Derek POV 

The moment the lights flickered and died, I knew we were screwed.

Isaac cursed under his breath, fists clenched. "They cut the power." 

Boyd exhaled sharply beside me, jaw tight. "Just like I said they would." 

My mind raced, recalculating. The electrified pool—our only real defence—was now just stagnant water. No current. No leverage. 

And they knew. 

I heard footsteps—slow, confident, echoing off the concrete walls. 

Then she appeared. 

Kali stepped into view, her silhouette backlit by slivers of moonlight breaking through the boarded windows. Barefoot, calm, as if this was a goddamn stroll. Her claws tapped lightly on the floor, the sound enough to set my nerves on edge. 

I squared my shoulders, already bracing myself. 

"Gonna be honest, Derek..." she said, her voice smooth and mocking. "When Ennis died, I thought I'd just come find you and kill you where you stood." 

She took a few more steps forward, her smile twisting cruelly. 

"But then I remembered how you always surround yourself with teenagers," she drawled. "Hiding behind them. And I thought, what's a girl gotta do to get you alone?" 

A growl started deep in my chest. 

I didn't need to look to know Isaac and Boyd were ready. But I couldn't let them take the hit for this. 

The twins had Jennifer, one of the beacon hills teachers, pinned, one of them pressing a foot against her chest, the other gripping her wrists like she was nothing. 

Kali smiled wider. "You and me, Derek... or they tear her apart." 

My claws slid out with a snap. My jaw clenched. 

I didn't care about myself. I could handle pain, loss, failure. I'd survived all of it before. 

But this— 

My mind flashed, unbidden, to the loft upstairs. Scarlett.

She was up there. Alone. She had no idea what was happening down here. 

And if this fight got loud enough—violent enough—she'd come down. I knew she would. That goddamn reckless streak she had, always marching into danger like she didn't care what happened to her. 

"What do you say?" Kali taunted, her voice slicing through the silence. "Think you can beat me one-on-one?" 

I took a slow step forward. Claws out. Muscles coiled.

"I'm going to rip your throat out," I said flatly. "With my teeth."

That got her attention.

She grinned like I just told her the best joke she'd ever heard. 

Then she lunged. 

I barely had time to brace before her foot slammed into my ribs. Pain exploded across my side, but I didn't fall. I gritted my teeth and pivoted as she came in again. 

I ducked under her swing, swiped at her but she sidestepped effortlessly, catching my wrist mid-swing. 

Then she broke it. 

A sharp snap, followed by white-hot agony shooting up my arm. 

I snarled, but she didn't let go, twisting my arm behind my back and slamming me face-first into the wall. 

"Come on, Derek," she cooed, her breath hot against my ear. "You can do better than that." 

I growled, ignoring the pain as I threw my head back, smashing it into her nose. 

She grunted, stumbling slightly. That was all the opening I needed. 

I spun, bringing my claws up in a vicious arc— 

Kali dodged, but not fast enough. My claws raked across her arm, drawing blood. 

She hissed, eyes flashing crimson. 

"Finally," she breathed, wiping at the blood with her fingers before licking it away. "Now we're having fun." 

I had no time to react before she launched into another attack. This time, she didn't hold back. 

Her foot slammed into my knee, making it buckle. 

Before I could recover, she grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the ground. 

I struggled, clawing at her wrist, but her grip was like iron. 

Then she threw me. 

I crashed against the far wall, debris raining down around me. Pain shot through my body as I struggled to stand. 

That's when I felt them. 

The twins. 

I barely had time to turn before they were on me, one grabbing my arms, the other slamming a fist into my stomach. 

I choked on a breath, my body rebelling against the force of the blow. 

They held me down. 

And then, through the haze of pain, I saw her. 

Kali, moving toward Boyd. 

She gripped his collar, lifting him effortlessly. 

And then, horror sank into my bones as I realised what she was about to do. 

Kali lifted Boyd up and positioned him over my claws.

"No—!" 

"Take him!" she snarled. 

Boyd gasped, his body tensing. 

Pain flashed across his face as my claws sank into him. 

"No, no, no," I breathed, struggling against the twins, my heart pounding. "No, it's not—" 

Kali leaned in, her voice a whisper of deadly amusement. "I'm giving you until the next full moon, Derek. Make the smart choice. Join the pack... or next time, I'm killing all of you." 

Then she let go. 

Boyd slumped against me, his body going limp. 

Blood dripped onto the floor. 

"It's okay..." Boyd whispered, his voice barely audible. 

I shook my head, my grip tightening around him. "No, no... No, it's not... It's not..." 

His breathing was shallow, his face pale. 

"It's all okay, Derek..." 

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "I'm... I'm sorry." 

Boyd's lips twitched, just slightly. 

"The full moon... that feeling?" he murmured weakly. "That was worth it..." 

His voice wavered, his eyes drifting slightly. 

"There's a lunar eclipse..." 

My breath caught. 

"I always wondered what... what that felt like for one of us... for a werewolf..." 

Then his body sagged against mine. 

Completely still. 

My arms trembled. 

I could hear Isaac gasping behind me, but none of it registered. 

Boyd was gone. 

And it was my fault.

~~~•~~~

Boyd's body was still in my arms, warm but lifeless. 

I couldn't let go. 

His blood dripped onto the floor, seeping into the cracks of the concrete, and with every drop, I felt something inside me break. 

This was my fault. 

I had promised him a pack. A family. A place to belong. And now—now he was gone. 

Just like Erica. Just like my family. 

The sound around me faded. 

Isaac was saying something—his voice a mix of panic and grief—but it was muffled, distant. I could hear the twins retreating, Kali's footsteps echoing as she left, but I didn't move. 

I couldn't. 

Boyd's last words echoed in my head.

He had died thinking this was enough. 

It wasn't enough.

It was never enough. 

I had failed him. 

Just like I had failed all of them. 

A tremor ran through me as I held him tighter, his head resting against my shoulder. I should have been stronger. I should have found a way to save him. 

Why wasn't I strong enough?

I felt Isaac kneel beside me, his breath shaking. "Derek..." 

I didn't respond. 

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please tell me this isn't happening." 

But I couldn't lie to him. 

Not about this. 

Boyd was gone. 

Isaac let out a choked sob, his hands clutching at his curls as he rocked back on his heels. "No, no, no—this wasn't—this wasn't how it was supposed to go." 

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around Boyd's jacket. I should have never let him stay. I should have never given him hope that I could protect him. 

Because I couldn't. 

I never could. 

A sharp noise echoed through the bank—the door slamming open. 

I didn't lift my head. 

I knew who it was before I even smelled them. 

Footsteps rushed in, then skidded to a stop. 

A sharp gasp. 

"Oh my God." 

Lydia. 

Another set of steps, heavier, but hesitant. 

"...No," Stiles whispered. 

His voice cracked on the single word. 

Cora was the last one in. Her pace was steady, but her face was unreadable.

Until she saw him.

Until she saw me.

Her breath caught, eyes going wide—but only for a second.

Then she turned toward me, just slightly. Her brows pulled together in a silent question.

'Scarlett?'

I gave the faintest shake of my head. Didn't say anything for a beat.

Then I murmured, low so only she could hear, "I don't know where she is. The fight was loud. If she heard it..."

I let the sentence hang. I didn't want to finish it.

Cora's jaw tightened, but she nodded. Didn't ask again.

No one else moved.

Lydia turned away, covering her mouth as she started crying, her shoulders trembling as she leaned against the wall.

Stiles—Stiles just stared. 

He looked at Boyd. At me. At Isaac, whose entire body was trembling. 

Then his lips parted, and something shattered in his face. 

His hands curled into fists, his head shaking slowly. "No," he muttered again, voice strangled. "No, no, no—NO." 

I couldn't look at him. 

I couldn't look at any of them. 

Because if I did, I'd break apart completely. 

A sob ripped from Isaac's throat, and Lydia whimpered softly in response. 

Cora finally moved, stepping closer, her voice trembling. "Derek..." 

I swallowed hard. My vision was blurring, but I refused to let the tears fall. 

I had no right to cry. 

This wasn't my grief to bear. 

It was my failure. 

I slowly lowered Boyd's body onto the floor, my fingers lingering against his jacket for a second before I forced myself to pull away. 

The loss was immediate. 

Like letting go of him made it real. 

Like it sealed his fate. 

My breath came out unsteady as I finally sat back, my hands covered in blood—his blood. 

Isaac wiped his face roughly, but the tears kept coming. "I—I should've done something. I should've—" 

"You couldn't," Cora whispered. 

Isaac let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. "Bullshit." 

Lydia wiped her face, but it didn't stop the tears. She sniffled, voice soft. "We should've done something." 

No one had an answer for that. 

The silence stretched. 

Stiles slowly crouched down in front of me, staring into my face. His brown eyes were filled with something I couldn't place—not anger, not blame. 

Something worse. 

Understanding. 

Because he knew. 

He knew what it was like to watch someone die and feel powerless to stop it. 

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Derek..." 

I closed my eyes. 

I didn't want his sympathy. I didn't deserve it. 

Boyd was gone. 

And all I could do was sit there, drowning in the weight of my own failure.

~~~•~~~

The loft was clean.

At least, it looked that way.

Boyd's blood had been scrubbed from the concrete. The scent of it still clung to the air, iron-thick and inescapable, but the floor was clear. The weapons were put away. Isaac had gone home with Stiles. Lydia left wordlessly. Cora lingered for a while, pacing like she was trying to work something out, but eventually disappeared too.

And then I was alone.

Silence pressed down like a weight on my chest. Even the usual creaks and groans of the building felt distant, muffled—like they didn't dare intrude on the dead space left behind.

I stood in the middle of the loft, staring at the spot where Boyd had taken his last breath. My jaw clenched, my arms folded across my chest so tightly my muscles ached. I wasn't tired. I couldn't sit. Couldn't sleep.

Couldn't stay.

I didn't make a decision. My legs just moved.

By the time I realised where I was going, I was already halfway up the stairs. The steel creaked beneath my boots as I reached the top landing.

Scarlett's door stood a few feet in front of me.

I stopped.

I didn't know why I was there.

I didn't even know if she was home.

Hell, I didn't know if she'd left during the fight or if she'd just ignored the chaos entirely. She hadn't come down. Hadn't made a sound. Hadn't checked in.

But something pulled me here anyway.

Maybe I just didn't want to be alone.

My hand hovered near the door, knuckles almost brushing the wood—ready to knock. Hesitating.

And then I smelled it.

Blood.

Thick. Sharp. Fresh—but not just one cut.

A lot.

My heart kicked into gear before my thoughts could catch up. I didn't knock. I reached for the knob and twisted.

Unlocked.

The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, and what greeted me was worse than I'd expected.

The apartment was a disaster.

Empty bottles littered every flat surface. Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts. Pill bottles lay scattered across the floor—some open, some spilled. There was a hole in the drywall near the kitchen, like something had been thrown hard.

The scent of alcohol and weed mingled with blood and stale air. Something sour clung to the edges of it—sweat, vomit, pain.

But it was the blood that gripped my attention.

It was everywhere.

Drops on the floor. Smears on the wall. A small, dark puddle drying near the hallway.

I didn't call out her name.

Didn't need to.

I followed the trail without a word.

One door was closed—just one. The hallway narrowed there, dark and still. The stench of blood was strongest here. My hand was on the doorknob before I had time to hesitate.

I opened it.

And there she was.

Scarlett.

Lying on her side on the bedroom floor, half-curled in on herself. One arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, the other splayed out in front of her, fingers limp. Her clothes were soaked with blood. A long gash ran down her back, the edges angry and inflamed. Bruises mottled her arms and ribs in varying stages of healing. Her lips were cracked, her breathing shallow and irregular. Her face was pale—too pale—and damp with sweat.

The room was freezing. The window was cracked open. She hadn't even made it to the bed.

I moved fast.

Dropped to my knees beside her and pressed two fingers to her throat. Her pulse was weak, thready, but still there.

"Scarlett," I said, voice low, urgent.

No response.

"Scarlett."

I gave her shoulder a gentle shake—careful not to jar her too hard. She didn't flinch. Didn't twitch. Her eyes stayed shut, her brow furrowed as if she were still somewhere deep inside whatever hell had done this to her.

There was no time to ask questions.

I exhaled sharply, pressing my palm against her arm as the shift began.

It hit me like a freight train.

Pain. Not just the sting of wounds or the burn of infection, but something heavier. Darker. Bone-deep agony that dragged claws through my spine and made my vision pulse at the edges. It was the kind of pain people didn't come back from. The kind that settled in your marrow and stayed there.

Scarlett stirred.

A low, broken groan escaped her lips, her body twitching once beneath my touch.

Then—

"You are the loudest upstairs neighbor in the history of shitty apartments," she rasped, voice rough and raw with exhaustion. "Do you ever not get into fights down there, Dracula?"

I huffed, biting back the grunt that threatened to escape my throat. My jaw clenched, muscles tightening under the strain of her pain crawling deeper into me. "Nice to see you're alive."

She blinked slowly, eyes unfocused as she glanced around in hazy confusion.

Then she froze.

Her body went rigid. Muscles locking up. And suddenly, her gaze snapped back to me, sharp and alert despite the grogginess.

She glared. "How the fuck did you get in here?"

I didn't flinch. Still gripping her wrist, I shrugged. "Door was unlocked."

Wrong answer.

The glare darkened into something lethal.

She tried to sit up—immediately winced. Her eyes dropped to my hand still wrapped around her wrist, her expression shifting from confusion to fury.

"Let go," she said, voice low. Dangerous.

I didn't move.

Couldn't.

Because I felt it. The pain I was siphoning was only a fraction of what she still carried, and it was already threatening to crush me from the inside out.

If I was struggling with this—then she'd been drowning in it.

"I can't," I said, voice quiet but firm.

Her heart rate kicked up.

I could feel her pulse flutter beneath my fingers—quick and uneven. Panic pushing past the fog in her head.

She yanked her arm once, weakly. "Let. Go."

I sighed, forcing down the burn in my own veins. "I can't let go, because I'm your creepy vampire neighbour, and if I do right now, you're going to pass out again. Or worse."

To prove it, I rolled up my sleeve.

Black veins coiled up my forearm, thick and pulsing—evidence of the transfer. Her pain, now crawling inside me like poison.

Scarlett went still.

Her eyes locked on the sight, her lips parting just slightly. The silence between us stretched tight and brittle.

Then, flatly: "What the fuck is that?"

I met her gaze, steady. "I'm taking your pain."

She stared for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

Then—cold and sharp: "And how, exactly, are you doing that?"

I hesitated.

Just for a breath.

Then I let the air out slowly. No more dodging it.

"Because," I said, my voice low, "I'm a werewolf."

•===============•
A/n:

Rlly hate this chapter but oh well.

Idk if I'll get another one finished for tmr but hopefully.

QOTD: which character death in teen wolf broke you most?

WC: 2920