A/N! Okay, so first of all, this chapter is really short, but the story's almost over. Let me know if you want a part two. It will reveal who has been doing all this and why as well as explain Scott's eyes. Also, I have a oneshot I'm about to publish too, so please, rad and review that as well!
STILES POV
When I got to Derek's place, he was asleep, making it easy for me to insert the needle into his chest, pushing out all the medication into his blood stream. He didn't wake up, but I didn't really expect him to. I go to the bathroom, disposing of the syringe before coming back, kissing Derek's sleeping lips, covering him with a blanket before leaving, knowing he needed rest to heal.
SCOTT POV
I woke up way too early, tossing and turning, trying to slip back into sleep. Peter couldn't stay last night so I was by myself, and had the worst feeling of dread. Something was going to happen. Hearing my phone go off, I'm surprised it's from Derek. Opening the message, my blood runs cold.
Scott, I need help.
I don't know what's happening.
Derek Hale never asked for help. Something was seriously wrong. I send a message to Stiles and Peter.
To Derek's loft.
NOW!
I race over as quickly as possible, all of us getting there at the same time. My panic must have showed because they raced in at my heels. Opening Derek's door, I can only smell death and wolfsbane. Trying to ind the source of the smell, I'm lead to Derek's room. Walking in, I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get the image out of my mind, but it seemed etched onto the inside of my eyelids.
Derek, laying there in bed, the sheets pulled down to reveal his chest. His chestthat had a huge hole, the size of a bullet wound, over his heart, black blood spilled from his mouth, now covering his chin, neck, and chest, thick and dried on. The wound itself seemed to be oozing other fluids than just blackened blood.
I heard Stiles scream, sobbing and shouting Derek's name, running, presumably to the cold wolf, throwing himself at the lifeless body. All I could do was fall to my knees and cry, all that was left of my pack was Stiles and Peter. The grief I felt was too much. I couldn't think or feel. I couldn't do anything. Stiles, Peter and I stayed there until the smell became too much, than Peter drove us to his apartment, telling us to stay put. He left again, sahing he'd be back soon.
Unable to do more than grieve, Stiles and I cuddled each other, trying to reassure each other it'd be okay. I had no idea how Stiles could handle it. Loosing his Mate. I haven't been with Peter near as long and I would go insane if I eger lost him. When Peter came back, thankfully unharmed, he smelled like bleach and other cleaners. He didn't smell like my Peter.
A few days went by before Peter allowed me out of the house without an escort, so I went back to work. When I got back, I heard two hearts beating. Thinking Peter was home I grinned, probably like an idiot but I didn't care, and called out, "Honey, I'm home!" as I walked across the threshold. There was a momemt of nothing, then a scream, Stiles. Stiles was screaming, the sound suddenly cut off and there were gunshots. Five of them. I ran up the stairs taking three at a time. Making it to Stiles' room, tears gush down my face.
There's Stiles, laying on the groundin a growing pool of blood, his body still warm. I hear one last, stuttering beat of his heart before it just stops. All five bullets had been emptied into his head. Leaving him no way to be alive. No one else was there. Just Stiles. No evidence of anyone else ever being there. Grabbing onto Stiles' body, I clutch him to my chest, but he's already gone. The only sounds in the room were my own heartbeat, ragged breathing, and screaming. I couldn't find the strength to do anything more than cling to Stiles and scream, howl, make any noise I could to convey the pain. The emptiness and loss.
All I had left was Peter. I couldn't loose him too. If it hurt this much to loose Stiles, I knew I couldn't cope with loosing my Mate. I wasn't taking my eyes off him again.