A/N: I don't have much to say beside thanks for all the kind messages, favorites and follows :) Oh and beware of Stilinski Family Feels. Sorry.

Chapters will be updated weekly.

Summary: Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?

I own nothing.

Chapter 4

The next day, Stiles was admitted into the hospital.

Derek was at the Stilinskis' house at early morning, after not being able to fall asleep the previous night at all. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had dark bags under them, the usually bright green of his eyes now dull and pained. It was obvious that he spent the whole night crying after Stiles left to go home and pack, and the thought made Stiles' heart ache and fill with terrible guilt for what the whole situation did to his soulmate.

"Good morning," Derek said with an attempt of a smile as Stiles shakily opened the front door, but his voice was hoarse and scratchy and it wasn't that much convincing. From across the hall, Derek could see the Sheriff pass through, and the brief look he gave Derek was pitiful and sympathetic - not much of an improvement from the cold glares he used to get from him before. He knew exactly what Derek was going through, though. Probably the only one who did.

"Morning." Stiles answered quietly, only having a moment to process it before he was being pulled into a tight hug, Derek's arms circling him and holding him close for a few long seconds, fingers buried in his hair. Derek released him quickly, covering his sniffling with awkward cough, clearing his throat.

"So, you ready to go?" Derek asked, shifting uncomfortably. Stiles nodded.

"All packed and ready for my funeral." Stiles tried to joke, patting at the open door loudly. Derek flinched. He looked wounded, like someone just punched him in the stomach.

"Not funny," He whispered. Stiles winced, hand sliding down.

"Sorry."

"Okay kiddo," The Sheriff interrupted as he appeared from behind his son, giving Derek another sad glance. Stiles looked a little confused. "We gotta go now. Derek, you want to ride with us or drive yours?"

"I think I'll come with you, sir, if you don't mind."

"I don't." Stilinski smiled tightly. "Let's go then." He said, and then stiffly walked past them towards the car, Stiles' hospital bag hanging from his shoulder.

The drive was quiet and loaded, the air in the car thick with the unspoken truth they all knew - it was a one-way ticket, and there was no going back.

Derek already received all the information he needed last night, while having Stiles sitting so close to him that their sides were pressed flushed against each other, holding him tight. Stiles had told him the doctors said he already had it for at least two or three years before his official diagnosis, even though Stiles and his father never realized it. He also knew that at this point, Stiles' Dementia had progressed so far along they had no other choice but to hospitalize him, if they wanted to keep him alive for as long as possible. Derek didn't want to think about that. He already had his share of crying last night, and he didn't want to cry now, too.

Last night, Derek also discovered that Stiles had worked really hard these past two months to hide his symptoms from him, never letting him know how bad it really was. He hid his anger and the shakiness of his limbs, chased the daytime nightmares away as much as he could, and forced himself to rethink every decision he made in front of Derek a thousand times. Knowing how bad Stiles had it, and knowing he couldn't do anything to help him, hurt Derek more than he thought was possible.

Stiles' father disapproved, of course. He thought Stiles was being unfair to Derek for not telling him, for making his soulmate think everything was wonderful and perfect and then just, BAM, disappear from his life. He thought it was too cruel, and even though Stiles didn't want to admit that, he knew his dad was right.

Apparently, that was the real reason behind the cold shoulder the Sheriff gave Derek from day one. He knew his son was dying, and he didn't want the two to form such a close relationship just to have it cruelly snatched away from them... but no matter what he thought was right, Sheriff Stilinski couldn't deny his son the only thing that made him happy. That made him forget the fact he was dying, even for just a little while.

So he sucked it up and said nothing.

And now, on their way to the hospital, the three of them knew very well that Stiles was not going to come back out. He was not going to get better, and he was indeed going to die there, sooner or later.

Thinking about it, this was the thing that hurt the Sheriff the most, knowing that the horrible, constant pain he himself was feeling was actually nothing compared to the hollowness Stiles was going to leave in Derek. They were soulmates, they were part of each other. And Sheriff Stilinski knew first hand what it was like to lose that part of your very soul.

He never wished that on anyone.

At the hospital, Melissa McCall was waiting with Scott by her side, a sad, comforting smile on her kind face. She was the one to check Stiles in, and the one to take his blood and vital signs. She handed him a thin hospital gown and a pair of white slippers, instructing him to sit there and wait when he was ready until she came back.

After she left with Scott behind, following her out, Derek and Sheriff Stilinski both emerged from the background, where they were waiting silently in the corner while nurse McCall did her job. They stood close to Stiles as he picked at his gown, making jokes about the way his ass was showing in an attempt to cheer the other two up. Needless to say, it didn't really work that well.

"Oh, come on, guys. Cheer up." He said, smile wavering on his lips as his shoulders sank in disappointment. Derek swallowed.

"How can we?" He mumbled at his shoes. The Sheriff shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly looked away, but Stiles still caught a glimpse of tears glistening in his eyes. His smile finally vanished completely.

"Well, you have to." Stiles said, his voice catching in his throat near the end of the sentence. "Because that's the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind. And if you guys break down, I don't think I could take it."

"Stiles-" Derek said, the lump in his throat getting more painful to swallow around by the second.

"So please, just stop looking at me like it's the end, because I," Stiles continued stubbornly, his voice breaking as he choked on the word, his chin quivering, brown eyes welling up, stinging with hot, burning tears. His shoulders were shaking with the effort not to cry. "Because I can't."

A choked sob came from the Sheriff's direction, who was still looking away, one hand covering his mouth as he tried to block the pitiful sounds.

That was the last straw that broke Stiles, and a hoarse whimper tore at his throat, immediately followed by a hot stream of tears that rolled down the boy's cheeks. The breath stuck in Derek's chest, and he closed the distance in a second, his arms wrapping firmly around Stiles' shoulders and back and it was all he could do to try and force himself to keep his own tears at bay. Stiles' fists shot up and gripped at the back of his shirt, his whole body trembling and shaking with the effort.

Derek was angry. So angry he wanted to hit something. To break something. To inflict harm on something or someone just so he could feel a little bit better. And he hated himself for that. It was just so unfair.

Sucking in a forced deep breath, his hand climbed up and buried itself in Stiles' short and soft hair, pressing his head to his own shoulder so close, as if he tried to merge their bodies together into one. His other hand was rubbing small circles on Stiles' back, trying to sooth the shake of his shoulders as the violent sobs that wrecked his body. From behind him, Derek could still hear the Sheriff trying desperately to choke down his own sobs, the noise muffled and quiet.

Derek had no clue how long it took for both father and son to stop crying, and frankly he was grateful when Stiles finally broke apart from him, furiously wiping at his red and puffy eyes. Finally. Derek didn't think he could hold on for much longer.

"Sorry..." Stiles whispered and sniffled, voice barely audible and hoarse from crying. Derek shook his head, his left hand still lingering over Stiles' right shoulder even though they moved a bit away from each other, thumb gently stroking at his pale neck.

Behind Derek's back, the Sheriff was now hiding a sniffle and clearing his throat twice, then took a deep breath to steel himself, approaching his son.

"It's going to be okay." He said quietly, his hand patting the back of Stiles' neck in an attempted comfort. He tried to smile. The result was lame and shaky, but it was still a smile nonetheless. "We'll get through this. With heads held high and butts in the air."

Stiles let out a wet laugh, wiping at his eyes. He swayed his hips a little as an answer, bumping his bare ass against Derek's hip. It was at this moment that Melissa McCall chose to come back in. She stood at the doorway, clearing her throat while pushing in an empty wheelchair.

"Come here sweetheart," She told Stiles warmly, nodding towards the chair. "Your room is ready."

Stiles made a face.

"Do I have to sit in a wheelchair?" He complained. "I can still walk, you know."

"Do you want everyone to see your white scrawny butt wiggling around in the halls?" Melissa asked dryly. Stiles said nothing, and just grumpily lowered himself onto the chair, allowing Mrs. McCall to roll him away. She seemed pleased.

"That's what I thought."

After a week at the hospital, the Stilinskis and Derek fell into a semi-comfortable routine.

Every morning Stiles was woken up at 6 AM sharp and had his vital signs taken by one of the nurses. He had breakfast he hated and a shower he hated even more (there was never hot water in his room. Seriously, what was up with that?). And every morning at 8 AM when visiting hours began, Derek and the Sheriff were already waiting outside, patiently waiting to get in.

They sat with him all day. Well, it was mostly Derek who sat with him all day. The Sheriff still had to work, though he stopped by at every available moment he had. Scott dropped by every day after school, sometimes accompanied by the gang, sometimes by himself. Laura and the other Hales came to visit a few times, joking and laughing and trying to cheer the two boys up even though everyone knew it was hopeless.

So that left Derek Hale all by himself to take care of Stiles, most of the time. Not that he was complaining. He'd have done it anyway. It was where he belonged.

He soon found out that there were good days and bad days. In the good days, Stiles was being the Stiles Derek knew. A snarky little shit with a cocky grin and sarcastic jokes and witty comebacks. His endless chatter filled the room non-stop, giving Derek a headache and causing him to growl a low, "Shut up." at him every now and then. He was lively and cheerful despite the gloomy place he was currently calling home and despite the worsening condition of his motor skills, and he managed to make even grumpy, sour and sad Derek smile and laugh from time to time.

The bad days, though, were the days that made Derek question his ability to keep himself together.

Before Stiles was admitted to the hospital, Derek spent only a few hours a day with him, since they both had more to their lives than just each other. But now, staying by Stiles' bedside the whole day long, Derek realized how much of his disease Stiles really hid from him.

Panic attacks, confusion, anxiety, rage fits and hallucinations - all of them hit Stiles full force a couple of times a day. Derek helped him as much as he could. He instructed him how to breathe through his panic attacks, soothed away his anxiety and took his leashing anger fits with steel silence. He chased the nightmares away and helped him figure out what was real and what was just his imagination playing tricks. And every time Stiles had gotten that glassy, terrified look in his eyes, Derek had reached out and gripped his hand tight, counting down from ten with him until Stiles managed to shake the living nightmare off and focus back on him.

The apathy, though, was the worst.

That was the one thing that Derek was pretty sure would break him one day. It was a torture. He couldn't stand the empty, hollow look in Stiles' eyes whenever he had one of those days. The silence that filled the room was deafening, and Derek wished Stiles would just look at him and say something. He was unresponsive, uncaring, quiet and pale, and it scared Derek to death. It was as if he was already dead.

And on those days, Derek was on his own.

The Sheriff couldn't bring himself to visit when Stiles was like that. He knew it was selfish and cruel to do that to Derek, but he just couldn't. Derek tried to understand, though. He knew how hard it must have been for Sheriff Stilinski to watch his only son go through the exact same disease that killed his own wife. His soulmate. But it was hard.

He tried.

And as days gone by, Derek cherished every day he had with Stiles by his side. The good days, and the bad.

Because he knew. Soon enough, there will be no more days at all.

And that was what Derek feared the most.

A/N: Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think :)