A/N: Hey peeps. Here's your chapter and, like I said earlier, I'm not sure if I have a chapter ready for next week. I might be able to whip one up, but we'll see how that goes. I'm not really feeling well. :(
Anyway, tons and tons of interaction and development in this chapter. Enjoy!
Blake isn't sure where they're going, but she can't find it within herself to bother with asking, she's in too much pain and discomfort to really find it worth the effort. It's not like Derek would tell her anything anyway. So in the meantime, Blake focuses on the soft crunching footsteps Derek makes instead of the sickly way her foot swings back and forth beyond her control. She can't stop it because of her injured knee, she's not quite sure what's wrong with it, just that it's pretty messed up. Maybe it's broken. Can knees even break? She doesn't know, all she knows is that it hurts. Badly.
Blake rests her forehead on the junction of Derek's neck and shoulder, finding a simple comfort in his presence. She doesn't know him that very well, but he's reliable. He always seems to be there to help her, even if he doesn't especially want to. "Why were you close enough to hear me screaming?" she asks, suddenly curious as to why he was in the forest. Not that she's complaining.
"I'm staying a couple miles away from where you were attacked," he says. It's the most curious sensation, but Blake can feel the vibrations of him speaking. It kind of tickles.
A couple miles? He lives a couple miles away, but he showed up minutes after her first scream. Blake's cheeks catch on fire with an embarrassed flush, her heartbeat picking up as she realizes what that entails. To arrive so soon after her scream, he must've ran. She's embarrassed that she had to have someone come running after her. She's supposed to be the big bad werewolf, not little red riding hood. But the blush is mostly for the thought of Derek caring about what happens to her. It's not often that someone would come running after her, even knowing it would be dangerous.
Derek cocks an eyebrow, wondering why Blake's heart is beating so hard all of a sudden, but he doesn't question it out loud, which Blake is eternally grateful for. Instead, he steps up onto the first stair of a partly abandoned house, making a creak ring out. Blake picks her head up to look at the huge shell of a house, noticing all of the scorch marks marring the outside. "Is this where you're staying?" she asks carefully, not wanting to offend. Some part of her wants the answer to be no and he just didn't want to take her to where he's actually staying, but his scent is so apparent in this place that she already knows the answer is yes. But the thing is, if she's assuming correctly, this is the house his family was burned to death in.
Blake frowns, her eyes tracing guiltily along the scarred wood as she imagines the horror that must've happen here. Horror inflicted upon Derek by hunters. She releases a slow breath and puts her head on his shoulder once more, trying to focus on something other than the awful thoughts plaguing her.
"Yeah," Derek answers, nudging the door open with his foot. Blake nods in understanding, pursing her lips.
"How…" Blake starts to ask a question but she stops. "Never mind," she says, shaking her head. That question would've been too personal.
Derek doesn't ask any further, instead walking deeper into the house and into what seems to be the dusty remains of the dining room with ruined hardwood floors and matching table and chairs. He pulls out one of the chairs with his foot and, very careful of the gaping wounds on her back, gently begins to lower her onto it. She grits her teeth and takes a sharp breath, cringing at every little movement. But she can tell he's really trying make it easier on her, so she doesn't allow herself to vocalize her pain. He's thoughtful enough to make sure her back doesn't touch the chair's back by sitting her in it sideways, so she can at least be strong enough not to whimper while he places her in it.
After he sets her down, he walks out of the ruined dining room and into a different room, coming back shortly with a blue plastic bucket. Blake purses her lips when she catches sight of it, unsure of what its purpose is. If he notices her questioning looks, he ignores them. Her question is answered moments after he enters another room, the sound of running water surprising her.
When he returns once more, Blake cranes her neck to look at him, though she keeps she shoulders very still so she doesn't disturb her wounds more than necessary. The bucket's filled with water like she assumed, but she still isn't exactly sure of what it's going to be used for. "What's the water for?" she asks. She has an idea, but she'd rather know for sure before anything happens.
"It's to rinse the wounds," he replies, setting it down on the table. "They're caked with dirt and leaves."
Blake cringes, remembering the feeling of being forced to roll onto her freshly shredded back to try and get away from the alpha. It definitely wasn't one of her finer moments. "So… shirt off?" she asks, reaching for the hem of the article in question.
"You could try," Derek says nonchalantly, "but it'd probably take some of your skin with it since the blood dried."
"That's… great," Blake mumbles sarcastically, her unbroken hand coming up to massage her eyes. She hadn't taken into account that the blood would dry. "Okay," she says at last, finally giving up and handing the reins fully over to Derek. "Do… whatever you have to."
Derek doesn't reply, instead he picks the bucket up and pours a gentle trickle of water over Blake's back. Blake sucks in a sharp breath, not expecting the water to be so cold, and bites her knuckle. She can definitely feel the skin loosening after being released from the hold of the cloth glued into place by the dried blood, the matted dirt, and who knows what else. The dirty water drips steadily onto the floor, taking with it all the contagions that used to be caked onto her back. After her shirt is thoroughly saturated, Derek's fingers slide under the hem of her shirt, peeling it away from her back with a painful squelch. Blake's teeth break the skin of her knuckle and it takes everything she has not to scream in pain from the sickening sensation of pieces of her skin lifting away and rising with the shirt.
"You can take it off now," Derek says, holding the fabric a careful distance away from her back so that it doesn't get stuck once more. Blake swallows her pain and nods quickly, her good hand clumsily reaching for the hem of her shirt. Once she has it, she raises both hands over her head, Derek patiently helping her pull the disgusting, wet in some places yet stiff with filth in others, shirt over her head to be quickly tossed onto the ground.
"Did that…" Blake pauses to take a deep breath, fighting off light-headedness, "make it look better or worse?" she manages to ask with a small self-depreciating snort. She can't actually see it, so for all she knows she could be bleeding to death. Though it's unlikely, seeing as her healing still worked enough to stop the bleeding at least. It's certainly not doing much for her pain, though. Hey, at least she's in too much pain to care that the only thing preserving her modesty is her bra, which is dangling by the straps now on account of the band being shredded along with her back.
"I can see your ribs in some places now," Derek says, not sounding very impressed, though he doesn't sound very bothered either, "so I'm going to go with worse."
"That's great," Blake breathes, somewhat nauseous at the thought of her bones being bared to the world. "That's just great," she repeats, her voice a hoarse whisper as she feels her stomach churn uncomfortably. An overwhelming sense of light-headedness comes over her and she sways slightly in her chair, blinking hard to try and clear her vision. Derek's hands shoot out to grab her by the shoulders just as she slumps forward into unconsciousness.
Blake awakes to a tight aching pain that stiffens all her joints and makes her muscles feel like concrete. She forces her eyes open and pulls in a deep breath through her nose, greeted by the overwhelming scent of Derek and dust. She's lying on top of a sleeping bag with the hard floor underneath the thin layer of cushioning. The sleeping bag is situated in a room she's never been before and since she's lying on her stomach, it's not very easy to turn her head. The wall is all she can see. She blinks hard, the events leading up to this predicament coming back slowly, like chilled honey being poured from the bottle. Looking for Wess. Talking to Danny. Searching the forest. Spotting the alpha. Running. Screaming. Bleeding.
Derek.
That's right. He came to help her. He carried her back to… where he's staying, which may or may not be the house his family burned in. But why? He doesn't like her. He doesn't like her because she's a hunter. But she's not a hunter anymore… right? Well, not a working one anyway. Does that make her a broken hunter? Or maybe just a broken person.
Where'd those thoughts come from? Blake closes her eyes, trying to wave off the plague of bad thoughts the same way one would shoo a fly. Broken or not, there's one thing she can do and that's find Wess. She takes a deep stabilizing breath and concentrates on Derek's scent. That's right, he has to be around here somewhere. She brings her hands up to push herself into a sitting position, but hisses in pain as she puts even the slightest amount of weight on her wrist. Somehow she forgot it was broken without actually forgetting. She knew it was broken, but didn't think about not being able to use it. Now that she thinks about it, her pants leg is exceptionally tight at her knee, meaning that it probably swelled up like a balloon. That's just lovely.
"You're awake," Derek's voice interrupts her self-exploration, forcing her to turn her head. She almost winces at the colossal crick she anticipates, but somehow the movement is easy and relatively pain-free. Maybe werewolves don't get cricks. Derek's sitting leaned against the wall, his legs stretched out before him.
"Yeah," she croaks, before wincing and trying to clear her throat. There's just a tiny trickle of light being fed in through the window behind him, meaning it's close to sundown. She takes a moment to admire him in the dim light, tracing over her eyes his features appreciatively.
"I assumed your wrist would heal faster," Derek says, Blake watches his lips move the whole time as if in a trance. "How'd it break?"
Blake blushes once she realizes what she was doing and averts her eyes, remembering the crunch her wrist gave as the alpha crushed it in its grip. "The alpha," she pauses to lick her dry and cracked lips, wishing for some water, "it grabbed my arm when I was running. When I grabbed onto a tree, it got pissed off and squeezed my wrist until it broke."
Derek nods, "And your knee?" he presses.
"When I let go of the tree, it flung me to the ground. When I tried to scoot away, it stomped on my knee," Blake explains, she closes her eyes, trying to ignore the angry pulse her knee gives as she thinks about the alpha. "I assume you knew about the alpha," she states flatly, opening her eyes to stare accusingly at him.
"Yeah," Derek says unflinchingly, "I did."
Blake brings her good arm up to push off of the floor, tired of lying on her stomach in such an unguarded position. As she does, she realizes she's wearing a shirt now. It must be another one of Derek's, but when she moves, she can feel a breeze come through the back. She turns her head to see that the back's cut out so it doesn't touch the raw flesh. She's taken aback by the simple gesture, surprised that he'd even bother. Pushing herself up, she hisses as weight is shifted onto her swollen knee, before awkwardly transitioning to sit on her backside, stretching her injured leg out in front of her as she does. The wounds on her back pulse steadily, a punishment for agitating them with all of her movement. "Good," she says sarcastically, "I'd really hate for you to be taken by surprise and get your ass handed to you." The statement is supposed to be a little more vicious, but by the end, her eyes have slid closed and all of the bite has drained out of her voice. It's nobody's fault but her own that she got attacked. It would've been a little nice to have some warning though. But who owes her even that much?
When Blake opens her eyes again, Derek's staring steadily at her, a slight crease of displeasure lining his brow. "You haven't heard anything about the animal attacks?" he asks skeptically.
"No," Blake says, reaching down to try and roll up her pants sleeve. "I've been out of the hunting scene for a while. I thought we established that."
"You don't have to be a hunter to read the papers, see the news reports, or notice the people gathering a lynching mob for the 'mountain lion' causing all the attacks," Derek says drily, rolling his eyes at her.
Blake ignores the rather good point he made, instead trying to force her jeans to roll up past her cantaloupe-sized knee. "So if it's attacking people, why are they looking for a mountain lion? It looks nothing like one."
"Not everyone's lucky enough to survive," Derek says.
Blake casts her eyes to the side, absorbing the information. "So it's killing people," she mutters quietly. It makes sense for there to be an alpha in the area the Argents moved to. She just wishes she hadn't been so blind as to not realize it before now.
"Yeah, it is," Derek agrees. "That's why I need your help to kill it."
Blake looks at him sharply, "I told you," she grits, her teeth grinding together harshly, "I'm not a hunter anymore."
"I'm not asking you as a hunter," Derek says, maintaining steady eye contact with Blake. "I'm asking you as a werewolf. If he gets caught, what do you think it means for the rest of us?" he asks, gesturing towards her and then to himself.
"I have problems of my own," Blake says, averting her eyes. "I'm not going to commit to something I can't finish," she says stubbornly.
"It's because of your deal with Starla, right?" Derek asks bluntly.
Electric blue flashes to life in Blake's eyes, suspicion and anger curling her features sharply. "How do you know about that?!" she spits, wanting nothing more than to be able to cross the room and wrap her hands around his throat. The only people who know are Starla and Faith, both of which she told personally, and there's absolutely no way they know Derek. Even if they knew him, there'd be no reason to tell him. Why does he know? What does he want from her?
"Back in New York, you were in your motel room. I got there just as you told her about being bitten," Derek explains, shrugging her anger off easily. It's not like she could do much harm to him in her current state.
Blake takes a deep breath, anger festering under her skin like a disease. "So you eavesdropped on me?" she seethes, clenching her fingers into fists.
"Yeah, I did," Derek agrees easily, nodding. "It was an opportunity to make sure you weren't a threat. I took it. For all I knew, you could've still been connected to Kate and all the other hunters."
At the mention of being connected to the other hunters, Blake's anger is deflated, only to be left with a feeling of apathy. "Did it make you feel better to know the only person who would help me is going to kill me after she's done using me?" she asks, closing her eyes as if to block out the world.
"So you're going through with it," Derek states, ignoring her question.
Blake's eyes snap open to level Derek with a heavy glare, "Of course I'm going through with it," she says curtly, insulted at the slightest insinuation that she'd go back on her word. "I promised I would."
"And your promises mean more than your life?" Derek asks skeptically, arching an eyebrow at her.
"Yes," Blake answers without a moment's hesitance.
"Then promise me to help kill the alpha, and I'll get you out of this deal," Derek propositions, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I don't want out of the deal," Blake says, staring back defiantly. "It's too late to change the terms, anyway."
"So you want to die?" Derek asks, narrowing his eyes at her.
"It doesn't matter what I want anymore," Blake shrugs. "Even if I go back on my word and decide not to go through with it, I'll still be a werewolf. My whole life has changed and nothing I used to know is reliable anymore."
"Don't be so melodramatic," Derek rolls his eyes. "You're still alive. You can learn new things… like how to be in a pack, how to work with other werewolves."
Blake laughs, "Oh yes. I'll just go out and ask that alpha if it has any openings in its pack. I'm sure I'll be received with open arms," she says sardonically, though she can't help the little smile that pulls at her lips. "No," she says easily, "I'm pretty sure I'll be an omega until the end of my days, however soon that may be." There's no reason to dance around the subject, they both know what's going on.
"It doesn't have to be that way," Derek says. "You could still change your mind."
After a moment, she sighs and runs a hand through her hair, "I'll help you," she relents at last, hoping to draw his attention away from the subject of changing her mind. "You just better hope the alpha dies before my deal comes due," she says, averting her eyes.
"You're not going to let me help you," Derek says. It might've been a question, but she couldn't quite tell.
Blake shrugs, "You've done enough for me," she says. "I still owe you for what you've done. You saved my life back in New York, you taught me how to control the shifts, you lured Scott away from me on the full moon, you defended me against Chris Argent, and just now you carried me back here and patched me up," she pulls at the collar of the shirt's she's wearing, "you even cut a shirt for me to wear. You've done more for me than anyone has in a long time."
Derek stubbornly refuses to make eye contact with her, "You should go back to sleep," he says, effortlessly getting to his feet. "You'll heal faster."
Blake blinks hard, noticing how exhausted she is for the first time. "You're just trying to get out of the conversation," she accuses. Though she doesn't mind, she needs a break from it as well.
"Seeing as you're currently crippled, there's not much you can do about it," he smirks, exiting the room without any further explanation.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," she mutters, knowing that he can still hear her, "taking advantage of a person's injuries like that…" she breaks off to yawn, her eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open. When she doesn't hear a reply, only his footsteps traveling deeper into the house, she gives in and slowly lowers herself back down onto the sleeping bag, her cheek pressing into the material that smells so strongly of Derek, which has somehow become synonymous with safety.