Hi all! Here's my 100th revision. It was all self-forced, I tried to get back into writing this story and realized how much my style changed in a year. I figured it was time to re-edit it until I felt like I was back in the groove.

Well, here goes. As always, all I own are my OCs.

Two days later, and Derek's admission about the alpha wanting Scott is still haunting me. On top of that, I've started having dreams. Really bizarre dreams.

You know how I've started being attacked by random images and sounds? I guess it all finally spilled over to my unconscious mind, because now I'm running through the woods. I'm younger, and somehow so different. Wild. Or maybe it's the company I keep, three other kids - one my age, two older - rolling around the leaves with me, chasing me up trees and over boulders. I see a woman, too, with red eyes. Sometimes there's even a wolf. A big, black wolf.

Sigmund Freud believed that dreams are just our desires and fears manifesting. Sometimes they're also repressed memories revealing themselves. He also said that nearly every dream, no matter what, is a release of sexual tension, so I'm not too sure what to think about all that.

Things are still awkward at home. For me, at least. My parents are still acting like everything's fine, and the twins are none the wiser. I just don't know what to believe anymore. Werewolves being real was already a wakeup call, but add in the secrets I know my parents are keeping… I just wish things went back to normal.

Today finds me in the Sewer Lair, finishing reviewing the last of the articles for publishing. I did end up writing a report on the Garrison Meyers, but figured it was best if I just stuck with the facts, Sheriff Stilinski - albeit reluctantly - even letting me interview him and a few other deputies.

With a few last clicks, I send the articles ahead to our printer. I make sure to save everything and shut down the computers and monitors, locking the room as I make for the sunshine. I briefly stop at the school library, picking up a couple of books for a research assignment I have to do on physics in the 1800s. The bell rings, signaling the end of the day and I check out what I need, carrying the books in my arms. My side purse bangs against my hip as I walk towards the parking lot. With only one class on my schedule today and no homework due, there really wasn't a need for me to bring my backpack. With all the books I just checked out, I'm definitely regretting that decision.

As Stiles drove me to school, I meet him at the Jeep. He smirks at my haul, and I roll my eyes, waiting for his snarky comment. "What, was a cart not available?"

"Shut up." He unlocks the car and I toss the books in the backseat, sliding on my seatbelt. We start to drive, until a familiar man steps in front of the car, holding his hand up. Stiles stomps on the breaks and I rush out, catching Derek as he stumbles. Unfortunately, we both still end up on the ground. "Oh my God, what happened?" I ask, wincing at the added weight. Derek's a big guy, after all.

"What the hell?" Scott asks, coming to where Derek is leaning against me. Stiles gets out of the Jeep. "What are you doing here?"

"I was shot."

"He's not looking so good, dudes." Stiles helpfully points out as a symphony of honking cars begins to echo around us.

"Why aren't you healing?" I ask, propping Derek up more.

"I can't. It was… It was a different kind of bullet." He pants out.

"A silver bullet?"

Derek glares over at Stiles. "No, you idiot."

"Wait, wait. That's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours." Scott looks off in the distance.

"Who?" I ask.

"The one who shot me." Derek groans, closing his eyes in pain. He opens them, and they change from neon blue to forest green rapidly.

"What are you doing? Stop that!"

"I'm trying to tell you, I can't." The werewolf grits out at Scott.

"Derek, get up." My best friend orders. I try to help Derek stand, but he's too heavy. Scott comes in to save the day as people start getting out of their cars. "Help me put him in the Jeep." I nod and open the door, first crawling into the back and then easing Derek into the passenger seat.

"I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used."

Scott blinks at him. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"'Cause she's an Argent, she's with them." Derek refers to Allison, and I look at Scott worriedly.

"Why should I help you?"

"Because you need me."

Scott sighs. "Fine. I'll try." He looks at Stiles, who's behind the wheel. "Get him out of here."

"I hate you for this so much." He starts the car and drives away, and I slip off my cardigan, groaning. Cashmere. But then I look at the paling Derek and all issues with it getting ruined are pushed aside.

"Give me your arm." I gently request, and he nods, turning and peeling off his leather jacket. I press the cardigan against the wound, holding it down. He winces. "I know, I know, I'm sorry."

"Wait, what the hell?" Stiles turns to briefly glare at me. "You actually made friends with Derek Hale?"

I smirk, pressing against the wound some more. "It's a work in progress."

Twenty minutes have passed since we started to drive, and Stiles is only getting more impatient. The response he gets from the text to Scott clearly agitates him, and he tosses his phone down. "Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, alright."

"Stiles, I'll clean it out if I have to." I argue for Derek, my cardigan now soaked through. He starts panting more, and I try to put on a smile. "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

"We're almost there." Stiles grits out.

"Almost where?" Asks Derek.

Stiles sighs. "Your house."

"What. No, you can't take me there."

"Why not? Ricky can take care of you."

"Ricky?"

"Patricia."

Derek looks at me. "That's a terrible nickname. You let him call you that?"

I roll my eyes. "Shut up."

"And why can't I take you to your own house?" Stiles asks, incredulous.

"I can't protect myself. Or Patricia."

"Patty." I correct.

"Patty." He glares over at me.

"And I don't need protection. My dad's a deputy, he made sure I could protect myself." I tell the werewolf, who rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well, self-defense teachers aren't the same as hunters. They aren't the ones trying to kill you."

"Not the teachers I had." I wince at the memory of Shane Michaels knocking me down after I failed to use his momentum against him.

Derek snorts, but it's pained. "Still not the same thing. Hunters have guns."

Finally losing it, Stiles pulls over. "All right." He shuts off the Jeep. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?"

"Please tell me you're not dying." I plead with Derek, who throws me a toothy grin.

"I'm not dying?" I raise an eyebrow at his response. "Not yet."

"Damn it, Derek!"

"Hey, this isn't my fault!" He yells at me, and I jump a bit. "I have a last resort."

"What do you mean?" Stiles flips out. "What last resort?" Derek rolls back his sleeve, removing my cardigan from his arm. Stiles and I groan at the sight of the blood trickling out of the small hole in his forearm. "Oh my God, what is that?" Stiles asks, completely revolted. "Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out."

"Stiles!" I yell, making the boy jump and the werewolf cover his ear. "Sorry." I bunch up the cardigan once more and press gently against the wound, and he growls in pain. "I know, I know, I'm sorry."

After panting for a few moments, Derek looks at Stiles. "Start the car. Now."

"I don't think you should be barking orders the way you look, okay. In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road, and leave you for dead."

Derek grits his teeth. "Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Stiles looks at him, then turns away, starting the Jeep back up. I smile to myself and dab at the wound, Derek's free hand clutching my forearm. But not in a painful way. It makes me feel warm, and if it wasn't for the blood seeping out of his wound I'd be more focused on the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

We're still driving around town when I get a call from my mom. Shushing the still griping Stiles I answer. "Hey, mom. What's up?"

"Where are you? You said you'd be back after school."

I grimace. "Sorry, mom. Um, Stiles and I decided to go for a drive?"

"Are you asking me or are you telling me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you lawyering me?"

"Absolutely. No call, no text, you do realize a girl was found dead, right?"

"Yeah. Laura Hale." There's silence on the other line, and I curse myself for playing my hand before I had all the facts. Oh well. I'm done with the secrets. Are my parents? "But you knew that. Because you're the lawyer for the Hale family. That's why you said Derek's an old family friend."

My mom pauses. "Are you lawyering me?"

"I learned from the best." I sigh. "Sorry. Stiles knows I'm stressed, so we're just driving. We may go to the diner just outside of town." I nod at Stiles, who takes over as I hold out my phone to him.

"Yo, mama A!"

My mom laughs. "Hi Stiles, take care of my daughter."

"You know I will, mama A."

I put the phone back to my ear. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I know I should've. Love you, mom."

"I love you, too. And hey, I know you're gonna have questions. About, you know…"

"Yeah." My mom and I can practically read each other's thoughts. We're close like that. "When I get home."

"My curious little journalist. Alright, stay safe pumpkin."

"You too, mama." She hangs up and I groan, rubbing my temples. "God."

"Hey, now that your issue is solved, maybe we can deal with this one?" Stiles practically yells at me, and I roll my eyes. I check on Derek's wound, wincing at the steady blood flow.

"Please tell me you're feeling better." I plead.

"I don't think… you'll appreciate my lie."

I narrow my eyes. "I may if you keep getting worse." I look up to see the sky growing darker, and darker.

Stiles pulls over, and decides to call Scott, frustrated at the lack of texts. "Scott!"

I hear something from the other line.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles sighs, listening to our best friend. "By the way, he's starting to smell. Like death." Another pause. "What about your boss?" Stiles sighs once more. "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you." Stiles passes his phone to Derek without even looking. The werewolf takes it from his hand and puts the device against his ear.

"Did you find it?... Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right." Derek looks at me, but I quickly glance down to keep pressing my cardigan against his arm. "Then think about this. The alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time, you either kill with him, or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet." Derek hangs up and gives the phone back to Stiles, who pockets it.

"Where are we going?" I ask, removing the cardigan from the wound.

"The Animal Clinic. Don't worry. I have the keys." He holds up the copy he made, and I laugh.

"Always so clever, Holmes."

"You know it, Watson." He responds, winking at me. We peel off into the night, the dying werewolf groaning.

The moment Stiles opens the back gate to the clinic, the dogs inside start barking. Derek walks in and plops down onto some bags of dog food, completely out of breath. "Does 'Nordic Blue Monkshood' mean anything to you?" Stiles asks.

"It's a rare form of wolfsbane… he has to bring me the bullet." He moans out. I kneel down beside him and dab at his forehead with my long sleeve shirt, the sweat wetting the thin material.

"Why?"

"Cause I'm gonna die without it." I reel back in shock, and he nods at me. "It's true."

"Well, let's hope he gets here in time. Come on." I help Derek stand up, and he starts to peel off his shirt, revealing his smooth chest and toned abs. Okay. So not the time.

Stiles flips on the lights and the room fills with a buzzing noise. Derek walks over to the metal table and puts his injured arm down.

"You know, that really doesn't look like anything some Echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of." Stiles tries to optimistically point out.

Derek ignores him, though. "When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me." I stare at the bulging veins around the bullet hole, clutching Stiles's arm. Derek pants and turns his back to us to pilfer through Dr. Alan Deaton's supplies, showing off the large three-spiral tattoo in between his shoulder blades.

"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles asks, and we watch Derek go through the wooden cabinets.

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time," he slams the door closed, then goes through some drawers, "last resort." He pants out.

"Which is?" I ask, leaning forward.

Derek turns around, holding up a bonesaw. "One of you is gonna cut off my arm." I start to gag.

"Not it." I mutter, getting a hurt look from Stiles.

Derek starts to wrap a tourniquet band around his arm, right at his bicep. Stiles and I watch in disgust. Stiles takes the handheld bonesaw and gags, setting it down.

"What if you bleed to death?

"It'll heal if it works." Derek mutters around the band in his mouth.

"Ugh, look… I don't know if either of us can do this." Stiles speaks up.

"Why not?" Derek growls.

"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!"

"You faint at the sight of blood?!" Derek yells at us. I jump.

"No, but we might at the sight of a chopped off arm." Stiles sasses, but it's less effective thanks to the green tinge in his face.

Derek sighs. "All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head."

"Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-" Derek cuts Stiles up by grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him to it, threatening him. "Oh my god, okay, totally, I'll do it. I'll do it. What, what are you doing?" Derek gags, and throws up black goo all over the floor. "Holy God, what the hell is that?" I run around the other side of the table to rub Derek's back, helping him get everything out.

"It's my body," he starts to explain, "trying to heal itself."

"Well, it's not doing a very good job at it."

"Now." Derek looks up at Stiles. "You gotta do it now."

"Look, honestly, I don't think I can."

"Just do it!" Derek yells. I sigh.

"I'll do it. Give me the saw." I hold out my hand and walk around, "Oh my God, okay." I mutter to myself, just about to throw up. I hold the bonesaw to the spot just under the tourniquet, getting ready to perform my first and hopefully only operation.

But just as I'm about to get it started, we hear Scott's voice. "Stiles? Pat?"

"Scott?" Stiles calls, and our friend runs into the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott asks me, and I set down the bonesaw immediately.

"Uh… his idea." I point to Derek.

Stiles laughs. "Oh you just saved me from a lifetime of nightmares."

"Did you get it?" Derek asks. Scott riffles through his pocket before handing the long bullet over to the other werewolf. He holds it up in the light.

"What are you going to do with it?" Stiles asks.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" Derek collapses and the bullet rolls away.

"No, no, no!" Scott yells, chasing after it. While he tries to pick it back up Stiles kneels down by Derek's unconscious form.

"Derek?" He grabs his face, then slaps at it. "Derek, come on, wake up. Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?!"

"Move!" I tell Stiles, and he shuffles back. Remembering my First Aid training I start the chest compressions. "Come on, Derek. Come on."

"He's not waking up!" Stiles tells Scott, who groans and keeps reaching for where the bullet fell. "I think he's dying. I think he's dead!"

"Shut up!" I yell, then continue doing CPR.

"Just hold on!" A few moments later, Scott straightens. "I got it! I got it!"

Stiles pushes me out of the way. "Please don't kill me for this." He punches Derek in the face, finally waking him up. As Stiles shakes out his fist I help Derek stand, and lead him over to the table. He bites at the tip of the casing and pulls it apart, spilling the wolfsbane on the table before pulling out a lighter and setting it on fire. As it sizzles and sparks Derek scoops it into his hand and shoves it onto the bullet hole, fingering it in and screaming in pain. Blue smoke filters out and he collapses on the ground once more. Stiles and Scott hold me back as he continues to scream, writhing on the concrete floor. Finally, the wound starts to heal.

"That… was… awesome!" Stiles yells, getting a glare from me and Scott. "Yes!"

"Are you okay?" Scott asks as Derek starts to stand, and I rush forward to help him untie the tourniquet.

"Well, except for the agonizing pain." I snort, bunching the tourniquet in my hand before running my fingers through his sweaty hair. I freeze and Derek blinks at me, something familiar fluttering in my head as I drop my hand.

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health." Stiles sasses. I cross over to the table to grab the bonesaw and return the supplies to where they belong.

"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that?" Scott asks, frustrated. "And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything-"

"Scott!" I yell, but before I can finish, Derek interrupts me.

"You're gonna trust them? You think they can help you?"

"Well, why not? They're a lot freakin' nicer than you are!"

Derek flares his nostrils. "Yeah. I can show you exactly how nice they are."

Stiles and I were left behind as Derek led Scott away from the clinic. We cleaned up the room as best we could, Stiles practically vomiting as I cleaned up the black sludge with a mop. Finally we locked up, and Stiles took me home.

I walk into the house, closing the door behind me. My mom sits at the kitchen table, files in front of her. "I'm sorry I'm late. And that I forgot to text you. Again."

My mom pushes up her glasses and opens a pizza box, revealing the meat lover's special. I happily dig in, and she leans forward. "Where were you really?"

"I told you." I swallow. "Driving with Stiles."

"And if I were to ask how Derek Hale is doing?"

I look up at her in shock, a piece of pepperoni falling down onto the table. "How did you know?"

"Please." She waves her hand. "We've known that kid since he was, well, since he was born."

"How? You haven't been a lawyer that long." I argue.

My mom sighs, leaning back in her chair. She clasps her hands together on the table, and stares at me with the most honest expression I've ever seen. "The Abernathy family and the Hales have been connected since your great-grandmother immigrated to America."

"She - what?"

She just shakes her head, arms crossing. "I met Talia Hale - Derek's mother - when your dad and I started dating, sophomore year of college. She became my best friend. We were inseparable. Your dad and Samuel used to say we could take over the world if we wanted to." Her brown eyes grow wet, and my heart thuds guiltily. "What happened to that family… no one deserves it. Especially not them. They were special." I tilt my head, acting as though I have no idea what she's pretending not to know, and she waves me off. "Oh, nevermind. Look, my point is, Derek's a good guy. I don't believe for a second he has anything to do with his sister's death."

"Sheriff Stilinski said they found wolf hairs on her body. So it's an animal attack." I look at the box next to her, and blink. "So why are you so worried?"

"I just want to be prepared for anything. I can't let anything else happen to that boy."

"So, you don't think it was an animal attack?"

"Not in the way the other deputies do. Or the Sheriff."

"What about dad?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.

My mom sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. "Your dad sees things differently than they do. He's more open to other theories." Is all she gives away. I blink, a million questions coming to mind, but mom only laughs. "Ignore me, I'm exhausted. You must be, too. Why don't you go to bed? I'll clean up."

I nod and finish my slice, getting up to wash my hands. Kissing her on the forehead I walk away. I turn around once I reach the stairs, to look back at her. My mom has her hands on her face, shoulders tense.

She and my dad know something. They know the Hales were "special", which means they're in on the secret.

So where do I fit in all of this? Did I really just meet Derek for the first time? Or was Sigmund Freud right about dreams?