Authors Note: Apparently my last chapter didn't go over well. I couldn't think of a dramatic way to end the night so that it was Sterek and Not Sterek at the same time. I liked it. Even though it was short I just felt it needed to be short and updated. I can't believe so many people would unfavorite just for that reason.

If you didn't like that chapter you may not like this one. It involves some heavy stuff. It's not funny, it's real.

This may offend you. It shouldn't, but don't expect humor to make it better.




He stared at the gun. It was sunk down slightly on his bed, heavy with the weight of regret and bullets. Little creases folded up under the sheets from it. His hands shook every time he got near it. So he just continued to stare at it. His fingers trembled at its sight and he questioned if he would ever be able to hold it.

He had never really touched a gun before. He had gone shooting a few times with his father before, but not like this. It was his father's gun. If he was around he would have been pissed he had taken it out of its spot in the nightstand. But what did it matter, his father was busy anyways, somewhere else always caring about somebody else.

He finally collapsed onto a chair next to the bed. His eyes never left the black beast of the gun. All of his fingers were shaking and sweat dripped down his face. He hadn't felt this terrified in a long time. He wasn't this scared when fighting Peter and Jackson all those times. This was different.

He brought his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard and his lips smashed into a grimace. He let out a quick sniffle, clenching his eyes for only a minute, taking away the sight of the gun. When he opened them, they were blurry with tears. Except for the gun, that was clear, that was in focus.

And that was all that was left for him.




"Stiles!" The voice called again. But the boy continued to march ahead, a determined glare in his eyes. "Damn it Stiles! Stop!"

A hand reached around his shoulders, yanking him back as a pair of glowing red eyes seeped into his own. Stiles shook his shoulders gently, rolling them out of the hands touch.

"Look, I need to do this." He said. His heart beat was pounding, but it was truthful. Every beat was sincere and terrified.

Derek shook his head, his lips twitched with uncertainty, begging to find words. "No, no you don't." His eyes grew wider with authority. He stared back into Stiles averting eyes. "Nobody is making you do this."

"Somebody doesn't have to make me." Stiles continued, meeting the fierce eyes. "I want to do this."

"Stiles…" Derek murmured.

"I need to do this."

Derek pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Why the hell are you so stubborn?"

Stiles shrugged. "I guess it's because I ate all my vegetables as a kid."

Derek clenched his jaw tightly, not finding any humor in the serious situation. The awkward pair, a lanky teenage boy in plaid and the muscular man in a leather jacket, stopped at the edge of the corner. Derek could hear Stiles heart thumping from fear, pounding with the desire to run- just run. But Stiles never listened to anything, not his mind, not his heart, and not Derek. Those big brown eyes just stared up at the house and a large gulp echoed around the street.




Scott could hear the heartbeats outside of his window. One of them was so familiar and even more rapidly paced than normal. Stiles heartbeat was always erratic- caught in between ADHD and seizure level. The other was faster than normal as well, but it had a lower and deeper tone.

He let out a groan, propping his elbows against the edge of the bed and thrusting his face into his hands. It had only been two nights ago and he couldn't get it out of his head.

All he wanted was Stiles. To turn him, to kill him- really, he didn't know what he wanted. And it made him sick. He remembered everything. Every vivid detail played itself over and over again in his mind. It was painted on the inside of his eyelids and every blink retold the story again and again.

Once Stiles left the locker room, Scott could feel the rage, the anger, the disgust- every feeling that had ever consumed him in his wolf form. It boiled up the moment Stiles slammed the door and fled. Scott dug his claws into the roots of his hair, begging to get a grip, but all he could feel were the horrid feelings that flooded into him. It burned at every thought. His fist found its way, slamming into a locker and causing a massive crater to appear in its wake. He thought of Allison- of her lips, her curves, her hair, her smile, her laugh- anything. But the animalistic desire thrust out love and lust, overpowering them with rage and abandonment. He tried to think of his mom, of happy times with Stiles, of anything he could. But it still came. It was a tidal wave, consuming and drowning out everything human.

It came with a fire and rippled through him and Scott felt nothing more than the need to make Stiles pay. He had given him the chance to be a werewolf. He had given him a lot, and now it was his turn. In his mind, everything made sense. The scent of Derek, the putrid fear that leaked off of Stiles- Stiles was abandoning him. And that begged for death and retribution. The wolf was hurt and needed to punish.

He followed the brunette out of the school, leaping over rooftops and crouching, lying in wait as he lingered in the police station. His patience to pounce even lasted until he got to Stiles house. But the moment his feet pressed on the rooftop he knew he was not alone. And despite being in his animalistic senses, he could still feel afraid of Derek. He was the alpha and Scott was just a lingering little pup. And so Scott waited.

The anxiety, oh the fickle anxiety, gnawed on his soul. He felt Stiles heartbeat rocket at the site of Derek and Scott wanted nothing more than to rip it out. He wanted to rip out Derek's heartbeat as well, which had escalated in similar response. But he waited. It had to be just him and Stiles, no vile Derek interrupting them.

Suddenly, another scent filled the air. It was lust. It was desire. And it was coming from Derek. Scott gritted his teeth, this was wrong. Those scents should not have been coming from Derek and yet they radiated off of him, infuriating Scott's wolf even more. But within moments there was a shout, a stuttered apology, and another slammed door. Scott looked down and saw a disgruntled Stiles moodily stalking across the street. His hands were plunged into his pockets and a deep frown was laced across his face. He was muttering something as he crossed the street under the dim light.

Now. Scott thought as he looked at the shirtless boy. The skin was begging to be shredded. Those wide eyes pleaded to be emerged in shock and fear. The moon hung high in the background and edged on the wolfs plea for blood.

Scott's fingertips were curled over the edging of the roof, rubbing against the shingles in horrid anticipation. Scott was nearly foaming at the edge of his lips, this is what he wanted, this is what the wolf wanted; Revenge, punishment, and justice.

A slight bumping noise disrupted his murderous train of thought, drawing his attention away from the sulking boy. It was a faint voice, yelling for Stiles attention. Derek. Scott thought as his frown grew deeper into his feature. Not his prey. Not again. Not this time. Derek would not distract Stiles and he would not take him away.

He watched as Derek barely stumbled out of the house. One of his hands was wrapped around his forehead and the other around his stomach. Scotts eyes leered down at the figure.

In a flash he leapt down from the roof, slamming his body on the diluted figure beneath him. Derek wasn't expecting it and was smashed by the impact, falling to the ground in a twisted position with Scott lingering over him, eyes glowing mad. Derek attempted to let out a sharp growl, but he found himself still in odd contact with his werewolf after the dilemma with Stiles. It came out as a distorted yelp.

A faint smile curled at Scott's lips as he bent over the exhausted Derek. His icy hands gripped the elder man's wrist and pushed backwards, twisting the arm and shoulder with a sickening crack and shook through Derek's body. Derek let out a stifled scream at the pain and the series of popping ticks that occurred. Scott continued to twist and push it backwards- the bone snapping in a multitude of places.

Derek attempted to thrash, to shove Scott off with his free limbs, but Scotts instincts were too fast as his hand clutched around Derek's neck and pressed down, constricting the air flow leaving the man with heaping breaths of air.

He leaned over the struggling body, teeth darting out and eyes with a sickly yellow and gently murmured "He's mine". With a final snap he completely dislocated the arm, leaving it connected but all nerves split. It hung uselessly on the ground next to Derek whose eyes were wide with shock.

Something was telling Scott to kill Derek. Then he would be the alpha. Then he would have the power. Then Stiles wouldn't have a choice. Then he could protect Allison and get rid of Peter.

It would be so easy. A little snap or cut here or there. It could all be over.

But as he was looking down at Derek, the glowing red eyes caught his attention, drawing their eyes into a lock. Derek's face had cancelled out the pain and drew a serious and determined look.

"No, he's not."

He said it, so calm, so confident and with so much purity that Scott was frozen for a moment.

Scotts face contorted immediately at the response. It was a challenge. And it could be ended oh so simply. But his hand would not move. He couldn't kill Derek. He found himself frozen, lingering over the body with wide eyes.

Not His. Who was this person to say that Stiles wasn't his? Stiles was his… friend. Stiles was always there. He was his. Stiles was always Scott. When did he come to be shared by Derek?

Yet Derek had said it with such confidence, such truth. And again the scent of desire lifted off of his leather jacket. It was disgusting. And confusing. It seemed to push Scott away from the broken figure.

Everything just seemed so wrong.

What was Stiles to Derek? What was Stiles to him?

Scotts hand shot to his head, fingers curling through his hair trying to push the thoughts away. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel so confused anymore. He just didn't want any of it.

And so he ran. He left Derek there, the desire to kill him all but pushed to the back of his mind. He stumbled away from the confused alpha. But he didn't get far before the scent of Stiles found its way back to his nose. And that brief moment of clarity, of humanity- it was gone.

And he had no more patience to wait on Stiles. He quickly tracked him down, watching from the darkened trees as he passed by.

Stiles would come. He always came. And so Scott cried, he howled, he begged. He screamed, he yelped, he pleaded. Soon enough he heard Stiles feet plowing through the woods, romping around like a noisy animal.

And then… Scott didn't want to remember what happened. He tried so hard to push the taunts out of his mind. Those weren't his words. He tried to pretend the chase didn't happen, that he didn't savagely threaten his best friend and chase him.

He tried not to picture Stiles face. It was crushed and he knew it was the end. But past the tears and cringing, all Scott could feel was the disappointment. Stiles was disappointed. There was no anger in those brown eyes and that seemed to dig the most into Scott's heart.

Then a figure crashed into him and that disgust in himself washed away, replaced again by the rage. His vision swarmed with red and he remembered throwing him against a tree… But when he looked down there was blood.

On his hand.

And his hand was shoved through a stomach.

His hand was coated in the dense liquid. It dripped over and poured across his hands. Blood.

So warm and it came with a sweet aroma that his wolf seemed to devour, yet with a metallic sting that burned what was left of the human inside Scott.

He looked up at Derek's distraught and pained face. He looked back down at his hand. It was soaked with blood. He did it. He felt sick looking at it. But he couldn't stop and his arm twisted, screwing the intestines in a sickening pattern. He was sickened. He couldn't believe that was his arm. But he could feel the organs sloshing against his skin, tickling the edges of his arm hair, and the blood stench creeping up his nose, feeding the animal inside him even more.

Then he heard her voice.

It was like church bells and the devils anthem at the same time.

What was she doing here?

Why was she here?

What would she think?

He experienced a new type of fear just then. It was worse than getting caught cheating on another girl; it was worse than forgetting an anniversary or birthday- it was getting caught killing your best friend. And she was there. Her eyes were swollen with confusion.

Past that, Scott couldn't remember much. He was silent. He exchanged confused looks with his lover… and then he ran.

He ran. He heard a car behind him.

Allison's voice carried through the forest, screaming alongside her father.

He just ran.

Ran from Allison, ran from Stiles, and ran from all the confusion.

He ran for a whole day, dodging Allison and eventually he wound up at his house, the last place he would be found.

That's when everything crushed him. Derek- all he could picture was his arm through his stomach. Stiles- his disappointed face. Allison- her disgust and confusion at her bloody boyfriend.

Once the rage and adrenaline and emotions of being a werewolf faded, he threw up. In an effort of exhausted he attempted to get sleep, but the images that rampaged around his mind were too horrible.

He couldn't even take a shower to wash off the blood and grime- the touch of water seemed to burn him and magnify everything. There were chills that were icy and burning at the same time, racing all over his skin with nippy teeth.

That's when he remembered the gun and the way out of the confusion.




Stiles had walked into this house a hundred times, probably more. But the lump in his throat had never occurred before. He was terrified. His hand lingered over the handle and Derek stood behind him, hand gently resting on the edge of Stiles shaking shoulders. The warmth was comforting, but it didn't distill the fear. What if Scott attacked him? What if Scott hated him? Stiles face cringed. What if he hated Scott?

He should hate him. Deep inside he knew that there should be a flowing stream of hatred. He should be flooded with disgust and hatred at the teen, but he couldn't do it.

Stiles thought back to the first time he met Scott. They were friends instantly. Scott was silent at first, nodding softly to all of Stiles blabbering and eventually he opened up, talking with a wild sense of humor that nearly made Stiles fall of the swings of the playground. They had been together ever since. And every time Stiles saw Scott, covered in patchy werewolf hair and a grimace, all Stiles could see was that shy little boy rocking by himself on the swings. Stiles saw himself so much in those big brown eyes. Even when those eyes turned yellow and full of an unknown beast, Stiles could still find Scott in them.

And it wasn't his fault. Well, maybe it was. But Stiles wouldn't allow Scott to blame himself for his actions. He couldn't control the wolf and his urges. Whatever those urges included. Stiles knew he couldn't do any better of a job and would be devastated. Of course, Stiles wasn't dumb enough to fall in love with the hunter's daughter… but Stiles pushed that thought out of his mind. He had made a decision he was going to stick to it.

"Stiles…" Derek's breath lingered with concern on Stiles neck. Suddenly all Stiles wanted was to run into the alphas arms and bury this uncomfortable feeling in his broad chest.

Yet he felt himself being pulled towards the door. "He's upstairs right?" Stiles stumbled out. Even his tongue was nervous. He swiveled around, looking into Derek's blue eyes that responded with a subtle nod. Derek could sense Scott's presence in the upper level.

His finger lightly pressed the doorbell and a soft ringing echoed through the house. Stiles chewed the edge of his lip to the beat of the humming tune inside the house. He paused for a few moments, expecting to hear the normal thundering down the stairs and the creak of the floor. Only silence followed.

Stiles head rocked nervously back and forth as his finger plunged into the button again. Another eternity of silence passed and no movement. Stiles glanced up Derek who shook his head, indicating that even his highly sensitive ears heard nothing.

Stiles finger continued to prod the button and a series of obnoxious buzzing sounds ringed from inside. He swore lightly under his breath and his finger jabbed and jabbed. Derek reached out, wrapping his rough hands around Stiles finger and gently pulled it off the button.

A deep breath flooded Stiles lungs as he tried to calm down. He reached his fingers into his pocket and began to dig around for the keys. Finally his fingers grasped the grossly scented metal and he spun around the keychain, searching for a silver key with simple indents.

Stiles shoved his key in the door. He had a key for a long time, but he never used it. The window was always so much more exciting, so much more exotic. Pulling that crafty maneuver seemed like a horrible idea right now. Mrs. McCall had given the key to him, telling him their house was always open for him.

With a slight click the door opened and in Stiles excitement he literally would have fallen into the house had Derek not grabbed him by the back scruff of his shirt and held him up. Derek was tempted to roll his eyes, but he was overcome with the seriousness of the situation.

Stiles had begged Derek to come back and talk to Scott hours before. He knew Scott would be at his house. Derek couldn't understand why after everything he would still run back to Scott. And that was when Stiles almost broke down and cried, all he could do was stumble out a few sentences about friendship. Seeing Stiles, with red puffy eyes, it killed Derek and he couldn't bear to see it and agreed, if only to patch things over with Scott or, if it came to it, kill him.

Stiles ran into the house. He had expected some kind of greeting. A shout or some running footsteps or some kind of acknowledgment from Scott.

"He's still upstairs…" Derek whispered, edging on the side of caution.

Of course around Stiles, the man who drove through a wall to hit Jackson and Gerard subtly wasn't really that important.

"SCOTT!?" Stiles screamed, his hands cupped around his lips. Derek cringed at the loud noises and shot Stiles an annoyed look. But the younger teen didn't catch the look; instead his eyes were focused with slight tear blurs at the stairs.

"SCOTT!" He repeated, roaring up the stairs with Derek protectively locked at his side.

Stiles vision was beginning to get blurry from anxiety and tears. His legs inched towards the stairs.

That was when the sound of a bullet shot through the house.




Scott heard them coming. Their heartbeats were distant in his ears, only adding additional thumps to his headache. He swallowed hard and fingered the edges of the gun. It was slick and smooth at the edges with a scatter of bumps near the trigger. His hand slowly wrapped around the cool metal that seemed to sting at the touch.

This was it. This could end it all. Stiles would be safe. Allison would be free to hunt werewolves and fulfill her family role, or maybe fall in love with somebody with a slightly less complicated situation. Stiles would be safe.

His mother passed briefly in his mind. He couldn't leave her alone. But the grief of his actions for the last weekend pressed down with a heavy weight on his mind. Sinking, drowning, and pushing his threads to this world lower and lower.

His fingers wrapped around the trigger. It felt so wrong and unfamiliar.

He heard his name shouted and his heart skipped a beat. He hadn't noticed the pair below enter the house. They were closer now. Scott couldn't understand why Stiles was here. Had they come to kill Scott?

All Scott could see was Stiles face and guilt was heavy on his heart. He couldn't look at the face anymore in his mind, yet it appeared with every blink. Every corner of the room was his face.

There was his name again.

He couldn't handle it. Everything was falling apart. It was painful to breath anymore. The tears sunk down his face and dripped lightly on the tip of the gun. This was it.

His breaths came shorter and shorter. This must be a panic attack, he thought dismally. Stiles had gone through panic attacks before… Stiles would be safe. Allison would be free. Things would be better without him. And even if they weren't he couldn't handle the grief that was consuming his heart. It was dense and he felt himself sinking into the floor.

He raised the gun to the edge of his head and pressed on the trigger with a final goodbye.




Stiles burst through the room. He didn't have time to fiddle with a lock, to beg and pound on the door. He pressed into the door with all of his might, with adrenaline and strength he didn't know he had and the door fell backwards and caved in from his fury.

"SCOTT!" Stiles screamed as his eyes frantically darted around the room.

And there was Scott, his hands on his head and a deep sob emerging from his chest.

Stiles had seen enough crime shows and his father's police reports to notice that something was wrong. More wrong than this whole situation. There was no blood. Not a drop. At first he thought that Scott's werewolf healing kicked in, but that wouldn't prevent the blood.

He heard Scotts sobbing and immediately bolted towards his friend who lay crumpled down on the floor. "What the hell Scott? Tell me you are alive! Don't you dare do this!"

The moment Stiles came within a foot of the figure, Scott reared up, scooting away from Stiles. The gun was still in his hand and instinctively it pointed at Stiles.

Stiles eyes grew wide and crossed at the gun. It was sleek and black and pointing right at him. His breath immediately caught in his throat. This was the last thing he had expected. A werewolf with a gun.

"Scott!" Derek shouted, entering the room to see Scott with the gun pointed at his precious Stiles. His legs sunk into a crouch and his claws sprung out, ready to sink into a certain boys flesh, when Stiles exclaimed "Stop Derek!"

But the wolf didn't listen and prepared to lunge. His feet had nearly left the ground before Stiles screamed again, this time with a new sharper force that he hadn't known existed. "STOP." Derek's body listened, immediately stiffening in that position.

"Put the gun down." Derek demanded through his fangs.

His eyes finally narrowed down, truly seeing Scott. He was terrified. The circle around Scott's eyes protruded all the way into his skull, deep black sockets with brown eyes that peered out, wide with confusion and fear. They were red from tears and it looked like more were pouring out. Sweat created a thin coating over his skin and his mouth was gaped open trying to find words or air or both. His pulse was sky high and he was afraid. Not of me Thought Derek, No- Of himself.

Stiles always had a keen eye for detail and there was one thing that seemed different than the last time he had been in Scott's room. There were the condoms on the dresser and obviously the gun in his friend's hand, but up in the corner of the ceiling there was a bullet hole, digging its way feet from the still fan.

A sharp hiccup drew Stiles away and Scott had shifted his eyes from Stiles to the gun. "I couldn't… I … I tried to kill you." He stuttered between tear strung breaths.

"Well, if you put the gun down you can stop trying for a second time." Stiles responded, gesturing slowly to the gun.

Scotts face turned slightly alarmed and he dropped the gun with a shock, not even realizing he had been aiming it at his friend. It had felt like purely reflex to aim the gun at the intruder, his mind and body not even processing it was Stiles.

The gun fell to the ground with a dull thud and within seconds Derek had picked it up, storing it in the back pocket of his jeans, pressing it as far away from Scott as possible.

"Are… are you here to kill me?" Scott asked quietly. His voice choked out the words and his throat trembled at every point.

Stiles just stared at the boy in a blank silence.


Stiles could see Scotts Adams apple shake as Scott swallowed hard. He spoke with a quick tempo, as if the words were burning in his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I'm so god damn sorry Stiles. You don't deserve any of this, you don't. I couldn't help it." Tears poured out of already puffy eyes as Scott continued "I tried. I tried to end it myself. I'm too weak and I couldn't and –"

"Shut up."

Scott found himself staring at his hands. The hands that were too weak to hold the gun to himself. The hands that throttled Derek and Stiles. "No Stiles, I can't live with myself! I hurt you and Derek and I'm a –

"I said to shut up Scott."

Scott gingerly looked up at his friend. Stiles stood, fists clenched and arms trembling. His nails were digging into his skin and his eyes had swelled up. Hints of snot trickled from his nose and tears dripped in a clean line down his eyes. His entire body seemed to be shaking.

"Don't you ever fucking try that again." Stiles commanded, trying desperately to keep his voice from cracking.


"No Scott," Stiles said, "No buts. No nothing. You will never, ever try to end your life again."

"I tried to kill you Stiles!"

"It wasn't your fault!"

"Yes! Yes it was. Everything is always my fault. Stiles, don't try to play this off and be fucking nice to me. I tried to kill you and I almost killed Derek too. I don't deserve to live-

Stiles moved forward and slammed his fist into the side of Scotts face.

A look of shock appeared on Scott and Derek's face. Even Stiles looked a little surprise. Scott softly reached to feel the burning in his cheek where he was struck.

Stiles sunk down and gripped Scott by the shoulder. "You are not allowed to say that. You are my best friend. Sometimes you're a lovesick moron. Sometimes you're a deranged werewolf. Sometimes you try to kill me. Sometimes you cheat off of me on a test. But you are always my best friend. And you always will be."

Stiles paused and heard a slight hiccupping sob coming from his friend. "You can try to kill me as many times as you want but I will always come back and I will always be here, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

"Stiles, I don't deserve this-

"Yes you fucking do and don't you say that you don't ever again. You were there for me when my mom died. And I'm here for you through this werewolf insanity. You are not allowed to hurt yourself and you are not allowed to feel bad about this. I can't live without you Scott."

Scotts hand reached up and patted at his eyes, trying to halt the ever flowing tears.

"We're going to get through this. Even if there's some for a werewolf couples therapy we have to visit. I'm not going to give up on you Scott."

Stiles gripped Scotts other shoulder and forced him up so that their brown eyes met.

"Not ever."





Authors note: That took a lot longer to put out than I thought it would… Uh… Sorry. I'm an awful person for taking this long. I always say that though.

But the story is done now! I know the last chapter isn't Sterek and it's definitely pretty serious. In my high school area a lot of kids feel that suicide is an option- the only option. It's not. Ever. No matter how bad it gets.

Well, that's all folks. Thank you all for reading to this point! It's been a wonderful journey writing this.