*ANGST WARNING*

Stiles noted the empty driveway with a vague interest before glancing around quickly and scaling up to Jackson's window. The house was perfectly silent and Stiles ignored his twinge of unease, slipping into Jackson's room and looking around.
"Jackson?" The only answer was the echo of his voice off the walls. It occurred to him then that this was at least a little strange. His heart thumped harder in his chest. Light crept from under the closed door to his left. Stiles crossed to it, hand slipping on the wood as he pushed it open. There was a clang of sound as the door hit something but Stiles' eyes couldn't move from the hand hanging over the edge of the tub, dripping red.

…

15 Minutes Earlier
The motion of Derek's muscles was smooth, practiced and easy as he swung the ax. The charred door didn't put up much of a fight. There was a slick stab of pain and he paused. Jackson. His mouth curled in a frown. Probably just some poor attempt at revenge. Derek growled slightly and swung again. It wasn't his fault. He'd been up against an alpha and the only thing he had to stand on was his mate. But his mate was loyal to that same alpha. Derek had lashed out. Maybe on some level he knew it was wrong. He wasn't letting himself focus on that. He dropped the ax when his arms swelled with pain and he jogged up the back steps for a beer. Stabbing pains lit up his torso and he wondered how exactly Jackson was doing it. Was he cutting? DIdn't kids do that these days? He felt another twinge of guilt and took a longer swig of beer. What was his mate doing? The stabs stopped and Derek blew out a quick sigh of relief. Lifting the brown bottle for the last of the beer he tried to decide what to do next. It was when the glass slipped from nerveless fingertips and crashed to the floor that he paused again. Each forearm was alight with pain. An angry, thick line of red stood out on the pale underside of skin.
"He'll heal," he muttered, before his mind actually caught up with the words. "He'll heal," he repeated then, desperation edging in. It was only another short moment before a stab that left him breathless assured him that no, he wouldn't.

…

Stiles fell forward, skidding in pink water and slamming into the side of the tub. He yanked Jackson up, letting out a horrified gasp at all the silver hilts sticking out of his torso. He hauled him out, trying to ignore the warm water that slopped onto him, making him shudder. Stiles pulled out the knives, six of them, and laid Jackson on the floor before realizing he wasn't breathing.
"No, no, no," Stiles pleaded, already feeling a disconnect, already feeling the gaping hole Jackson had left. Chest drawn tight, he fought to remember everything he knew about CPR.

…

3 Minutes Earlier
Peter was torn from sleep. His heart pounded as adrenaline and fear flooded it. Where was Stiles? Where was his mate? His eyes ripped over the room, as if Stiles would just be sitting in a corner. He stumbled from bed and jumped out the window, feet running before they'd actually hit the ground.

…

Relief so sharp it hurt hit as Jackson coughed up murky water, eyelids fluttering. Stiles yanked him into an awkward hug, sighing with Jackson passed out. He could hear his heart now. Damaged, not dead. That, Stiles could deal with.
"Stiles," Stiles sighed again, head sagging to Jackson's shoulder.
"Here," he exhaled, "in here." Peter shoved through the door roughly, knocking what looked like a silverware set out of the way. Stiles supposed that made sense. "He's alive," he said, much calmer than he felt.
"What the hell happened?"
"I think he tried to kill himself. I think he got scary close to succeeding too."
"Are you alright?" Stiles laughed hollowly.
"How am I supposed to know?"
"Well, let's get him to bed." Stiles sat in bed next to Jackson and took hold of his hand, unwilling to be away from him just yet. "Do we know where his parents are?" Stiles shook his head. Peter nodded before moving to the dresser and yanking out a shirt. He pulled it on as he paced halfway to the window. "I didn't realize it was so bad," Peter breathed. "I didn't realize."
"We were distracted," Stiles muttered bitterly. Part of him know that it wasn't their fault but he couldn't help a flush of guilt. He looked to Jackson again. He could just be sleeping, he looked so peaceful. Stiles wondered how things had gone so wrong in his mind.
"Derek," Peter growled. Stiles wasn't sure why until Derek jumped through the window. Peter lunged to him and slammed him into the wall, narrowly missing Jackson's closet door. Derek growled, shoving at him, his blue eyes glued to Jackson.

"I should have killed you the second I found out what you did to that boy," Peter said. Stiles' eyes were riveted to them and he clutched Jackson's hand tighter. Derek squirmed desperately in Peter's hold, whimpering snarls falling out of his mouth. "But you were family," Peter continued, calmly, "so I let you live." Stiles wondered if he'd been like this when he killed Laura. He shuddered. "If he dies…" Peter let the sentence hang. Derek whimpered, struggling again.
"Let me see him Uncle, please."
"No," Peter released, as if the idea was ridiculous. It almost was, but Derek's pain was palpable.
"I'll do anything you want. Please Uncle, please!" Peter paused and glanced to Stiles and Jackson, Stiles nodded.
"The war ends now. No more revenge." Derek nodded frantically, whimpering again.
"Yes, yes, please, yes…" he stumbled desperately over the words and Stiles only then realized he was crying. Peter let him go and Derek shot across the room in a blur. He fell next to the bed, pulling Jackson almost totally into his arms. He shoved his face into Jackson's neck, still crying. "God please," he begged, "I'll never ask for anything ever again. I'll never want anything again I swear." He pulled Jackson's wrists up for examination before clutching the healing skin. "I'll never hurt him again, please," he whispered. Stiles slowly released Jackson's hand and crossed to Peter, hugging him tightly. Peter hugged him back as they watched Derek cling to Jackson, who barely clung to life.

Derek didn't move for hours. He sat in Jackson's bed, half on the edge, with Jackson clutched to his chest. He'd murmur into his skin and touch him gently. Derek touched Jackson endlessly. His hair. His hands. His neck. His jaw. His closed eyelids and every so often his wrists or chest.
"You should eat something," Peter told Derek.
"Not now," Derek snapped, voice ragged. "He'll wake soon. He has to wake soon," he insisted. Peter didn't comment but nodded to soothe Stiles' worked glance. Resting his head on his knees, Stiles went back to waiting. It was maybe another hour before Jackson's eyes opened. He groaned, trying to pull away from Derek. Derek held him even closer, his whole body shaking. Stiles lost count of the 'sorry's watching Jackson's pained expression. "I'll never hurt you again," Derek promised.
"I don't want to see you," Jackson whispered. Peter laid a hand on Derek's shoulder and Derek slowly released Jackson. "I never want to see you again," Jackson said, voice gaining strength, "why do you think I tried to kill myself?" He turned on his side, away from all of them. "Just go away please."
"Not too far," Peter added, "don't think I've forgotten your promise to me." Stiles thought it was a wonder Derek made it to the window without collapsing. He didn't think he'd ever seen one single person in so much pain. Ever.

It was hard taking his mind off Derek but Stiles forced himself as Peter nodded to Jackson's curled back. He slipped from the dresser and climbed into bed, pulling Jackson into his arms. Peter climbed in too, wrapping his arms around Jackson from the other side.
"He's gone?" Jackson questioned quietly.
"Yeah, he's gone." Jackson shivered in their arms.
"Oh," he murmured, voice devoid of emotion.
"Why'd you do it Jackson?" Stiles demanded, staring at the top of his head. "Why didn't you come to us? Why didn't you let us help you?"
"Stiles," Peter cut in gently, "not now." Stiles snapped his jaw shut, nodding to himself and inhaling deeply. He leaned closer to Jackson, letting his eyes close.
"I'm sorry Jackson," he whispered. "You scared me. Really bad."
"'M sorry," Jackson mumbled, face still shoved half into the pillow, half on Stiles' chest.
"Okay," Stiles returned, helping Peter bring the cover over all of them before reaching for Peter's hand.
"Everything's alright," Peter said, "We're together, we're fine." Stiles repeated the words in his head, relaxing marginally.

A/N: So yeah. This just…refused to not happen. It literally has been in my head for months. I can for sure tell you this is the Jerek breaking point. It's moving up from here. And nothing too horrible is headed for Peter/Stiles. So this was the last big thing as far as angst goes.

And explanation is coming as well. Then the healing can begin.

So I'm sorry. And thank you for reading..