A/N: This is it, guys. The last chapter. Thank you all for all the kind messages and follows, it means a lot to me :)

I hope I'll see you soon, in my next story. Until then, take care!

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 5 and last:

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months turned into years and Derek Hale turned into a shell of himself.

As time passed by, Stiles' condition became worse. His rage fits and hallucinations grew much more frequent, and his speech was confused and stammered at best. He was so tired. All the time.

People gradually stopped visiting the worse he'd gotten, apologizing to Derek and the Sheriff when they finally left and avoiding them later. They never explained why, but Derek knew the reason, bright and clear. Stiles was... not himself, most of the time. He'd act rudely and throw inappropriate remarks, or stare blankly at some spot in the air for hours. He'd fall into unexpected screaming fits and break everything within his reach, and he'd make extremely bold comments on Derek's body, in front of everyone. It was hard to handle with for most of them, and Derek understood that.

Sometimes, Stiles'd stumble out of his bed and demand Derek would fuck him right then and there, in front of whoever was present, and horribly describe what he'd like Derek to do to him, never understanding what he was actually saying. It was terrible.

While Scott was the only one of Stiles' old friends that kept coming from time to time, Laura Hale couldn't do it anymore. As much as she loved the kid, it was too much for her to handle ans she told Derek the whole family was supporting him and his soulmate, but they really couldn't bear to be in that hospital room anymore. Not with Stiles' behavior making everyone extremely uncomfortable and on edge, all the time. Derek understood that, but it still hurt him to not have his family by his side. Especially with the one person who shared his soul fading slowly away right before his eyes.

Derek, sadly, was already used to all of it. The Sheriff too. They knew it wasn't Stiles' fault, and they did everything they could to coach him and encourage an appropriate behavior, while disapproving the bad ones. It helped Stiles' judgement, and made things just a little bit better.

On his better days, Stiles was being as if nothing had changed. Still, there was the constant anxiety and confusion, but Stiles was already used to those by now and knew how to tolerate them. He had troubles proccessing information, his speech slow and missing in certain spots. He looked so tired all the time, and Derek could barely take looking at him so weak and thin and pale. It was frightening, crippling... because Derek knew that at this point, Stiles was starting to give up. He was aware of his behavior and he hated and despised every bit of it, and he kept begging Derek to forgive him whenever he came out of his daze. And Derek would, every single day.

It was tough, but they were managing it, slowly. Because Derek and Stiles were soulmates, and they belonged together. That's what Derek kept telling himself every morning when he couldn't gather the will to get up, and that's what kept him going through another day of torture and misery.

"Sweetheart, you can't keep doing that." Talia Hale said one day, sitting at her kitchen table with her only son curled up on the chair beside her. His arms were crossed over one knee and shielded his face as he buried his head in them,his other leg dangling carelessly from the edge of his chair. She placed a warm hand on his forearm, caressing Derek's skin softly.

"I have to." Was the muffled reply.

Today was one of Stiles' good days, and the Sheriff was the one staying with him. Those days were rare lately, and whenever he could afford that, Sheriff Stilinski took a day off work to spend with his son, relieving Derek from his constant worry over Stiles.

Of course, Derek could never find true relief. Not when Stiles was dying slowly in front of his eyes. He could feel it, deep in his bones, as if he himself was wasting away too.

"It's killing you." Talia whispered, her hand stopping it's gentle stroke abruptly. She looked at her son with pity, her heart going out to him, wishing she could do something to lessen his pain. Derek tensed. "I see that, every day."

Derek's head suddenly snapped up, his green eyes flaring with anger. "What do you want me to do, then?" He lashed out, his voice rising slowly and making his mother flinch. "Abandon him? Leave him to die alone? What?"

"Derek..." Talia tried gently, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never meant for you to do that. It's just... I can't see you like that. I can't. It's like you're fading away with him."

"So what?" Derek hissed bitterly.

And it was true. With each passing day Derek Hale looked less and less like himself. He barely ate, his apetite long gone. He barely slept, had to be reminded to take showers or have something to eat. He lost weight at an alarming rate, and he looked so terribly exhausted, all the time. Talia couldn't remember the last time she saw her son laugh or smile, or even show an expression other than deep and sorrowful despair.

"Don't say that." She tried to say firmly, but her voice hitched at the last syllable. Derek looked up at her, the anger and frustration in his eyes fading into something deeply broken.

"He's my soulmate, mom." Derek mumbled, his gaze dropping to the smooth surface of the kitchen table. "He's my everything and I'm his. I can't lose him, I just... I can't."

Talia didn't even realize he was crying, until she saw the small drops of hot and salty tears dripping from his chin.

She let out a soft, "Oh, sweetheart..." and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he shook and cried and sobbed until there no more tears left and he just fell asleep, exhausted, right there at the kitchen table.

That evening, Derek was sitting by Stiles' bedside, trying to read some of today's newspaper. 'Trying' was the keyword, since Stiles - who attempted too to read one of the books on his Death Wishlist (his choice of title, despite Derek's disapproving glare) - didn't stop making frustrated angry grunts and hisses at his lap. It took almost seven minutes of that before Derek finally set his paper down, looking up at Stiles with a frown.

"What's going on?" He asked, waiting for Stiles to look at him. Stiles though, was busy glaring at his book as if it offended him personally.

"I c-can't." He said through gritted teeth, his forehead was creasing in frustration and covered in sweat, his chest rising and falling in

quick breaths. Recognizing the familiar first signs of a panic attack, Derek's heart missed a beat in fear, and he jumped out of his chair and quickly moved to sit on the bed next to Stiles, hands automatically moving to rest around his shoulders and rub small circles on his back.

"Shh, calm down." Derek instructed in a calm, confident voice. Much more confident than he actually felt, anyway. "Deep breaths, slowly. In and out." He took one hand off of Stiles' shoulders as the other kept rubbing his back, grabbing his chin gently and lifting his head up and aside until he looked straight into Derek's eyes, panic and fear storming inside wide whisky colored eyes as he fought to take fast, shallow breaths. "That's it, focus on me. Ain't I pretty?"

A stressed, breathless gasp of laughter escaped Stiles' lips, and Derek could see how his breathing began to slow down bit by bit, the panicked fear fading from Stiles' eyes as he calmed down enough to be able to speak again. Speaking was hard enough for him as it is, these days, Derek thought sadly.

When the episode passed, Stiles gulped, breathing deeply as he placed a thin, shaking hand on the cover of the book he had on his lap.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" Derek whispered gently into Stiles' messy hair, pressing his lips to the side of his head as he wound an arm around his shoulders again. Being this close to Stiles, having skin contact... that was one of the little things that gave Derek a sliver of hope and confort. It was good.

Stiles took another deep breath.

"I..." he tried, then paused. He seemed to be looking for the words, closing his eyes in concentration. "I can't- can't r-read." He finally said, and Derek could feel Stiles' thin and fragile body stiffening against his.

His heart sank.

"It's okay," He mumbled. Even though he knew it really wasn't. Even though he knew this was just another sign of Stiles' worsening condition, just another reminder... Derek just had to lie to him. Or they both would break down.

"It's fine."

It's been nearly fourteen months since Stiles was admitted to the hospital, and things started to get really bad at this point.

Stiles' weakening body was a perfect habitat for all kinds of sickness. He suffered fevers and colds and the flu more often than not these days, to the point where he couldn't even remember how being even remotely healthy felt like. Sometimes, they even hooked him up to a raspirator until his symptoms disappeared. It was better for everyone this way.

Speaking of memory, Stiles suffered from problems at this area too. It took him more time than necessary to remember names and places and objects he didn't use on a daily basis. His muscles didn't work well anymore and he needed help with the simplest tasks, like changing his clothes, taking showers and feeding.

Derek, of course, was the automatic volunteer for these tasks. He had help from the Sheriff whenever he was around - which was often enough to put his job at serious risk, even though his deputies did everything they could to cover his absence. He and the Sheriff both agreed they'll be the ones to take care of Stiles. They didn't like the idea of having an unfamiliar nurse do all of that for him.

So, as it was, whenever a new illness stopped by to give Stiles hell, they didn't pay it much attention anymore.

It happened on a Saturday morning, when Derek came to spend the day with his soulmate as he did every day for the past year-something.

"Good morning, beautiful." Derek said with a faint smirk as he walked into Stiles' white hospital room, approaching the bed and placing a soft kiss on his forehead before dropping to the chair beside him. Stiles fixed him with a half-hearted glare that said he knew very well how not beautiful he looked these days, then smiled.

Derek smiled in relief. It was one of the good days, he could tell.

"Mornin'." Stiles croaked back, then coughed.

Derek frowned. "You okay?" He asked, the hint of a smirk sliding off his face, making room for his usual worried expression. Stiles nodded.

"Fine." He mumbled slowly, his sentences lacking and broken. "Just... little hurt." He gestured at the general area of his throat and chest. Derek's frown deepened.

"Another cold, huh?" He grunted in sympathy. Stiles nodded shakily.

Great.

Derek hated to see him suffer. Well, worse than usual, anyway. If he could take his place he knew he'd do it in a heartbeat. Stiles - this clumsy, witty, charming boy who wasn't really a boy anymore, but a young man - had captured his heart even before they even met. He was his whole world because, how can one live without a part of his own soul?

Derek reached out and placed a cool hand on Stiles' forehead, his heart trembling in his chest as he watched Stiles' eyes flutter shut and his head tilting into his touch, a soft smile ghosting over his pale lips in relief. Derek couldn't help but smile a little as well. These days, Stiles was the only one who could make it happen, really.

"You're a little warm," Derek said quietly as Stiles opened his eyes again to look tiredly up at him. "Do you want to sit up? I'll get you some water." He offered, helping Stiles push himself up into a sitting position. He poured water into a glass that sat on Stiles' bedside table, then held it gently to his lips. It's been a while since Stiles was able to feed himself, with his hands too shaky and muscles too out of sync with his brain signals. He already accepted that it was now Derek's job to do those things for him, overcoming the humiliation he felt the first time he had to let Derek dress him. It turned out to be... quite pleasant, after all.

...they ended up making out.

Stiles gulped the water eagerly, his hand reaching to help Derek tilt it up. He winced with each gulp, letting out a small noise of discomfort when Derek put the empty glass down on the bedside table, then leaned forwards to place a short and soft kiss on Stiles' lips.

Watching Derek leaning a little to the side to rummage through the bag he carried, Stiles fought to get rid of the pale pink tint he had blooming on his cheeks when Derek kissed him. No matter how many times they did that, having Derek so intimately close to him always made his heart race and his left wrist tingle and pleasant shivers run through his spine.

He smiled eagerly as Derek pulled a thick book out of the bag, placing in on his lap as he leaned back in the chair beside Stiles' bed and opening it at the marked page.

"Do you remember where were we?" Derek asked, smiling a little up at Stiles. A few weeks ago, they made a deal that Stiles would eat everything Derek gave him without complaining, if Derek read for him all the books on his list. Listening to Derek's voice read him made Stiles much more calm than usual, decreasing his rage fits and keeping him as happy as he could get. It worked well for both of them, Derek decided

"The battle," Stiles said slowly, concentrating to find the correct words. "For Helms D-Deep."

"Yup." Derek confirmed, then glanced down at the book, huffing a small chuckle. "I still can't believe you've never read The Lord Of The Rings."

"Didn't have t-time. Was busy... get Scott... to w-watch Star W-Wars." Stiles stammered hoarsly, voice scratchy.

"Oh well." Derek shrugged and gave his soulmate a playful, very unusual wink, ignoring the gaps in Stiles' sentences. He'd gotten used to that long ago. "Good thing I'm here, eh?"

"Just r-read, asshat."

"Okay. Bossy." Derek smiled. A genuine, real smile with teeth and wrinkles and everything that made Stiles' stomach flip a couple of times. He then looked back at the book, starting where they left off yesterday.

"'What of the dawn?' they jeered." Derek began, his voice calm and fascinating, making Stiles lean back against his pillows and close his eyes with a content sigh. "'We are the fighting Uruk-hai. We do not stop the fight for night or day, for fair whether or for storm. We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn...'"

They should have noticed.

They should have paid attention. They should have suspected that when Stiles' cough didn't pass after four days, that something was wrong.

It was Pneumonia, the doctors said. A really nasty one. Being a hospitalized patient, Stiles was a target to all sorts of complications, and this was one of them.

It started as a common cold, or so it appeared. Then the fever came, and the chest pain. Stiles had hard time breathing, and every attempt at a deep gulp of air resulted in a violent coughing fit that left Stiles rough, panting and exhausted. Eventually, blood started making an appearance whenever that happened, and with it came tremors and cold sweat. It was a nightmare.

Derek was going out of his mind with worry. He refused to leave Stiles' bedside, even when the Sheriff tried to make him go and take a nap. They stayed on guard in turns with Mrs. McCall's special permission, changing the wet cloth on Stiles' forehead and making sure he drank enough water. The Sheriff abandoned the station completely, and he and Derek barely got any sleep at all in that lumpy chair at the hospital, panickly jerking out of a dream every few minutes and rushing to make sure Stiles was still breathing.

The doctors were clueless. They tried giving Stiles antibiotics, but his body seemed to be already immune to them. The infection in his lungs spread and took over his whole chest, and after almost two weeks of constant fear and exhausting worry, everyone silently knew Stiles probably wouldn't make his way out of this one.

On a sunday evening, Derek was the one left with Stiles while the Sheriff was getting them something to eat from the cafeteria downstairs. His head was resting on his folded arms, leaning on the edge of Stiles' bed and listening to his steady, ragged, shallow breaths.

A soft change in the sound and a hand in his hair made Derek jerk awake from the hazy state he was in. He bolted up in his chair, confused and sleepy eyes searching for Stiles' face in the darkening room.

"Hi." Derek whispered as his eyes found whisky brown. Stiles didn't answer, just kept breathing slowly, the mask on his face hiding his expression. His eyes fixed on Derek's, holding his gaze tiredly. His hand sneaked weakly over the covers, grasping Derek's fingers and squeezing as hard as he could. Which wasn't much, really. A shiver shook his body.

Derek tried to smile at him, but all he managed was a broken frown and a shuddering whine. He stroked his thumb over the back of Stiles' hand, a dreading, cold feeling worming into his heart.

"Glad to see you're awake," Derek mumbled in an attempt to seem cheery. Or at least not as scared as he really felt. He fixed the blankets around Stiles' shoulders, reaching his other hand to thread his fingers through his damp hair. Stiles closed his eyes tiredly, sighing. It was soft and gentle, intimate. But Derek couldn't shake the feeling something was terribly wrong.

"Stiles." He suddenly said, his throat closing as the words left his lips, fear seizing his heart. Stiles opened his eyes, finding Derek's green eyes again. "Is this... is this the end?"

The sad look in Stiles' eyes was all he needed to know the answer.

"I'm... I'm, sorry..." Was the soft whisper, a barely audible sound that Derek almost missed. A choked, wounded noise escaped his throat.

"No, no, please don't. Not yet." Derek mumbled, his fingers now trembling in Stiles' hair. How could this be it? They just found each other, they barely had time to explore each other. They should have had long years of happiness together. "Not yet."

Derek couldn't figure it out.

This couldn't be it. Couldn't. How could he lose someone like Stiles? He had read before about the tragedy of losing a soulmate, of the pain that followed. But nothing prepared him to this. He could literally feel the life seeping out of Stiles. He could feel the weakness spreading and the hole in his heart growing. The special place reserved for Stiles alone was emptying and turning into nothingness by the second, and Derek didn't think he could take it.

He wished it was him instead.

In a last desperate attempt, Derek concentrated all of his love and all the hope he could gather and pushed it through the Bond, trying to give Stiles everything he had. People could cure their soulmates, sometimes... right?

Then why. Why wasn't this working? He let out a frustrated, angry cry of grief, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Derek tasted blood.

Stiles's fingers tightened around his in a silent gratitude, eyes fluttering closed. His breathing picked up a little, shivers shaking his body as he tensed, gripping at Derek's hand with a frightened whimper. The frantic beeping around them was drowned by numbness as Derek leaned in close, his eyes welling up with tears as he kept mumbling soft reassurances in Stiles' ear, trying to calm him down. He could feel Stiles' pain throbbing in his own chest, an agonized groan making it's way past his lips. Stiles took one more deep and shuddering breath. There was another shiver and a shaking, silent cry...

And then, everything stopped, and Stiles' hand released Derek' fingers and dropped to the bed limply.

Wide eyed and shaking, Derek couldn't avert his eyes from the lifeless body in front of him.

This was it. Stiles was gone... really gone. And with him disappeared a huge piece of Derek's heart and soul, leaving an empty, bleeding hole inside his chest.

A choked, disbelieving sob tore out of his throat, and then he closed his eyes shut, dropping onto the bed as he grasped at Stiles' body, shaking and screaming and choking on his own sobs.

He will never be the same.

The hustle of doctors and nurses rushing in and the deafening shriek of the machines around him wasn't even noticed. Drowned in his grief and shock, Derek couldn't care about anything. After a while, the Sheriff came back. And when he saw his son dead and cold he cried and screamed and held onto Derek with everything he had. Because if he let go, he'd die too.

Talia Hale was there with her arms open when Derek knocked on her door that night, soaked and dripping with rain and sobbing helplessly into his coat's sleeve. She held him as he cried until morning, and then a little while longer. But she knew nothing she could do would make it okay. The only one that could was gone.

Derek never came to the funeral, and the Sheriff understood. Stiles' father knew Derek well enough to linger in the emptying graveyard until everyone left, until Derek finally showed up. They stood there together in silence as the sun went down in the horizon, just staring at the small hill of fresh dirt where Stiles was buried, taking some sort of comfort in each other's presence.

Years later, they'd keep meeting there on the same day. And every year, when Derek would ask Sheriff Stilinski if it ever got better, the Sheriff would just smile sadly, and look up the hill, where there was another grave resting in cold silence.

And Derek would just know.

"There are no happy endings,

Endings are the saddest part.

So just give me a happy middle...

And a very happy start."

-Shel Silverstein.

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