Sterek One-shots

Gone.

"You left me, Derek. I loved you and you left me."  His last words to me echoed around my head, like a gunshot in an empty parking lot. It was all my fault. He was gone and it was all my fault. I caused this. I deserve this pain. I deserve worse. He was the love of my life and I didn't even get to say goodbye or tell him that I loved him back.

We had argued, that was the last thing we did, argued. That was the last thing he said. "You left me."  It was true, I had, I'd left him alone when he needed me most. I'd just up and left because I couldn't handle my feelings, I was too afraid to be loved, I was selfish. I deserve every ounce of pain I feel. I deserve worse than what he felt. What he went through.

I had killed him. I hadn't "drawn the sword" or "pulled the trigger" but I had pushed him away and they had found him and now he was gone. I would never see him again, never be able to feel his soft, full lips on mine. Never again will I be able to hear his laugh or the sarcastic, witty comments he always has - had - in store. Never be able to see the glint in his eyes before we did something particularly dangerous or how excited he got when he finally worked something out or the way his limbs flailed seemingly aimlessly or tugged at his hair when something perplexed him. Never be able to hold him when I fall asleep. Never be able to tell him what he meant to me.

Six months and one goodbye video, sent by the kidnappers. Untraceable, no proof, he could be alive. It was a simple, unrealistic hope. I knew it would not - could not - be true. We'd followed every lead but it all fell flat when we got that video. "I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough. Don't look for me, I'm not coming back. This is goodbye. I love you."  That's all he had said. No direction as to who the "I love you" was aimed at. No nothing. That was it. No more leads. Not even the best hackers we could find seemed to be able to trace the video back to any source. It must've been supernatural, that was the only thing we could come up with and I hated it. I should've protected him. This was all my fault.

What's worse than that? His body was tattered and torn. Covered in bruises and cuts, old and new. Covered in blood, all his. His voice was worn and broken, probably from screaming, his eyes were haunted like he'd seen unforgettable things. It killed me. I don't deserve death, I deserve pain, so much pain for what I'd let him fall into. He didn't deserve death, he deserved the world and so much more. But he only seemed to want one thing that night. Me. Why? I had no idea but I threw that away because I couldn't stop being a coward.

He thought he wasn't strong enough but by the looks of it, he was too strong. They were looking for information, information on the pack. He should've given us up, we could've handled it. He could - should still be alive but he was too loyal. That's one of the many reasons I will never stop looking for him, no matter what. He didn't deserve this, anything but this. He should be here, with the pack, with me. His laugh reverberating over the walls as he mocked me or as he beat Scott at one of his games that a werewolf really should be able to beat a human at. He should be singing, in his loud, obnoxious voice along to some dumb pop song. He should be curled up next to me, in bed as we talk over all the strange shit that happened that day. But he's not. He's gone. Dead. I forced the word into my thoughts although I'll never truly believe it, not even if I saw his body with my own two eyes.

Despite this I found myself staring down at his grave, "I love you, Stiles. I know I failed you, I'm sorry."

"I love you too, Sourwolf."