Inside the cabin Carlisle was already cutting away Derek's torn clothes.
Scott hovered at his shoulder.
Stiles stood rigid near the door—knuckles white around his bat—even now not letting go.
Outside?
The crows were gone.
The shadows had burned off with Kyron's fall.
But only time would tell if love could survive what's coming next.
"You there with the bat, get me some water, liquor and clean towels." Carlisle points towards Stiles. Then he turns towards Scott. "Do you know if he has a first aid kit?"
Stiles dropped the bat with a clatter and ran toward the kitchen cabinets like a man on a mission.
Scott nodded, "He does. In the bathroom, under the left sink."
"Are you waiting for an invitation? Get it!" Carlisle voiced, clearly irritated with the situation.
Scott flinched at the sharp tone—then bolted for the bathroom without another word. His footsteps pounded down the hall as Stiles yanked open cabinets, sending bottles and mugs clattering in his search.
"Water—water—where's the damn water?!" he muttered, tossing a dish towel aside.
He found an empty glass near the sink, and mentally punched himself, recalling where water normally comes from--a tap. He filled it up, hands shaking slightly before grabbing a bottle of whiskey from Derek's liquor stash—one he'd definitely steal jokes about later if there even was a later—and shoved both under his arm.
Towels next.
He snatched three clean ones from the linen closet just outside, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted back into the main room.
"Got 'em!" he announced, breathless, dropping to his knees beside Carlisle and thrusting them forward like they were sacred relics.
Blood already spoiled the part of Derek's shirt that Carlisle had ripped away—the wounds deep, jagged… unnaturally dark around the edges.
Stiles' voice dropped—quiet now, fragile.
"...Will he make it?"
Carlisle looks at Stiles, but before he could answer Alice's soft words bounces of the walls, Jasper was instantly by her side. "What did you see?" Carlisle asked. She shook her head before voiced: "He's not going to make it... Aria will end up raising a child on her own."
"That's not going to happen, damnit!" Scott exclaimed, looking to Carlisle for confirmation. "He's strong! He'll survive this, right?"
Stiles was eerily silent gaze fixed on the gashes marring Derek's chest. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Carlisle stared silently for another beat—
Then he shook his head.
"Even if I can stop the bleeding, I don't think he has much time left."
For a moment Stiles is completely catatonic, paralyzed in his skin. When it drew through to him. "Wait what? Child... What do you mean, child?"
It took several more seconds for it to sink in for Scott too.
His jaw dropped.
"Wai—wait—you mean…?"
He looked from Carlisle to Alice and then to Stiles—eyes wide and disbelieving.
"…Aria's pregnant?"
Alice nods her head, "She doesn't know it yet."
Stiles' voice cracked—half-laugh, half-horror.
"Pregnant?! She's—she's gonna have a kid?!"
He looked down at Derek—pale, bleeding, barely breathing—and then back at Alice, his eyes wild.
"And he doesn't know?! None of us knew?!"
Scott dropped to his knees beside the table where Carlisle worked, voice trembling.
"She's… carrying Derek's child?"
"That changes everything. You cannot let him die. You need to do everything in your power to save his life," Scott practically begged.
Carlisle didn't answer right away. His hands were steady—pressing a clean towel to the deepest gash—but his face was tight with concentration, with sorrow.
Jasper moved closer, standing behind Alice as she whispered, her voice barely audible:
"He's slipping. Faster now."
Stiles shot to his feet, voice rising in desperation:
"Then do something! You're a doctor—the doctor! If you can't save him—"
"I am not human," Carlisle interrupted calm, but firm. "I can treat wounds, yes. I can stop bleeding. But Derek… he's been struck with decay magic—the kind that festers in the soul as much as the flesh."
He looked down at Derek—his jaw tightening.
"I cannot heal what is already dying from within."
"Silly question doc, but can't we use their Anima Cantat as a cure?" Damian asked bluntly.
Carlisle looked up at him for a moment, considering.
"It could work," he admitted, "in theory. But it's a long shot."
He wiped a hand over his chin, asking: "What precisely are you needing from her? Blood? Spit? Bodily fluids?" Then Stiles added with a chuckle, "Maybe a true loves tear?"
"Blood." Carlisle answered bluntly. "And a lot of it."