SEVEN

It wasn't until I was on the main road that I realized I had no idea where Derek Hale lived. Information I'm sure Scott could have told me… if I had a damn phone to call him on. My eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror where I could see an unconscious Derek sprawled across my back seat. With the car in motion, I couldn't tell if he had simply passed out again, or if he had stopped breathing entirely.

"I hate you." I murmured, feeling guilty the second the words left my lips. Is it morally acceptable to be angry with a dying man? And was he the one I was even angry with? Or was it the giant dog-like beast that I should be cursing? Scott had told me that Derek wasn't the one who bit him, so does that mean he's one of the good guys?

As much as I itched to just drop his ass off at the hospital, I knew it wasn't an option. Leaving a dying Werewolf at the emergency entrance would surely mean trouble for Scott too. With that in mind, I started on the road that led to the only other place in Beacon Hills I knew.

My house.

Since mom was working nights, there would be no one around for a while. That should give me enough time to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with him. I just had to keep the blood off the floors… and walls… and everything else.

My mind drifted to Scott and Stiles, but I forced it back to the situation at hand. If I thought too hard about my baby brother, I'd never be able to get Derek in the house. Right now, I needed to get Derek and myself somewhere safe, then call the police.

A soft groan from the backseat had me slamming the brakes and nearly snapping my spine to turn around. His face was contorted in obvious pain, eyes scrunched, brows pulled together, jaw clenched. He took in a ragged breath, his back arching off the seat slightly.

"Oh thank god." I thought I was about to cry, but a laugh tore through my throat instead. "You're still alive!" I waited for a response, but received nothing besides another painfilled grunt. I pulled back onto the road and continued on towards the house.

A strange scent began to waft throughout the car. For some reason the smell reminded me of my childhood piggy bank. Such a random thought to bring forward, but the ceramic purple pig danced across my mind on it's tiny padded hooves.

It's blood. I realized with a gag. That coppery, cent like smell was Derek's blood leaking all over the back seat of my car. The rest of the way home, my eyes were obsessively checking the rearview mirror for signs of life.

"Please don't die in my fucking car." I mumbled under my breath. I heard his breathing hitch almost as if in response and wondered if he was more conscious than I was giving him credit for.

Once I was parked in the driveway, after going over a rather large bump and earning another groan of pain from my passenger, I thought through my next issue. What do I do with him once we're home?

"Alright." I said, turning my body to see into the back. "I need you to be conscious now." I reached out to push his shoulder, but brought my hand back after a slight hesitation. The last time I'd tried to touch him when he was hurt was at the animal clinic. Like any wounded animal, it was safer to keep my distance.

I knew he had heard me because he slowly began to push himself into a seated position, freeing every so often from pain. I remembered the way the bullet wound in his arm had closed. Would his back do the same? How long would it take?

"We just have to get into the house." I urged while jumping from the driver's seat and hurrying to open the back door for him. It was maybe ten feet to the porch, another ten to the couch in the living room. If he could make it there, he'd have at least 8 hours to rest before my mother came home.

He raised his head to meet my gaze before looking all around us. Even in the dim interior lights of the car, I could make out the soft mossy green of his eyes. I knew he recognized my house, he'd been here before. The muscles in his entire body tensed as he readied himself for the journey. I stepped back to give him room and he crawled his way out of the car. He hauled himself up each step using nothing but the sketchy railing for support. I felt disgusted with myself as I watched him struggle. I should help him. I should let him lean on me as we move forward. But I didn't. Instead, I stood quietly while he did the agonizing work himself.

Finally, we made it to the front door. Once I had it unlocked and open, we hurried through the threshold. I cast out a quick glance over the quiet street, making sure no eyes lingered on us from the neighbor's windows. When I was sure that no one had seen us, I closed the door and turned the deadbolt with an audible clunk.

"Bathroom?" Derek breathed from behind me. He was letting his weight rest against the banister of the stairs. His face was pale and I noticed new droplets of sweat had broken out over his forehead from his efforts.

Something shifted inside me. Now that we were in the safety of my home, behind a locked door and miles away from the giant black beast, I wasn't so confident in my decision to help him. There was less urgency impacting my actions and more awareness of the actual situation. Here I was, alone with a man I barely knew, who was currently bleeding all over our old wooden floors.

Though wounded, he could overpower me in an instant. His body was lean and cut, his frame tall enough to tower over me even as he leaned on the bannister. With his mouth agape while he struggled to take even breaths I could see his teeth. They looked like human teeth, white and straight. But I knew what they could become. Even his hands were intimidating. Those long fingers could grow claws that would slice through my flesh with ease. Without the claws, they were still large enough to fit around my throat… I shivered at ghostly memories.

"Hey." His voice pulled my attention back to his face. Oh, right. He had asked a question.

"The only bathroom is upstairs." I glanced at the daunting staircase. Would he be able to make it up there? "You can pee off the back deck." My thoughts came out as words, and had he not responded so quickly I probably would have been embarrassed.

"I need a mirror."

I was sure I could find one on the first floor, or even get one to bring down, but he had already started climbing. One by one, he conquered the wooden steps, leaving small drops of blood on each. Making a mental reminder to clean the stairs before mom's shift ended, I followed.

"On the right." I said and added quickly "No, the next one." when he opened the door to my own room. He all but collapsed against the bathroom counter, clearly exhausting all of his strength on the way up. I stayed outside and watched as he stood hunched over the sink catching his breath. My hand crept up the interior wall right beside the entrance and flicked the light switch, illuminating the entire bathroom.

"There's a first aid kit under the sink." I said in a small voice. He gave a slight nod to show that he heard me, but made no other move. "Do you want me to get it?" I offered, praying that he would say no. If he said yes, it would mean walking into the cramped bathroom next to him. "Are you going to heal? LIke you did at the clinic?"

"Yeah." he pushed himself up straight with one long breath of air. He didn't elaborate as to which question he was answering. I saw his muscles tense the same way they had just before he got out of the car. He was building himself up to do something big… well, something strenuous.

His shoulders shrugged out of the leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor at his feet. Next, his arms crossed in front of his torso and lifted his black t-shirt over his head. Fear and disgust and something else totally unfamiliar flooded through me at the sight.

His back was riddled with four perfectly spaced holes. They were different from the bullet wound a few weeks ago. These were dark and grotesque. And instead of black lines protruding from the area, blood smothered his skin around the wounds. How was he able to even stand upright with an injury like that? But the muscles that rippled under his skin reminded me of his unnatural strength. Reminded me that HE was unnatural… supernatural actually.

Derek twisted his body so he could see his back in the mirror. He tried several different positions before letting out an aggravated grunt and started randomly pulling open drawers. I knew what he was looking for and knew he wouldn't find it in any of those drawers. Silently, I slipped into the room and opened the long cupboard beside the tub. The bottom few shelves held neatly folded mismatched towels. Sitting on the top shelf was a large plastic basket which contained an array of items. A container of Q-Tips, extra contact solution, a never-been-used curling iron and a hand mirror. I gripped the handle of the mirror and pulled it free from the basket.

"Here." I held it out to him. He whipped around, intense eyes glued to mine for a brief moment before he finally registered the item in my hand. He reached out to grab it from me, his fingers brushing against my palm in the action. I felt my body go rigid at the contact.

Jesus, Chelsea. I scolded myself. Get it together and chill the fuck out.

I backed out of the bathroom to resume my old spot in the doorway. Derek lifted the hand mirror in front of him to see the reflection of his back in the big mirror. I wanted to look away, but my eyes betrayed me. They roamed over his body, following the creases of muscles along his side. Right down to the hem of his black jeans where his hips dipped beneath the fabric.

I turned around, forcing my eyes away.

"I'll get you some water, and a new shirt." I mumbled as I walked back down the stairs. In the kitchen, away from him, I felt like I could finally take a full breath. My hands shook as I reached up to open the cupboard and continued shaking all the while I filled the glass with tap water. The adrenaline from the parking lot was starting to wear off and exhaustion was slowly creeping in. Nevertheless, my tired legs carried back up the stairs.

"I need to lay down." He spoke before I was even at the bathroom door. Werewolf hearing, right. I reminded myself. Scott had said his senses were more powerful now. He could smell and hear things he couldn't before. He must have heard me coming. It's not like I'm as graceful or silent as a panther. He probably didn't even need his super hearing.

Now that we were upstairs, I thought it would be a better idea to stay up here rather than lead him back down to the living room couch. At least the bathroom was here if he needed it. And if I hid him in Scott's room, we could close the door and mom would never see him if she happened to come home early.

"Come on." I motioned for him to follow me down the hall to Scott's door. "You can stay in here." I said as I set the glass of water down on the nightstand. The whole room smelled like a gym bag, but he didn't seem to notice. Carefully, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed. My eyes were glued to his hands as they grabbed fistfulls of the comforter while he rode out another wave of pain. Veins in the back of his hands stood out as he squeezed the bedding harder. They traveled up his wrists and into his forearm where they disappeared under thicker skin and a thin coating of hair.

He leaned to the left like he was about to lay on his side. The motion broke my attention away from his arms and back to reality.

"Wait!" I said a little too loudly in the otherwise silent room. He paused and peered up at me from underneath annoyingly long eyelashes. "Let me get a towel to …" I made sweeping motions over the bed with my hand as I searched for the words to explain "spread out. That way you don't get blood on Scott's stuff." I finished the sentence clumsily. I knew in the grand scheme of things, a little blood on the sheets wasn't a big deal. But it felt important at the moment so I rolled with it. He didn't say anything, just sat there and watched me until I scurried out of the room.

When I returned, I stepped around the other side of the bed and began to unfold the towel. Again, my eyes flickered over to his back.

"There's a lot of blood." I commented, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

"I'll heal." Though his back was to me, I could hear his words perfectly. "I can already feel it happening."

"How long will it take?" I smoothed the towel out on the mattress and came back around to the food of the bed. He turned his head towards me and gave it a slight shake.

"A few hours. Maybe more." He closed his eyes for a long moment. I waited patiently for him to continue. "Where's Scott?"

"Oh God!" I gasped, realizing I had been so focused on him that I had never called the sheriff. "Where's your phone?" I held my hand out expectantly.

"Who are you going to call?"

"Scott and Stiles are still at the school with that thing!" I jutted my hand out further to emphasize the hurry.

"Do you think the police will actually be useful?" he shifted his body weight, shoulders tensing in the process. "All you're gonna do is get more people hurt."

"So I let Scott die?" I threw my hands up in frustration. "Give me your phone."

"Scott is smarter than you think. He'll get out of this. I know he will." The confidence in his voice made me pause. I was once again reminded that everyone in Beacon Hills seemed to know Scott McCall better than I did. His shoulders tensed once again, fighting off the pain as he dug into the pocket of his jeans. "Call Scott, not the police." he said through clenched teeth, handing me the phone. I reached for it greedily, longing to hear my brother's voice.

Thankful that I'd memorized Scott and mom's numbers when I got back to town, I swiped furiously to open the phone. Derek must have seen the desperation on my face because he silently grabbed the phone from me to unlock it.

"I need to sleep. When I sleep, my body has nothing else to focus on besides healing." I nodded in understanding and he took it as his cue to fall sideways onto the towel.

I stood still for a few seconds, unsure of what I was supposed to do. Leave him here alone? Sit in the desk chair and watch him like a creep? I decided to leave him and turned towards the door.

"Thank you." I caught his faint whisper just as I touched the knob. I looked back over my shoulder. There was something sad about him at that moment. The way he laid curled on his side, body pale and sweaty from exertion. He didn't seem as dangerous as I knew he was.

A simple "you're welcome" would have been the appropriate answer. Short and sweet and common. But my mind, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt, formulated a different response. One that shot me back into that moment in Stiles's Jeep. Back before I knew the truth.

"Sorry I thought you were a drug dealer."

At first I didn't think he heard me. He laid motionless on the bed, his eyes closed, lashes forming half moons on his cheeks. Blood was still splattered across half of his face. I should have given him a cloth to wash it off with.

"It would have been easier if I was." his voice captured my attention back to the conversation. I nodded in agreement even though he couldn't see me. It would have been much easier to deal with a low life drug dealer ruining my brother's life. But instead, it was a fucking werewolf. For a few seconds, I stood there awkwardly trying to think of something else to say. It didn't feel right just leaving him there. But soon enough, I heard his breathing even out into a slow methodical rhythm, and I was punching Scott's number into his phone.

I re-wrote this chapter 1,000 times. I still don't think it's quite right but I couldn't stand to do it again! Drop a review to let me know what you think!