jeep. Can I do that?"

Stiles took another shuddering breath and nodded. He slowly raised a shaky hand and pointed at Derek's forehead. "You're bleeding."

Derek hadn't noticed and couldn't care less considering the circumstances. "I'll heal. You know that. I'm going to pick you up now, ok?" Stiles smiled softly and nodded again. As gently as he possibly could, Derek got a grip under Stiles' knees and back and started to pull him forward. Stiles remained stubbornly quiet, although by the time Derek finished lowering him to the ground he had squeezed his eyes shut and tears were flowing steadily from them. Derek knew that Stiles was forcing himself to be so calm for his benefit. He couldn't do this. Not again. He absolutely could not go through this again… but he had to. He had to do whatever Stiles needed. He would do anything to save Stiles, and he would save Stiles. He gripped Stiles' hand and started drawing his pain, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Don't… you're hurt too…" Stiles whimpered, eyes still closed.

"I don't care. I can take it." Derek gritted his teeth against the pain snaking it's way up his arms. He was starting to get lightheaded when Stiles pulled his hand away.

"Stop. Please. You need to stop." Stiles was pleading, and Derek obeyed. Hot, angry tears stung his eyes. Stiles was alarmingly pale and a sheen of sweat covered his face despite the chilly night air. "Thank you." Stiles looked like he was about to nod off, and Derek panicked and responded with a sharp slap on the cheek.

"Oh, no you don't. You're not doing this to me. I won't let you. You're going to make it through this. We're going to make it through this. Promise me?" Derek knew he was being ridiculous but he needed Stiles to say something, anything to convince him that this night wouldn't end in tragedy.

Stiles spoke slowly and dazedly. "Promise. You might be onto something with that jeep."

Derek surprised himself by laughing out loud. "God… tell me you'll at least get rid of it now." Stiles grinned weakly, one hand on his left side and the other holding onto Derek's shirt, as if the tangible, physical connection to Derek would tether him to life. Derek moved to help him put pressure on the wound, but Stiles shook his head.

"Call… 911…"

"Of course… how the hell haven't I done that yet? I'm sorry-"

Stiles cut him off. "It's ok. Shock probably. You sure you're ok? Need a hug?" Derek leaned in and gave Stiles the most tender, gentle kiss he could muster before jumping up and peering back into the broken jeep to find his phone. What he found was the shattered remains of what used to be a phone and a more colorful side to his vocabulary that he previously hadn't known he possessed. He returned to see Stiles looking slightly amused. "Easy there, sailor. I have a phone too. It's in the back right pocket. Can you get it? I don't think I can." Stiles was taking heaving breaths by the time he finished the sentence. Derek kissed him on the forehead and reached for his pocket, quickly pulling out the bloody piece of technology. He breathed a sigh of relief when the screen immediately lit up.

"What's your passcode?"

"Sourwolf." Stiles answered without missing a beat.

"Are you serious?" Stiles laughed weakly and nodded. Derek unlocked the phone and immediately dialed. He waited. And waited. He swore and dialed again, and then tried Scott and the Sheriff and Lydia and 911 a few more times. "GODDAMNIT! There's no signal." Stiles looked startled at the outburst, but he didn't respond. Derek gave up on calling and shot out a few quick texts to everyone he could think of:

CALL 911

STILES IS HURT

NEAR THE PRESERVE

IT'S BAD

HELP - I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG HE HAS

Derek watched as each text came flashing back to him with a 'not delivered' message. He swore under his breath.

"Derek?" Stiles glanced up at him tiredly.

"It's alright, Stiles. It's going to be just fine. Scott will find us. He has our scents. Your dad will wonder where you are. Lydia will-" he stopped dead in his tracks before he could blurt out what had just come into his head. Stiles finished the sentence for him.

"Lydia will sense that I'm dying."

"You're not going to die. Is that understood?" Stiles chuckled.

"Yes sir." He shifted himself slightly on the ground and cried out when new agonizing pain erupted in his side. He tried to bite back the scream but he couldn't, nor the uncontrollable weeping that followed. Suddenly the ground was spinning, the darkness was suffocating, and all of the oxygen seemed to be vacuumed from his lungs. He could feel every drop of blood leaving his body and he could just barely make out Derek's expression of fear through his blurry eyes. Stiles panicked.