DISCLAIMER: I don't own Teen Wolf, or anybody in it.

A/N: One-shot. Very dark. Death. Derek/Stiles pairing, non-lemon. I apologize to anyone who rages over this, but it popped in my head and I had to get it out on paper (Or whatever, you know what I mean.) Please review. Please?

It's All Over but the Crying

It was never supposed to end like this. A fairy tale without a happily ever after was bullshit. And Derek's life with Stiles had been nothing short of a Disney movie come to life. The once-annoying teenager had grown into a man that Derek loved, and had vowed to spend the rest of his life with. Stiles became a man that Derek could rely on, someone that could protect him when he was his most vulnerable. He had become a man that loved passionately, and gave everything he could for the betterment of those around him. He'd gone from being a child himself to helping Derek raise one of their very own. They had only known one another ten years, but it felt like a lifetime.

And now he lay dying in Derek's arms, blood pooling beneath his shivering body.

Derek cradled him gently, whispering quietly into his ear as he rocked back and forth steadily. Stiles smiled weakly as the blade in his hand slipped away, the blood-stained blade landing with a sickening slap in the crimson lake beneath him. His eyelids fluttered closed as the memories played back.

The hunters had been pressing down on the Hale pack relentlessly in the months prior. The Argents had backed off long ago, but there were always others, and they had no regard for the sacred Code. Derek and the others were gone nigh constantly, trying to defend themselves and their loved ones from the onslaught.

But the dust seemed to be settling. Things were at peace. A hunter hadn't been spotted or heard from in nearly two weeks. And the timing could not have been better. The Hales were celebrating their tenth anniversary, and the pack had come together to surprise them. They had celebrated long into the evening before the couple were forced into leaving to enjoy a romantic getaway. Scott, who had remained by Stiles' side long after high school ended had planned and paid for everything, and the pack had all volunteered to stay for the weekend to keep watch over their son, Alex.

It had been perfect.

But their passionate weekend was quickly forgotten upon their return. Stepping back into their home, all that could be seen was red. Blood painted every surface of the house, from the walls to the floors, furniture to picture frames. Nothing was left untainted.

Stiles stood paralyzed, his eyes trailing slowly up the stairs. That was when the first was discovered. At the top of the stairs, a body had been cruelly nailed to the wall, crucified as it were. But since that act of hatred had not been enough, the killers had been thoughtful enough to remove the victim's head as well.

He dropped to his knees without a sound, his breath and ability to form coherent thoughts stolen from him. Scott McCall had been brutally murdered and nailed to their wall as some sort of sick warning. But it hadn't stopped there. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lydia. At least the half that they had left. A severed arm had been clutching her hand. Presumably Jackson's.

He was vaguely aware of Derek's screams. But it sounded as though he were underwater, everything coming back muffled and hollow. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Nothing made any sense. This wasn't happening. Nothing like this could happen. It wasn't possible. Derek was in his face, yelling. Why was Derek yelling?


Stiles snapped back into reality quickly, his eyes locked with Derek's. Alex. Their son. "Oh god, Derek.."

They bolted up the stairs, Stiles hot on Derek's heels, wolf-fueled powers or no. He ignored the body of his best friend, shutting his mind off from everything except the thoughts of his son. They flew from room to room, searching frantically. Rushing for Alex's room, Stiles threw open the door and felt himself relax slightly. This was the only room that wasn't a glistening shade of red. "Allison?" he called to the girl who knelt in the corner, looking as though she were holding onto something. Thank God, they're safe.. "Allison," he called again.

His stomach sank. Before he could move, Derek rushed into the room, heading straight for the girl. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide, pupils nearly taking over the glassy green of his irises. Stiles quickly moved to him, and his heart stopped beating. Allison's eyes and tongue had been removed, and she had been posed clutching their son.

He was the only one the hunters hadn't mutilated, but that didn't stop them from delivering him to the same fate that fell upon the others. Derek couldn't move. His eyes were as red as the blood that seeped from Allison's wounds, but he couldn't move. Stiles had broken completely. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he didn't feel. His mind had shut down completely. The world simply ceased to exist.

Stiles didn't know when or how he'd gone downstairs and grabbed the butcher's knife. He didn't remember dragging the blade across his skin, cutting far deeper than should have been possible. He didn't feel the pain. He didn't hear Derek's cries of anguish at what he'd done. He didn't see the tears that streamed down his lover's face. He didn't taste Derek's desperate kiss on his lips. All he remembered was waking up to see Derek's reddened face staring down into his, telling him he loved him, assuring him that everything was alright.

His eyes opened slowly as his husband continued to whisper softly to him, kissing him gingerly. The searing pain left in the wake of the blade he took to his skin had faded. All he felt now was the icy grip of death. He shivered. "Cold," he managed.

Derek nodded. "Let's get you warmed up," he said quietly. Stiles smiled. Derek always knew what to do. It was one of the many reasons Stiles loved him so dearly. He could feel sleep tugging at his eyes as they slid closed. "Tired.."

"Sleep," came Derek's reply.

"'Kay," he whispered.

Derek laid him down gently as he walked slowly into the kitchen, rummaging around silently in search of something. He returned quickly, flicking open the lighter he'd procured and staring at the flame. He'd already lost his house and his family to a fire once before. Since his family had been taken from him a second time, his house going with them only seemed fitting.

He tossed the lighter at the panel of drapes that flanked the door, his gaze emotionless as they quickly went up in flames. He gently scooped up his husband's body in his arms, holding him lovingly against his chest. "I love you," he whispered through his tears as he ascended the stairs, heading for their son's room.