Author's Note: Hey guys! So this is my first ever One Tree Hill fic, but I'm pretty excited about it. I'm in love with the show and I'm in love with the character. And of course, I'm a major drama whore so you can expect that from me. (: Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story and stick with it to the end. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything regarding One Tree Hill. Only the altered plot line is my own.

"Damn it." Brooke's voice was just above a whisper, but full of urgency. She'd already taken longer than she'd expected when she'd told Peyton to run. She knew very well what might happen if that psycho got the upper hand. She knew what would happen if Peyton showed even one second of weakness. She didn't pretend to know why he was doing this. The reasons behind Derek's obsession with Peyton were completely beyond her. But the reasons were irrelevent. He was up there just the same, doing god knows what to her best friend.

"Shit!" she screamed, her voice now growing in volume as her panic began to intensify. Behind her back, her hands were struggling to slip through the rope that bound her wrists together. That rope was the only thing restraining her. The only thing keeping her from marching upstairs and saving her best friend.

Brooke couldn't be sure, but she figured it had been somewhere around fifteen minutes since Derek had ran upstairs after Peyton. That reality struck a fear in the brunette that was so intense that she could not fight back the tears that sprung to her hazel eyes. If that blonde bastard so much as left a scratch on Peyton's perfect skin, Brooke would be livid. She would kill him, if she were capable of doing so. There was no doubt in her mind. She wouldn't hesitate before plunging a knife into his back. In fact, she would smile a sick, malicious smile knowing that she'd just rid her best friend of such a frightening aspect of her life, such an emotionally painful neuissance.

It was difficult for Brooke to believe that just a few hours ago, she had been undeniably pissed off at her blonde friend. And in all reality, Brooke had never felt more off balance. Her P. Sawyer had looked her straight in the eyes and said that she was dead to her. Devistation didn't even begin to describe how Brooke felt knowing that, after everything they had been through together, their friendship had now come to nothing. It was reality, but one that Brooke refused to accept. So when she'd arrived at Prom to find that Peyton had violated her dress, Brooke had grasped onto the fact that Peyton cared. Somewhere, deep beneath the surface, she still cared. Brooke convinced herself that Peyton hadn't meant what she said earlier that day in her front lawn. They were merely words said out of anger and spite. She wasn't serious.

She couldn't be.

At long last, Brooke managed to slip her one of her hands out of the knotted loop of rope. A sharp pain shot up her arm, but she didn't bother to investigate. There was no time to care for her own well being, not when Peyton was upstairs, alone with that freak.

With one hand free, it took no time at all for Brooke to liberate her other wrist, and within ten seconds she was running upstairs as fast as her dress would allow. She made a quick pit stop to the kitchen, then continued to the second story, clutching a large steak knife in her shaking hand. Outside Peyton's room, she stopped to listen through the closed door. The only sounds that met her ears were that of a low, 

staggered grunt. Brooke swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, bit down on her bottom lip, then crept quietly into the bedroom.

The sight before her almost made Brooke wish he'd heard her. At least then his focus would no longer be on the blonde that lay beneath him on the bed, the blonde that Brooke couldn't help but notice was disturbingly still. Brooke stood directly behind Derek now, who continued to thrust his hips forward in time with his throaty sgroan. She raised the knife above her head, but despite what she had believed downstairs, she did hesitate. Was she really going to kill a man? Was she really going to take that knife and plunge it into his back? Was she really going to face the consequences that came with committing an act like murder?

If it meant saving Peyton, then yes, she was.

She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. She let her arm fall swiftly.

The rest happened far too quickly to comprehend. In an instant, Derek arched upward, turning around in utter shock to see Brooke standing behind him, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks. He lurched forward, but Brooke dodged him. He hit the bookcase haphazardly, causing many records and other knick knacks to shower his body. As he fought to regain composure, Brooke rushed to Peyton's desk on the opposite side of the room and picked up the phone. Her eyes widened in horror with the lack of dial tone and she realized he had cut the phone lines.

Suddenly Brooke felt extremely vulnerable and helpless. She could not call for help and all she knew when it came to self defense were the normal instinctive punching and kicking. She looked over her shoulder to see that Derek was still struggling to stand up. Her mind was working in overdrive; every time her she saw the motionless Peyton in her peripheral vision, she had to force herself to ignore it. Before she could care for her friend, she had to make sure they were safe. Turning around to face the desk again, Brooke saw the window and had a thought. She ran to it, jerked it opened, and screamed out into the night air.

"Please, someone help us! Call 911! Anybody!"

She screamed again, but for an entirely different reason. A hand was clenched tightly around her ankle. Brooke looked down, terrified but not surprised to see Derek sprawled on the floor. The knife was still set in his back. "Let me go!" she demanded, then kicked him square in the face. Derek recoiled and Brooke took the opportunity to yank her ankle out of his grasp. Before moving away, however, she reached down, grabbed the handle of the knife, and turned it sharply. A loud yell was emitted from Derek's lips, but Brooke ignored it as she finally made her way to Peyton.

Brooke's vision blurred with tears as she hovered over her blonde friend. Peyton's white dress had turned red in far too many places, and it had a long rip up one side, from the bottom to the waist. Brooke swallowed hard and reminded herself that she was on a bit of a time crunch. She glanced over at Derek, relieved to see that he was lying quite still on the floor.

"Peyton, wake up," Brooke said urgently, but when Peyton did not respond, the brunette's panic grew more apparent. "Peyton, please! You have to get up!" she screamed hysterically.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke could see Derek stirring. Knowing that neither her nor Peyton had time to wait, Brooke grabbed hold of Peyton's wrists and pulled until the blonde was in a sitting 

position. Brooke knew that it would probably do physical harm to Peyton's body, but if she did nothing, then surely Derek would do far worse.

It was difficult, but Brooke managed to drag Peyton's body out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom. As she had pulled Peyton's body through the bathroom door, Brooke had seen Derek slumping in Peyton's doorway. Knowing he was weak, she shut the bathroom door, locked in, and hoped that he was no longer strong enough to break it down before someone came for help.

If anyone came for help at all.

Brooke stared at the door for several minutes, holding her breath, waiting for Derek to make some kind of move. But nothing came. No sudden bangs against the door. No furious yells. Nothing.

So finally, Brooke turned all of her attention to Peyton. The sight of the broken blonde brought on a whole new wave of tears. One of her thighs was already showing signs of potential bruising. Her pretty face had suffered numerous small cuts, a split lip, a badly bruised cheekbone, and a mild bloody nose. Her neck was sliced on one side, but not badly since the stream of blood that trickled from it was small. Her upper arms were decorated with several random bruises and cuts, and the knuckles of her right hand were badly scraped up. But the most noticeable injury, the one Brooke could not tear her eyes from, was the wide gash in her chest, just below her collarbone on the right side.

A stab wound.

Snapping out of her stupor, Brooke rushed to Peyton's side, moving into a sitting position behind Peyton and pulling her across her lap. She held onto her shoulders with one arm while her other hand went to the side of Peyton's face. Tears leaked steadily from Brooke's eyes as she silently stared down at her best friend. Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke. "Peyton, please wake up." Her voice no longer held any tone; it was a whisper, but it still contained just as much exigency. She shook Peyton gently. "Please, Peyton! You have to wake up!" She was pleading now. "You can't die, Peyton. You can't! I need you!"

The lack of response from the blonde caused Brooke's entire body to collapse into shakes. She leaned over Peyton and held her close, buried her face in her neck as she broke down into sobs. Peyton Sawyer was dying in her arms and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The feeling was unlike any other. She felt so useless. So unworthy. By being unable to help, she was betraying her best friend whether it was intentional or not. It was overwhelming.

"Brooke."

Brooke lifted her head in an instant, staring down at Peyton so intensely she was sure that her eyes would burn a hole in the blonde's flesh. No way had that faint whisper been a figment of her imagination, and even if it was, Brooke refused to believe it. She waited with bated breath for Peyton to do something, anything to show that she was still there.

Then her eyes fluttered open, just a tiny bit, but enough to reveal those green orbs that Brooke loved so much. Brooke couldn't help the smile of relief that crossed her face. "Oh Peyton, thank god! I thought I'd lost you!" Brooke was quick to grab up Peyton's fragile hand in her own, and she held it gently.

"Brooke, I-"

Peyton's voice was frighteningly weak, Brooke had to strain her ears in order to hear it.



"Yea?"

"Brooke, I'm so-"

Peyton's words were interrupted by a loud banging on the bathroom door. Brooke jumped, obviously startled, and her head snapped up to watch the door shake and rattle.

"God damn it, Brooke! Open the door!"

Brooke didn't answer. She merely tightened her grasp on Peyton's ha nd. She noticed that Peyton's feeble grasp tightened a little, too.

"I know you're in there, Brooke!" Derek's voice was strong and unnerving. A shiver ran down Brooke's spine as she continued to watch the door with alert, fearful eyes. "Open the damn door!"

She still didn't say a word. The door shook again, and Brooke's eyes averted to the hinges. Would they hold? As Derek continued to beat at the door, Brooke began to doubt its strength. She did the only thing she could think to do. "I'll be right back," she whispered, placing a soft kiss on Peyton's hand before standing up and swiftly making her way to the door. She pressed her back up against it and dug her heels into the carpet of the rug on the floor. She knew that she wouldn't be able to secure the door for long, but she hoped it would be long enough for him to get weak, too weak to break down the door at all.

When Derek slammed his fists against the door again, Brooke shook along with the wood, and she closed her eyes tightly. He continued to yell with that unsettling, angry voice. "Go away!" Brooke finally screamed in return. She knew her words held no value to him, but she couldn't keep them at bay any longer.

He laughed. It was a laugh that shook her to the core.

And then something sliced right through the door. Brooke felt the cold metal penetrate her back, just to the inside of her shoulder blade. She screamed in pain and fell forward onto the floor. Her writhing lasted only a few minutes before the darkness took her and she passed out.