Derek didn't see it until it was too late - the Alpha, right behind Stiles, claws extended. He'd been fighting as well, had dodged and clawed in an attempt to take down the wolf in front of him.

Stiles had been panting, wolfsbane gripped in one hand, eyes locked on Derek's face, and Derek couldn't warn him in time. Hadn't warned him in time.

He tried, opened his mouth, called out - but Stiles was already on the ground, blood leaking dark against the leaves.

Scott howled, pain and terror clear, but Derek - Derek was gone, lost to the blur of the wolf and the knowledge that one of his Pack was down, was hurt, was bleeding all over his stupid gamer t-shirt.

Caught off guard by the Pack's renewed fury, the werewolves went down easy, and then it was just the silence of the woods and the smell of blood hanging heavily in the air.

Derek lunged forward - fell, really, ended up on his knees beside Stiles, whose face was far too pale, whose chest wasn't moving.

He slid two fingers to Stiles' neck, swore, tried again. He couldn't find his pulse. He couldn't hear his pulse - and then Scott shoved him aside, checked Stiles', started CPR.

"Call 911," he shouted between compressions, and Isaac already had the phone to his ear. All Derek could do was kneel there, on the ground, blood soaked into his hands and the front of his jacket.

Scott had pressure on the wound, was speaking to a still-unconscious Stiles in a calm and reassuring voice, but Derek wasn't hearing any of it. He listened for Stiles' heartbeat, caught it after the second round of compressions. Scott stopped pumping, pushed harder on the wound.

Derek tried not to look at all of the blood.

"He's going to be okay," Scott said, looking right at Derek. They could hear the sound of sirens, faintly, in the background. "He's going to be okay, Derek."

Derek stared at Stiles, broken and pale on the forest floor, and thought:

I love him.

He loved him, and he wouldn't even get the chance to tell him, because - because -

His hands were shaking. He tried, futilely, to wipe the blood off.

In that moment, Derek made a plea to the universe. Please, he thought. Please let him wake up. I need to tell him.

I need to tell him I love him. Just once.