For years, kids in school have made fun of Stiles for the way he runs. Well, not quite "runs", but perhaps "tries to run". Fuck, if they could see him now, they'd never laugh at him again. However, that's not important, not now. He races to Derek's house, internally cursing at himself for bothering to bring his belongings and Derek's notebook. The weight of his bag slows him down, and he really doesn't need to be held back at a time like this. The one person he loves, more than anything in this entire world, is dying. Not "could be", not "will be", but "is". If there's one thing Stiles knows, it's that Derek doesn't wait. Ever. The second he remembers this, he's sprinting, something he never thought he'd do.

When he finally reaches the door, in record time by the way, he doesn't waste time by knocking. Instead, he flings the door open, screaming Derek's name and internally begging for an answer. He doesn't get one.

Derek's here somewhere, he knows it. He can feel it in the air, if that's even possible. Which room he's in, Stiles doesn't know, but he must find out before it's too late to save the boy he needs, the boy he loves with every fibre of his being.

He searches the bedrooms first – surely the most obvious place. He runs up the stairs, two at a time, still screaming for Derek, even though his throat was on fire by now. The only time it'd ever burned this bad was when he took seventeen shots of vodka, one after the other, in hopes of forgetting about the world around him. Which, honestly, is something he could do with right now. Maybe later. He runs to Derek's room first, which he immediately notices is empty. The same happens when he checks on the other bedrooms, which probably wasn't necessary but what the hell. It's then that he hears it, the sound of something being dropped. In the bathroom. Derek is in the bathroom.

Holy fuck.

He knew what he was going to see would kill him, but not like this. He's not sure what he expected. Perhaps an empty pill bottle, maybe Derek lying down and not breathing. But he didn't see this coming. Okay so maybe he was right about an empty pill bottle, but there's blood. A lot of it. Everywhere. Derek's arms, Derek's legs, the bath, the floor, the walls. Surely nobody could survive this, and Stiles knows that, but he's not giving up. He's going to save the boy, if it's the last goddamn thing he does.

"You're not.. you're not supposed.. to be.. here," Derek mumbles, only just audible as he's barely conscious.

"I'm here. I'm always here. Derek, stay awake, okay? Don't you dare close your eyes, I'm begging you. I'm going to call an ambulance," Stiles whispers calmly, using all the strength he has in him to not break right now. Derek pleads with him not to ask for help, but it's useless. The smaller boy won't listen, he's not losing Derek. He's lost so many things in the past few years, and he's not losing anything else. He can't do that, how would he cope? If he lost someone else, he'd go out of his mind. And he's not doing that, so he calls an ambulance, holding back tears as he gives them the name, address and tells them it was a suicide attempt. As much as he tries to stop it, his voice cracks on the word 'suicide' and he finally lets his emotions run down his cheek. He ends the call, and looks at Derek hopelessly, knowing there's nothing else he can do but beg Derek not to die on him.

"It's okay, Stiles. It's okay," Derek barely gets out. His tears threaten to spill at the sight of Stiles breaking in front of him.

"No, no, no, don't you dare tell me it's okay!" Stiles almost yells in frustration. "How could this ever be okay? Fuck, you're barely breathing and you're telling me that it's okay? You can't do this, you can't leave me! I need you, Derek!" he shouts, ending in a broken sob.

"I was nothing," Derek says, wincing as he tries to move his arm in an effort to hold Stiles' hand in what he's almost certain are his last moments.

"Stop that. Stop talking as if you're already gone. You're going to stay, yeah? You're going to be okay," the smaller boy cries. "And you're not nothing. You're everything to me," he tries to say, but it's too late. Derek's eyes are closed, and he's not breathing. Shit, shit, shit, he's not breathing. Stiles screams. He screams, because he knows he's losing him. He screams, because he can't. He screams, because he's in agony and he can't help anyone and he's useless and hopeless. He screams, because he was too late to stop Derek from doing this to himself.

He hears running, and he knows there are medics coming, but will they be able to save Derek? Is he too far gone? Fuck, he shouldn't think like that. He yells that he's in the bathroom, and suddenly there are people here, talking in words he can't understand. Not because they're big words that are more than 3 syllables long, but because he can't hear and he can't see. It's all a blur, and nothing feels real. But it is.

Only a few minutes later, they're loading Derek into the ambulance, and Stiles is going with them. At first, they try to stop him, but he puts up a good argument, and for the sake of saving time and possibly a life, they give in and let him. He's not sure how long the journey is, but it's definitely too damn long.

It burns. He feels it in his fingers, his feet, his stomach and everywhere inbetween. This isn't a panic attack; he's had many of those, and they were hell, but this. This is not a panic attack. This is a soul-ripping and excruciating pain that he's never felt before. This is crescent-shaped lines turning into bruises on his palms because he's pressing his nails into himself, just to feel something other than knives in his stomach. Within less than an hour, happiness has become something like a distant and unreachable concept, because his entire universe is collapsing on him. Fuck, it's his fault. He should've noticed that Derek wasn't okay, but he didn't, and now he's in a mess. He thought everything was alright, yet now he's here – sat in an ambulance, tears falling freely, and not knowing whether Derek's going to live to see tomorrow.

He didn't even have to know how Derek felt. He still could've done something, helped without knowing. If only he told Derek he loved him. If only he told him that he was the best thing that ever happened. And now he might not even have the chance.

He's alive, but not really. He hasn't woken up since they day when he collapsed in Stiles' lap. He's in a coma, and the doctors say he should be okay, but Stiles is losing hope. It's been a week. A fucking week without so much as a single movement, unless the steady rise and fall of his chest is included; Stiles chooses not to, because it isn't Derek - it's a machine. So, no, Derek isn't really alive, he just has a heartbeat.

The doctors say it was because of the pills or the blood loss. Maybe both. Stiles had once read somewhere that if you overdose on sleeping pills, your stomach gradually turns to acid, and it's said to be agonizing. Is Derek in pain? Oh god, the thought makes him want to throw up. Not only is Derek possibly dying, it could be hurting him in the process. Why did he do this to himself? What hurt him so badly that he felt he had to hurt himself? What if Stiles can never ask?

Derek's parents have stayed for 6 hours per day, and have spent time with Stiles too, silently crying. It's nice actually, to have the company. Stiles hasn't left the hospital this week, not even for a second, so it's nice to not be alone all the time. It's not all great though, as anybody who sees him tries to make him eat or drink something. He just doesn't have the appetite anymore. It's almost as if he doesn't deserve it. It's his fault that Derek is dying, and now he should be too. At least, that's what he thinks sometimes.

He hasn't slept either. It's been almost eight days since he last closed his eyes for longer than five minutes, and anybody could see that. God, he looks the same as some of the patients in this hospital, but he doesn't care. He feels like shit, he might as well look like it

He hasn't visited this hospital in the past two years. The last time he was here was the day where his father was checked for liver disease. It's funny how things change – two years ago, he met Derek in this place, and now this is the place where he's losing him. He remembers part of their conversation from that day, and he never thought anything of it. How fucking stupid of him.

"You know, I haven't been here since my mom was dying. My dad wouldn't let me see her when she got really ill, so the last memory I have of her is her telling me about the stars outside her window. It was the middle of the day, but she made them sound so beautiful," Stiles smiled softly at the thought of his mother.

"The last time I was here was when Laura was in a car accident. She was surprisingly fine, so it's not really a memory I guess, but I do still remember the night when she'd been given a lot of painkillers. She was telling us about our neighbor's cat – they actually had a dog," Derek laughed, remembering her description of a pink cat with purple whiskers. "Next time I'm here, it'll be for me."

"What? Why?" Stiles asked curiously, not quite understanding what was being said.

"I do a lot of stupid stuff – it's a wonder I haven't been in here for myself yet," Derek joked, hiding his sadness with a fake smile and fake laughter. Stiles bought it.

Looking back on it now, Stiles just wants to kick himself. It was so clear what Derek really meant. He wanted to be in here, because he wanted to die. God, he's been wanting to do this for two years, and nobody ever noticed? Stiles doesn't want to think about that, it'll only bring him guilt, and he's got enough of that to last a lifetime. He needs Derek to pull through. He needs to apologize for not being here, for not seeing what was happening. And if he can't say it to him when he's awake, he has to say it now.

He leaves the waiting room, and walks through the door into Derek's room. He swears his heart stops for a second every time he sees Derek, and not for a good reason. There's no good way to say it. Derek looks awful. He's getting worse, and Stiles knows that he might never be coming back. He can tell by the way Derek's skin is paler than anything he's ever seen, and the way his body hasn't moved since the last time he saw him. He takes a minute to compose himself, before he starts speaking to Derek, praying that he can hear him somehow.

"I don't know if you're listening right now, but I need to know that I said this. I'm so sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry for letting this happen. Fuck, if I'd have just paid more attention sometimes, you wouldn't be lying in this hospital bed and I wouldn't be crying, but anyway.. I need you to wake up. Just open your eyes, yeah? Just squeeze my fingers. Just do something, show me you're not going to leave, okay? Don't leave me, don't you fucking dare. If you go, I don't.. I don't know what I'll do. I'll go crazy. I'll blame myself for this, I'll die inside every damn day, I'll cry for hours every night, I'll stop functioning. Because I didn't save you. Please, Derek, don't make me do that. I just.. I can't.. I can't do this without you. I'm begging you. Stay. Just.. stay," Stiles cried, finishing his speech. He didn't expect himself to say so much, but he's kind of glad he did. Maybe Derek could hear him, and maybe he was listening to every broken cry, maybe he would stay for Stiles. Maybe he would wake up.

And he did.