My take on 3x11. Spoilers for the season. So, fair warning.

Breathe Stiles.

The sheriff was still gone, a potential sacrifice under the hand of Jennifer.

Keep breathing. Please.

His best friend's mother, taken just like his father. Another potential sacrifice.

Don't give up on me. Just breathe dammit.

His best friend leaving the pack to join with Deucalion, only in hopes of finding his mother. Though how fast before he becomes a monster himself.

In and out. Come on! Breathe!

A friend in the grasps of death. Would she make it? Will Derek end up with no one but Peter?

His breathing is becoming shallow. And his pulse is weak.

His mother is gone. His father is gone. His best friend is gone. His best friends mother is gone. He is useless. Worthless. Unable to find the people, and instead only find the bodies. So much death and despair wrapping around him. Choking him. This is what his nightmares are made of. Choking black smoke that smothers him and never let's up.

I can't feel a pulse. Peter, grab the defibrillator.

It's been creeping into his mind ever since he found out about werewolves. That uncertainty, that feeling of paranoia creeping on him at even the latest of times.

Clear!

Electricity.

No heat beat, charge it up again!

More electricity. Coursing through him, awakening his senses. Chasing away the smoke that smothered his mind.

Clear!

He was definitely aware now. He wasn't choking, he was dying. But now he was being brought back. But by who?

I feel a pulse.

Warmth radiating on his side. Wetness.

I hear his heart beating. It's weak, but it'll heal. Quick, bandage him up. We need to get out of here.

Something light and soft touched his forehead. Lips?
Hands pick him up. Large, calloused hands. Though they are gentle. He still winces, feeling the bite of pain pulse through his body.

I think he's waking up. He might actually make it.

Might. Was that all he could hope for?

Just keep breathing. Breathe!

He wasn't aware that he had stopped. Taking a deep breath hurt though. His lungs felt the poke of his broken ribs as they expanded fully, trying to take in as much air as possible. He coughed, the air immediately leaving his body. He took in a smaller breath, it becoming easier to fill his lungs. Pain was being drained from his body, making the excruciating pain he felt before, melt into a dull ache.

Is that better?

He couldn't move much, as he's being carried to god knows where. But he grunts in response, hoping that will suffice. The same soft feeling presses against his forehead. It's lips. Who's lips?

Almost there Stiles. Steady breaths. I know you can hear me.

He was tired of that word. Breathe. So what if he just quit? What was there for him to lose? His dad was most likely dead. His other family taken by the alpha pack. What did he have to live for?

Live for me you idiot.

Stiles cracked open his eyes, unaware that he had said that out loud. Dark hair made itself clear, but with his blurry vision, he couldn't make out the face.

"Scott?" He croaked, reaching a weak hand up to touch the person's face.

As his eyesight improved, he made out the details of the face. It was Derek Hale. His face constructed with pain, worry, concern and other emotions that were all too familiar with the Alpha.

"Where….Scott?"

"Stiles, he's still gone. And you're hurt. Don't speak, you need the rest."

Stiles nodded to the best of his abilities, but didn't slip back into unconsciousness. He realized Derek was running. So instead, he let his head roll to the side, seeing that they were in the forest, a familiar part at that. In minutes, the old Hale house came into view.

Derek didn't hesitate to run inside and shut the door. It smelled of nature inside. Wet soil, mildew, the occasional skunk. It was a bit overwhelming for Stiles.

Derek walked over to a mattress that lay crooked on its box springs. Leftover from when Derek still stayed here. He laid Stiles carefully on the bed, then went to assess his wounds. Stiles was already shirtless, making it easy for Derek to doctor him up. Gashes went up his right side, and ended on his chest, right over his heart. Though, that is where the claws went in deepest. Stiles saw this, and looked up at Derek in a panic. It took all he could to not pass out as Derek began to clean the wound.

"What…happened?"

The Alpha looked up at Stiles, face distraught.

"Kali…I wasn't fast enough. I didn't…I didn't get to you quick enough. She tried to kill you Stiles. Like she killed Cora."

Stiles' eyes widened and he attempted to sit up, which only caused him more pain and allowed more blood to run from the gash. Derek placed gently hands on him, pushing him back down against the bed. He siphoned away some of the pain, bringing Stiles at ease.

"C-Cora's dead?" He rasped, eyes prickling with fresh tears.

Derek's mouth resembled a line as he drew all his focus into cleaning Stiles' wound. He gave a curt nod, being the release to Stiles' newly formed tears.

After what seemed like hours of Derek aiding Stiles, he was finally able to sit up, though with the help of the strong Alpha. His arms wrapped around Stiles bruised and battered as he cried. Cried for the death of Derek's sister, of his missing father, his missing best friend and someone who was the closest thing he had to a mother since his died. It was a while before his sobs turned into hiccups, and then stopped all together. Derek looked down at the young teen, and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were shut, and his mouth was slack. He managed to cry himself to sleep. A small smile tugged at Derek's lips. He kissed the top of his head, then let his cheek rest on him. His eyes fluttered shut until he too was asleep.

It was later that Peter came by, catching the two asleep. He didn't say a word, only frowned. They deserved the rest. Because soon they would be at war. And a soldier is no better to fight unless prepared for the fight.