Sloppy Work Ahead
This sure wasn't how Stiles had planned to spend his day.
Driving away from the school had been his plan, after school finished. Of course, the plan he had did not involve nearly hitting Derek - who appeared out of nowhere, as always. Though the guy had fallen for some reason, seeming to faint for a moment, which rang alarms in Stiles' head.
But…Seriously, the guy really was everywhere…
And then the guy was acting weird! Like, as much as Stiles saw, the guy was acting like some alien from outer space, or something like characters he watched on television with the ability to control things with their mind. It was pure luck, in Stiles' mind, that he had managed to stop his car in time, barely a safe distance away from causing a very possible accident.
That first weird thing wasn't as weird as the second fact that had Stiles all confused.
The second fact that Stiles could tell was weirdly enough happening was, well, for whatever reason, Derek was staring at the ground. When Stiles and Scott spoke to the guy, the amount of eye contact was minimal, and Derek mainly kept his gaze on the ground - except for that time his eyes kept flashing blue.
Honestly? Kind of frightening. Especially when Derek had kept clenching his teeth as he glared with those wolf eyes of his…
Though…Stiles could think of reasons other than anger for clenched teeth…
'I was shot…'
Probably, the more likely reason was, most likely to stop from feeling the pain. Which also sounded weird because Stiles always imagined Derek to be some tough, indestructible guy.
Anyway.
Whenever Stiles had met with Derek, no matter where or for whatever reason, Derek basically always kept eye contact - in fact, a lot more than normal people would. Stiles had met plenty of people, and he knew the right amount of eye contact most kept. He was certain Derek had no care for eye contact, and no problems with it. So, of course the second weird fact was very, very, very weird. Like, as uncommon as people actually knowing Lydia had strawberry blonde hair - which was never, by the way. Stiles was pretty sure he was the only person to actually know that her hair is strawberry blonde.
Speaking of strawberries, maybe that could help Derek? Would he even like them? Did he like strawberries?
Stiles wouldn't be surprised if the dude never had any, Derek being this really unflinching and unbothered ghost-like guy that could, and, well, did disappear or appear suddenly, with a seriously chilly atmosphere covering the air around him most of all the time.
The weather was getting colder, maybe because the day was turning into night, as night is colder than the day is.
And today sure wasn't going to be going as planned.
Wait, he had a point.
Right! Stiles really couldn't believe he was driving in his jeep with Derek. Who had been shot. And did not look like he was doing too well. And possibly bleeding out. And was a werewolf.
Oh, holy shit, he was driving Derek, a freaking werewolf, which only increased the possibility of this day ending in his death! Remember how he, Stiles, was a human and all? Not a werewolf like Scott or Derek!
Although…Derek didn't look like he could kill right now…Let alone stand, now that he thought about how Scott had helped Derek into the car. He wouldn't actually bet Derek could not kill right now, but he saw how Derek had his eyes shut, seemingly not even able to stay awake…
"Hey, you awake?" he questioned, brows furrowed, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel as he drove. Nobody was dying in his car.
As a response, Stiles only heard a small groan. "Sorry, I didn't get that." He cleared his throat loudly, swallowing the fear in his throat because, damn, this could be pushing the limits of the guy sitting next to him with obvious anger issues. "What did you say again?"
"Yeah," mumbled the shot werewolf, head leaned back, eyes opening a crack for a second, pinched expression worsening. "Awake."
Stiles nodded at the low and short response he got, turning the car to the right as he took his phone out with one hand. "Okay. Good. I think you should stay awake and responsive. But, seriously. I have to ask."
The silence, the pause, that got him a reaction, if only a small one.
As he kept driving, calling Scott, he glanced at Derek, and saw the guy glare back, but it lacked most of the usual heat it had, more of a squint than a glare, really. Still, progress in the eye contact.
-And, it was gone. The dude shut his eyes. "What?" the werewolf snarled, a weak snarl, but more than enough to have Stiles speak his mind with a small smile. "How in the hell did a big and strong wolf like you get shot exactly?"
That got him a real glare, alright. With freaking blue light flashing for a moment. Probably, Derek wasn't even aware, or didn't do it on purpose, since he shut his eyes with a grimace, sunlight gleaming in.
Okay. Not in the mood for talking. Or joking around. Great.
And, double yay, for this day was getting better - Scott wasn't answering…Sarcasm, mind you. The day was certainly not getting any better.
At a red light, Stiles breathed in, and out, and pursed his lips, glancing at Derek, who looked awfully pale and sick-like.
'Did you find it yet?'
Clicking send, he put his phone back into his pocket, huffing as the light turned green.
Man, the place Derek lived in was far.
"So…How about some music?" His question got him an obviously irritated exhale, and he turned on some positive music to lighten up the mood and suppressed the urge to run his mouth about how not helpful Derek was being.
Maybe it was an effect of being shot. It caused people to turn more irritable and less talkative…Though the two things were already traits Derek had. Stiles was certain those traits defined Derek.
Definitely. Derek was a very irritable and not really talkative person. And a werewolf. And he was shot - hell, what was he thinking? He hadn't thought about it properly before! "Did you, like, bandage your gunshot wound? Because sanitation and stopping the bleeding are just about the most important parts, ever! I even saw one time-"
"-Stop talking." huffed Derek, voice nearly drowned out by the low volume of the playing music, and, yeah, Stiles would've normally kept talking, but the mood Derek had was really bringing his own down, all the way down to the core of the planet they were in. Which was really down there somewhere. So, yeah, the guy sure wasn't in a chit-chat kinda mood.
As the car drove, there must've been some small hole or crack or something on the road, because as Stiles drove, the drive became bumpy, if only for a few seconds, probably due to the oldness of the roads.
That could've been the reason why he heard the first sound from Derek - after a whole few minutes of complete silence, he heard Derek's breath hitch, and then he stole a glance as he drove on road that quickly got smoother, and he saw Derek with his eyes open, staring down, an almost conflicted expression on his pale face.
Then, the guy was slowly moving, and Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but didn't bother, as Derek was just very slowly taking off the jacket he wore, hissing and breathing heavily as he moved.
Damn, did moving really hurt that much?
His sympathy might have quickly fallen to a low of annoyance after a while of hearing the quiet painful sounds. Obviously, taking off a jacket was difficult with being shot and all.
At the tip of his tongue was an offer to help, but he gulped it down, instead biting back on words that would probably irritate the werewolf even more, slowly exhaling as he kept his mouth surprisingly shut, and stared with utter annoyance at Derek, then back at the road, waiting for him to finally be done with the painful fight against his jacket. If the guy was too proud to ask for help, that was fine with him. Mostly.
Oh, he was also waiting to hear back from Scott. Who hadn't been the best and fastest person to text or call back. Which, in this situation, wasn't helpful at all.
And the music was also not too helpful in bringing the atmosphere to a more enjoyable and pleasant mood either.
At least they were almost at Derek's house, so…This drive was almost done and over with, which had to be the only thing going right.
Maybe there was hope that today would be better…?
Right about when he got a message, he heard Derek sigh, resting his head back, all sounds of even the breathing gone quiet now that the battle between him and the jacket was over with.
'Scott: Need more time.'
Oh wow. Didn't matter how specific the text was, it was very helpful either way. What a saviour of today! He sure felt like today was going to be great!
Hashtag sarcasm, everybody!
"Come on!" he breathed quietly, slamming away the phone with no news he wanted, then stealing another glance at the suddenly visible dark stains on the seat next to his.
"Ey, try not to bleed out on my seats," he spoke loudly, glancing again at the alarming drop in any sounds coming from the guy now appearing unconscious. Stiles so did not need any passing out in his car. "Okay?" He loudly asked, wanting confirmation the guy wasn't actually unconscious or losing a lot of blood - that it was maybe just a nick, just a small scratch or something.
But Derek didn't even look up, didn't even open his closed eyes, looking paler, reminding him of those chronically ill patients he saw in the hospital the other time he was there.
What a nice reminder this was. The fact that most of those patients did not survive in the end sure had his insides tied up in a knot.
So sure, this time, his heartstrings were pulled at - that appearance Derek held just then - so pale, not moving, head lowered, eyes closed, not even responding - all that had his heart seized. So this time, after another glance, he turned back to the road, speaking in a softer voice. "We're almost there."
"Almost where…?" The question, asked as soon as he was done speaking, yet said in such a weak voice that so did not identify with Derek the strong werewolf. It sounded similar to when he asked someone half-asleep something - tone very much tired. Possibly due to blood loss, which could also explain the short breaths, the paleness.
Maybe Derek was lightheaded - or dizzy - what was the difference between these two again? Anyway, maybe Derek felt like that at the school, when the passing out occurred.
That would mean the blood loss was from before, then.
The thought of how much worse things could be put a pit in his stomach.
Sighing, he thought about them almost being at Derek's house. There, they could have him patched up, and all better, right?
Hopefully.
With that thought in mind, he spoke with as much patience as he could muster, as though speaking to a little child, voice gentle as he spoke. "Your house." Like, remember? Did Derek forget he had a house for situations like this? A place to go to where he could get his energy and irritating personality back.
"What?"
Again, Derek had reacted quickly to his talking, but…
This time, he sounded almost panicked, surprised. Mostly a panic, some sort of urgency in his voice, which had Stiles staring at him for a moment, taking in the wide eyes, with another proper eye contact, eyes he saw had the first sign of actual alertness since they had been in the car. "No, you can't take me there." Derek said, in almost a rush, a streak of nervousness evident in his tone. He could easily detect the urgency in Derek's voice - which was, again, really weird, because that was not supposed to be something that ever was a way Derek spoke. He was confident, uptight, serious…Never panicky or anything similar.
While the way Derek had quickly spoken had led to Stiles forming his own sense of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach to grow, he couldn't believe the guy. Seriously! What was he, a taxi? Where were they even going to go if not to Derek's house as planned?
"I can't take you to your own house?" Stiles asked incredulously, because that had to be a joke - who didn't go to their own house for what reason? He found his pitch rising as he found himself in an impossible situation. What was he supposed to do now? What could he do?
Straight away, a response - a stupid response - was slammed into his face. "Not when I can't protect myself."
Was Derek being serious?
Stiles had it with this whole impossible thing, so he needed his facts right, so he slowed the car into a parking position, turning off the engine and the music right after.
Immediately turning to Derek, he tried not to focus on how much paler the werewolf seemed, and concentrated on his intention on getting the right information. He had to know - just how serious was this situation? How serious was Derek's injury? How much time did they have? Was it like, really urgent? Was it a life-or-death sort of situation for sure or something less severe? What the hell was it?
Staring into Derek's eyes that were not fully there, not completely alert yet that seemed to be the most alert today tired, tired eyes, he spoke in the extreme silence. With the music gone, it was far too quiet. His voice sounded way too louder than he thought it would, words quickly falling off his mouth. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your little 'magic bullet'..?"
And, the eye contact was again, gone. "Hm?" he pressed on, wanting the truth, the honest, no bullshit, full-on possibly scary truth.
"Are you dying?"
"Not yet." There was a quick answer that he appreciated being given quickly. He noticed - probably also due to blood loss, or being shot, or both - speaking sounded challenging for Derek, every word spoken in difficulty, as though a marathon had been run, shortness of breath there.
A few short breaths, and Derek spoke again, eyes closed. "I have a last resort."
Again, what the hell was that supposed to mean? What sort of bullshit was this? "What do you mean?" Now, Stiles was almost hysterical, wanting to bang his head against the steering wheel, almost laughing at the end. His words were nearly jumbled, how fast he kept speaking, not leaving a breath between sentences, but just the wish to bang his head against the concrete wall of that building there. "What last resort?" Oh, wow, it was not easy to take this seriously, because it was ridiculous! What was this oh so planned out so very well last resort, huh?
Derek then showed the inside of his bloodied sleeve, rolling it so Stiles had a clear view of the damaged arm.
Fuck…
"Oh - my God - what is that-" His eyes betrayed him, going to check once more, seeing the blood, the clear sight of where Derek had been shot -
Nausea settling in, he looked away from the really bad looking GSW, black coloured veins visible around it. "Oh - is that contagious?" Quickly, he made up his mind - the house was close enough - Derek could probably make it on his own. Probably not, but that looked really bad. "You know what? You should probably get out." he said, feeling sick at the sight, hand already giving directions to how best to leave the car - the door.
Not missing a beat, and sounding almost like his usual grumpy self, Derek spoke slowly, only proof there was even something wrong being the breathlessness. "Start the car." Another breath, and he spoke with the same use of authority. "Now."
Why in the hell would he ever do as told by the idiot who got himself shot? And who suddenly didn't - for whatever reason - do eye contact.
Also, did he say get himself shot?
So with newfound willpower to speak his mind, he turned to look at the pale werewolf, being just as serious as the guy who thought that the driver could just be compelled to do as told - especially when he, Stiles the human, had the advantage here of, you know, not being shot and actually having the strength to keep his eyes open, confident to stare into the eyes of the werewolf, and way more confident to say what he thought about the guy just didn't seem to understand the positions they were in. "Yeah - I don't think you should be barking orders." he flat-out declared, reminding Derek who was shot in this car. "-with the way you look, okay?"
"And - in fact!" His voice grew louder, leaning closer to the guy, trying to get the attention of Derek - who actually made eye contact with him, staring back, giving Stiles a lot more determination to show just how he felt despite Derek appearing to not listen, or just waiting for him to finish, sounding a lot more confident than he actually felt. "I think - if I wanted to - I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out in the middle of the road and leave you for dead." he exclaimed.
"Start the car." Derek breathed out, completely disregarding his words, still staring without a single blink, sounding actually normal.
Suddenly, Stiles didn't think his voice had been heard - or that the person he stared at was the werewolf full of power, strong, and probably already healing. Still, the guy knew nothing of a good amount of eye contact. Did he not know a middle place instead of either staring too much, or way too little? "Or I'm gonna rip your throat out." The words sure sounded sincere as Stiles recognised the glint in Derek's eyes - the strength and honesty held in the no longer quiet voice. "With my teeth." He couldn't hear the intake of short breaths, as Derek sounded pretty much the same as he usually did - so, good sign, maybe?
A few moments of staring back, trying to maybe think he had taken things more seriously than Derek meant, because, who knew? It could be that the werewolf who never joked around was joking around?
But the eyes that he looked into were very intense, very serious-looking, and with a sense of defeat, he sat back in his seat, seeing the building outside his window, a building perfect to smash his head against the wall because of the frustration he felt. Or, he could possibly smash Derek's head, to get some awareness of the situation into that stupid head of his.
Starting the engine to go who knows where - since Derek's house was no longer even an option, he'd have to dismiss the thought of driving a few more minutes in that direction. He glanced once more, and saw the unflinching resolve still there, the stare into the depths of his soul continuing while he admitted defeat through his actions.
Damn.
They really needed a plan.
…He really needed to come up with a plan.
So, Stiles thought, and thought that Scott probably was the one that had to get what they needed to have this whole mess wrapped up.
Not that he expected news from his so-called friend leaving him here with a request for more time in this mission. But patience was key to the successful plans ending in success.
So it seemed like Stiles would just have to do what he could.
And he couldn't bring Derek to the house initially planned to be driven to, so then…
He just drove, no place in mind.
After about an hour of driving around aimlessly, Stiles furiously made short comments about this and that, here and there, not expecting or receiving any reaction to his aimless driving or aimless chatter.
Pointing at a tree they were passing by, he kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "That tree there probably needs some amount of trimming. Might fall on my car and ruin it."
This would be the best time to get a response of any sort - a normal person would have said something back - a freaking irritable but moody werewolf with the name Derek would have made a snippet of a remark at that, maybe some rude thing like 'shut up', but something. Right now, the only thing he heard was his own voice when he spoke, along with the occasional breaths he heard Derek take - even that had quieted down into silence.
Eyes flickering over to his quiet passenger, he mentally screamed at Scott for taking so long to get back with some good news.
And, ugh, there had to be a word for how blood smelled as it dried, because the smell - whatever it could be - was starting to bother him. Like, it was bad.
"Yo, that guy almost fell on his skateboard, and that is the reason I don't use one." he decided on saying, ignoring the stench, and he nodded towards the guy with the skateboard, only the silhouette visible in the dark after a few seconds passed.
The sun sure had set quickly.
"Look at that. The moon sure is visible from here." he said as he waited for the light to turn green, the stench nauseating him, far too overwhelming for his sense of smelling scents. Which, to be honest, his sense of smell wasn't terrible. He once smelled an expired sandwich somebody left in their locker, and won a bet that way.
Parking the car near a street light after a few minutes more of driving, he saw that Derek hadn't moved, still eyes closed, almost appearing peaceful in the silence.
A clearing of his throat, and eyes still glued on the unmoving form, he clicked his tongue, making small sounds and noises, clicking his fingers, tapping his fingers on the window, yet nothing seemed to crack into the unchanging state Derek had. Not loud enough to cause rage, but loud enough to make sure the guy opened his eyes and maybe responded in some way - even an irritated demand to tell him to stop would be less worrisome than the silence Stiles got.
And…God. The guy seemed even paler, like an actual ghost, under the moonlight, the darkness not helping how sickly pale he looked. Even at school, under the sun, the guy had some sickly pallor, almost appearing to have a fever as Derek had appeared to be sweating, skin slick with it.
Despite there being a cool wind blowing, a nice breeze going through the inside of the car after he opened the window a bit, the smell remained, reminding him most of the crime scenes he had been to - of that girl he had seen out in the forest. Who was actually Derek's sister. Who had also been a werewolf. Who had been killed.
The sound of his heart thumping was more and more audible to him, and swallowed down a lump in his throat as it raced.
Slowly bringing a hand out to Derek's throat, he held his own breath.
"Holy hell!" tore out of his mouth as Derek clasped his cold dead-like hand on his extended hand. "What, what were you - doing?" Derek hissed, eyes narrowed as he glared with exhausted frigid eyes.
Stiles, shockingly, was able to take his hand out of the hold with ease - just how lethargic was Derek - he went to warm his hand up as he wrung his hands together. "Nothing! Almost having a heart attack, that's all!"
Assuming Derek's unimpressed stare didn't change the meaning it held, there was no humour found from his words. So, Stiles shook his head with a roll of his eyes, gulping.
"I was doing nothing, just thought I should open your window a bit-"
"-Don't lie." That was the quietly spoken words, and if his breaths were coming in short gasps, Derek was hiding it really well.
Rolling his eyes again, with a sigh, Stiles gave in instantly. No point trying to lie to someone who could tell when a lie was being told. "Okay, yeah I was…"
Watching the tired eyes blink owlishly while seemingly staring through him, and then brows crease as a car drove past theirs, Stiles spoke as he kept their eyes locked, the attention of the eyes staring actually looking back at his eyes after a moment. "I wanted to check your pulse, that's all, seriously. You…" You look freaking dead! That would probably not be the best thing to say to his face. "You got sharpened senses." he instead finished with, saying it more like a question than the shocking truth it was - and the fact smashed into his head like a bag of bricks.
"Oh my God, that makes so much sense." Because it did. It explained a lot, actually.
Checking his phone, and finding no new messages, he looked around, the silence deafening, nobody seemingly outside in this area around this time. A few minutes later, while looking at the closed eyes, the white as a sheet werewolf, he whispered, "Do you need me to whisper? Should I keep my voice lowered?"
If a loud voice equals a headache, like having a hangover - he saw many people have it - then being quieter should help, right?
A sick feeling squeezed his insides at the thought of increasing Derek's pain from his loud, continuously talking voice. "Just…" Derek began, but buckled over, arm tightly covering his stomach as his face turned sour, possibly experiencing some excruciating pain.
After an exhale, he watched warily as Derek slowly had his head leaned back, a mumble that Stiles himself couldn't decipher left to find the meaning behind.
"Sorry, what?" Stiles tried to understand, he did, but the hushed words were too quiet and too unrecognisable.
Gulping, Derek spoke through closed eyes, waving a hand sluggishly as he explained, appearing to be more relaxed…Or he was more used to the pain. "Focus - focusing." Derek took a slow breath, and gradually continued after a long exhale. "If I focus on something, it, uh, helps…"
"Oh." Stiles drew out the word, understanding sinking in as his eyes widened. "Okay, I get it." He nodded at Derek, hearing the words - considering they were spoken slightly louder, were much easier to understand, and Stiles got the concept of focusing on one thing to make other things go away - it made sense, he thought while nodding.
A lightbulb then flew by his head, so Stiles spoke again. "And the sun during the day - the lights and all were probably really bright, huh…"
At the small nod - was everything becoming more and more difficult to do, because Derek could have answered verbally, or maybe Stiles was overthinking everything - Stiles gritted his jaw. How had he missed all these obvious things? Seriously…
And where the hell was Scott?
"Sorry for taking your time." Derek suddenly said in the quiet, shifting in his seat, almost giving Stiles a heart attack. Was that an apology, from Derek Hale? Had the werewolf bluffed when saying he was going to rip his throat out? Like the bluff Stiles had said about kicking Derek out of the car? "Nah, it's fine. It's only like…"
It was freaking 5:23 already - what had Scott been doing, making love to Allison? "5:23 in the evening. I'd have probably been procrastinating on doing my lab assignment in chemistry, maybe binge watching stuff, but this is way more…productive work." Stiles cringed at the terrible conversation this was becoming. "Though my chemistry teacher already tends to call me out in the class for being a not-so-great student, because of the amount of times I disrupted his class, which, by the way, has happened on many occasions - without planning to, of course…" Not getting a comment on his rambling, he looked at Derek - who had his head lowered, his dark hair contrasting with his skin, no movement whatsoever.
"...And, I'm shutting up now." Stiles finished with, staring at the windshield of his car in boredom.
A minute later, he turned his head slightly, and saw the steady rise and fall of Derek's chest - the only movement that had him trusting the guy hadn't just died.
Derek wasn't dead, but was as quiet as the dead.
Hopefully, a normal occurrence.
Hopefully, not due to getting shot with a bullet that wasn't allowing him to heal.
Not with a silver bullet…
So, that was a myth? Just a stereotyping thing?
Stiles couldn't help wondering whether or not there were other mythical creatures other than werewolves - yeah, werewolves were obviously real unlike what everybody thought, but they had been myths not so long ago in his mind.
Peeking at the silent passenger of his, he saw no change in the state Derek remained - quiet, pale, sick-like. Probably sleeping. Resting in the silence.
Was the sharpened senses even when hurt only due to Derek being born this way? Would Scott lose his sharpened senses in a state of being hurt? Stiles could bet coming up with questions was easier than getting answers.
He was about to speak, but when he briefly looked at Derek, he saw the werewolf had a pinched expression, pain visible.
So, a few minutes later, seeing no change when checking, he quietly took his phone out, and texted Scott.
Derek not looking good.
Seeing the time, 5:37, he couldn't believe all this time passed, and Scott wasn't getting back with news of any sort. And what exactly was Stiles supposed to do with a shot and possibly becoming a very sick werewolf?
Keeping the phone in his hand, he sighed, waiting, staring at passerby cars.
Where was he supposed to take Derek?
He had no idea.
All he could think was…Scott really needed to answer a text, or call him back, or something like Derek healing once again.
It would be a positive surprise, but a good thing, because then Derek would heal, and, no issues, just problems solved.
But some time passed, and still, no nothing.
Just patience wearing thin, urge to bounce his legs or tap his fingers rising.
Oh, also, did he mention Derek was starting to smell more and more like a corpse?
Turning on his phone, he texted Scott, again, the smell of having a corpse in his car invading his thoughts.
Call me
Scott better call him, and do that soon.
And, thankfully, he didn't need to wait more than a minute before he got a call from Scott.
Stiles quickly glanced at Derek, who remained with a crease between his brows, and went to talk to Scott. "About time you called." he hissed into the phone, barely holding in his frustration.
On the other side, he heard a scoff. "It's not my fault I was invited for dinner. I was going to call sooner, but I'm having dinner with the Argents." A pause. "I'm having dinner with my girlfriend's family."
"Okay, yeah, yay for you. You got a girlfriend and got to have dinner with her family." Stiles was happy for his friend, yes, but seriously, they had a time limit for this mission of getting a certain werewolf better. "Family that is not our focus - the bullet is, remember? You know, the one that our buddy requested you find?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Scott sighed, mind obviously elsewhere. Actually, Scott was the only person having some sort of enjoyment out of this whole situation. Putting his arm against his car, he rubbed at his temples in discontent. "What am I supposed to do with him?" he questioned, because he didn't know what he could do with Derek. Honestly the situation was dire, he thought as he quickly looked at Derek who now appeared to be more a vampire, a blood-sucking, pale, white-as-a-sheet vampire than a werewolf. Bringing Derek to the previously planned, very much making sense house of his was out of question at the request of Derek, and Stiles wasn't about to bring a previous murder suspect back to his own house where his dad would be.
Scott then finally said in a very helpful manner, "Take him…somewhere - anywhere."
Wow. So damn helpful.
Exhaling, he couldn't help speaking out the issue he was having with being in the same car as Derek. "And by the way, he's starting to smell." Scott wasn't here. He didn't know the feeling.
"Like, like what?" was the confused question.
Stiles really, very much, could feel the intensity of Derek's stare that he tried his best to ignore as he responded, "Like death."
That was the honest truth. The smell was the same from all corpses he'd ever got the chance to be near.
And, as he stared back, accepting the challenge, staring back, he could smell the same thing in the air - same thing he smelled around those dead.
Damn, Derek could stare with narrowed eyes, barely a glare - more like a tired 'seriously?' kinda look, one he kept on without blinking, making Stiles feel like that time he forgot his homework and the teacher had him present a presentation due the next day in front of the entire class.
If this had been a staring contest, Derek might've actually won.
He heard Scott take a deep breath, and then start speaking with hopefully a better plan than the last he offered - taking Derek anywhere, which had to obviously be the worst offer of a plan. Ever. "Okay. Take him to the animal clinic."
Pointing out the obvious was very simple in this case. "What about your boss?" Because, hello? Dude forgot the owner of the establishment, who obviously didn't deal with werewolves or in any way patching them up? A normal old human guy didn't need to be a part of their ridiculous plan that was made on the go. Still…A switch turned on in his head as he found this to be a maybe workable plan. It might work. It was a plan that could work.
"He's gone by now." Scott's answer was perhaps more reassuring than anything because this - this meant there was an actual location possible to take Derek in the bad condition he was in. "There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster." That would probably also be a required information to access the place.
But, wow. This was seriously the only plan they had.
Exhaling - exhausted from the whole ridiculous plan-making they were doing - Stiles couldn't really think of a better plan. So. He rubbed at his tired eyes, and gave the phone to Derek, along with a helpful comment. "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you."
Derek took the phone without a word, using his non-injured arm, and his cold, freezing hand made contact with his own while taking it. "Did you find it?" Derek asked, eyes closing and then opening, staring down, sounding pretty normal, actually.
"Look - if you don't find it," Derek paused, taking a breath, signs of things going worse obvious if he couldn't keep up one conversation with ease. "Then I'm dead." Another short breath, and Stiles felt his eyes widen at the statement. "Alright?"
From all he heard so far, Stiles assumed, well, Scott probably wasn't any closer to finding the bullet.
"Then think about this." Stiles could literally see Derek starting to be out of energy, but the guy appeared to be doing a really good job of covering it up, no longer sounding really out of breath.
Okay, then, Stiles thought as he watched a car pass by silently beside his car. Next destination, the animal clinic. For one…injured werewolf. Possibly on the verge of death. Probably dramatising the whole situation and probably will be fine.
"The Alpha called you out against your will." Derek said in one breath, then continued, still short of breath. "He's gonna do it again - next time…You either kill with him…Or you get killed." Taking another big breath, he said, "So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me."
Stiles, glanced at him, and saw the real, seriously more lucid than before look Derek held. "Find the bullet."
With that said, Derek hung up the phone.
"Dude." Stiles couldn't help whining as he grabbed the phone, easily taking it away with a new sense of dread at the newfound awareness of how serious this whole werewolf-thing really was. "I was gonna ask him how much longer he'd take."
"Hopefully…Not too long." Derek breathed, leaning his head back with a grimace.
Checking the time again, Stiles agreed, but, with newfound hope that a plan existed that could work, he nodded, starting the engine and getting out of the parked area. "I'm sure he's doing his best…" Stiles tried, glancing a few more times at the out-of-breath state Derek was in.
A sound almost similar to a short laugh had Stiles staring at Derek. He saw Derek staring ahead at the mostly empty road. "Yeah…" Derek said, not glancing away from the road. "Scott said he thought me being dead wouldn't be…such a bad thing." With a swallow, Derek finished with, "Obviously, it shows…he is determined to find the…um…the bullet."
Stiles couldn't believe how seriously the guy was taking a joke Scott obviously did not seriously mean. Gaze turned for a few seconds from the road to Derek - who had a hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose, trying to catch his breath - Stiles gave a tense smile. "Come on, Scott was just kidding. He doesn't actually want you dead."
"You?"
"What?"
"Do you…?"
Gaping at Derek's statement, Stiles couldn't help himself as he exclaimed, "Me? I want you alive for my sanity to remain…sane!"
Derek's gaze turned to him as he continued at a more steady tone. "Do you know how much stress and trauma I would receive from your death? One that can otherwise be prevented due to a possibly faulty plan me and Scott made? You dying sure wouldn't be fun for me, and - what do you think I've been doing the past few hours? Trying to get you better - so - obviously, I want you alive." Eyes locked for a moment, he repeated the last part - to show he meant it. "I want you to be alive, got it?"
The surprised look on Derek's face was only more reason for Stiles to run a hand through his face with a groan at how weird he made that sound. Ugh, seriously, this plan better work.
At a red light, he dared a glance in the direction of the werewolf, and saw the still remaining perplexed expression directed at the road ahead, and saw as a hint of a smile made its way - the expression melting into something faintly positive, lacking the usual frown, more a twist upwards into a near-smile, eyes lit with hope. And then, with a sigh, he closed his eyes of hope, the frown returning full-force. "We will just, have to see."
Bruh. This guy had no positivity whatsoever. Seriously, it didn't hurt to be an optimist.
Brightside of things always was better to look at, after all. Made things simpler, and more hope-filled rather than doom and gloom.
Gulping down the sudden images of possible doom and gloom the near-future may hold, Stiles held the steering wheel tighter, turning to the left when the light turned green.
And so, he drove for a while, the whole way there gone by without another word.
And, when they did arrive, the smell in the air remained - the only word describing it being death - and, well, Derek did look the part.
"Okay." Stiles pursed his lips, turning off the engine. Damn, it was super silent here.
Turning to his right - Derek wasn't saying anything - he saw the werewolf had his head lowered, not seeming to be awake.
"Hello?" He dragged the word, poking Derek's shoulder. "We're at the animal clinic…" Damning the consequences, he gave a friendly slap to Derek's cheek, getting him to open his fatigued eyes.
Derek yawned, then slowly spoke, "Don't touch me." A hand weakly swatted away his, and then Stiles was holding in laughter. Derek remained in his seat as Stiles opened the door and got out.
Looking around, Stiles figured at this time, most people would be having dinner, or enjoying their time with enjoyable activities that excluded possibly failing to save the life of a werewolf.
At a thud, he ran over to the other side of the car, only to find Derek, on the ground, holding his head with his right hand.
"Uh, you good?" Stiles stepped closer, extending a hand that he didn't expect the guy to take.
The smell of death worsened, and the silence continued without even crickets to break it, basically nothing audible to him except for the out-of-breath way Derek sounded. Derek, clenching his eyes shut, breathed out a weak, "I slipped."
"Uh huh, right, right." Putting his hands on his hips, he stood, shaking his head at the pride the guy had. And that moment was when a car across the street decided to have it's alarms blaring through the street, very much loud - and if it had dogs barking around the neighbourhood and was loud for Stiles from where he stood…
Quickly crouching down, his worry spiked at the way Derek tried blocking the sound with one hand.
Derek, on the other hand, was not enjoying his time out here, eyes welled up, at a place where a car decided the wrong time to have its speakers working. But when he felt a hand cover over his hand, and the other over his unblocked ear, his eyes opened wide, staring at Stiles, who was looking away, mouthing or saying something he couldn't decipher.
Maybe it had been a minute, or maybe it had been less - or more, Derek didn't know. When he flickered his eyes around, he saw the lights of a car on the other side of the street flashing, increasing the throbbing pounding in his head. Then he saw someone running towards the car, and then the lights were off, and then the person was going back into their house. And when his eyes flickered back to Stiles, staring back at the concerned orbs, he saw some more mouthing of some words, and then Stiles was gradually taking away his warm hands from his ear that had become cold, and his hand that had warmed with the contact. His ears were ringing, and he blinked, trying to make the high-pitched screeching go away by focusing, feeling the hands on his shoulders, grounding him.
"Are you good to go…?" Stiles asked a moment after, a question asked in a soft voice that he could barely hear over the ringing. The look Stiles wore, Derek did not remember seeing before, and he thought of how Stiles seemed to be a lot more serious than Derek had ever seen the school kid before, not showing signs of joking about.
Derek had planned on standing, he did, but bit back a cry as his head pounded with another headache, the toxin in his veins burning.
Shoulders resting against the car, he raised his right hand, pointing his index finger up.
A minute.
Making his hands into fists, he felt blood trickle from his palms as his nails dug into his skin.
Yeah. Just a minute should do.
Yet, when he opened his eyes, everything was spinning.
Bile rose in his throat, and he tightly shut his eyes, willing the spinning to not happen as his heart raced.
He felt the cool metal-like surface of the car behind him, enjoying the coolness against his head that was scorching. Derek then felt his right hand wrapped and fingers gently pried opened from the rigid fist it had once been. His hand was then moved, wrist held, and then his hand was pressed against something warm, something thumping. "...Derek? - Focus." His ears caught the words from a jumble of other muffled sounds. The ringing in his ears continued, but he felt the thumping behind his palm.
Many times before, Derek felt this thumping. One of a heart. There was a steady beat behind his hand, and he kept his mouth shut as he breathed in through his nose with two beats, and breathed out with another two.
The ringing slowly faded away, and he slowly blinked, the edges of his sight white, then turning into shapes, colours. He saw the bright street lights, and the closed eyes of Stiles. Stiles was sitting a breath away from where Derek was, and had Derek's hand in the hold of his own hands, wearing a concentrated look. "-need you to focus." Stiles said in a low voice, his voice clear with no more ringing in Derek's ears.
This guy actually believed…Hope was either lost for himself, or it was a concept Derek forgot about, because seeing it in these youngsters - while they may be just a few years younger - still, it reminded Derek of better days, where he had thought things were good. Before the fire. Before it all.
…Hoping never hurt, yeah?
Lingering doubt, and hope that stuck into his emotions - which he detested the high-schoolers for - he slowly inhaled, and evened out his breathing the best he could. These two troublemakers could, maybe, save his life. "Okay, let go." His words got him wide eyes, and Stiles nearly face-planted onto his car, head falling. "God, I thought you had more strength left in you."
Derek had assumed the same when trying to step out of the car and finding his legs buckled under him.
Taking another breath, Derek stared back at the hope-filled eyes. "Key? In the box?"
Just a second, and Stiles had a look of realisation. "Oh, yeah…Wait," he paused, a sudden crease between his brows appeared as he asked, "How do you know about the key?"
"Super hearing." Derek said as he moved to hold his injured arm with his right hand, and Stiles wanted to face-palm. Duh. Werewolf.
"Dumpster…There." Stiles turned to point, and then looked back at Derek's weary face, concerned. "We better get inside, then."
With that, Stiles slowly got the guy up back on his feet despite expected complaining expression at his helpful action, and kept a tight grip on until Derek was able to lean against the wall. "Don't be going anywhere now." Stiles said in an upbeat manner, hopefully getting the atmosphere right.
And then he had the key! It smelled way worse than what he imagined while he got the key from the box all the way behind the dumpster, but he got the key, and went back to open the lock.
Key in hand, he passed by Derek, who was not breathing any better - worse, actually, and Stiles would have to say Derek seemed worse, maybe from standing, which rose warning signs in his mind.
Quickly, he opened the lock, and pulled up the way to get in, hearing his phone leave a message as he turned on the lights.
Stiles opened the text as he stood, and he heard rather than saw the way Derek all but dropped onto some stack of big bags of what looked like pet food, probably sitting down the first chance he had, breaths coming out in short rasps, worse than before.
Nordic blue monkshood
What the hell was that?
"Does 'nordic blue monkshood' mean anything to you?" He asked slowly in a low voice, turning to Derek, hoping the dude knew whatever that was.
Hand still holding his upper arm, Derek opened his eyes, gaze downcast while answering quietly. "It's a rare form of wolfsbane." He said in a breath, and Stiles could imagine Derek sounding this way after a run around their school. About a dozen times. In a better state than being shot.
Stiles kept staring at Derek - who closed his eyes, seeming to just be extremely lethargic. With an almost irritated, tired but still irritated sigh, Derek said, "He has to bring me the bullet."
Bring the bullet?
Wasn't the point to figure out what kind of bullet it was? Why did they now need the bullet?
"Why?"
At his question - this time - Derek looked up, and, as if making a point that cleared everything up, said, "Because I'm gonna die without it."
Oh, shit. This was a life-and-death situation.
Still staring at Derek, who looked like death all warmed-up, eyes back on staring at the ground, Stiles gulped.
Definitely a life-and-death kinda situation.
"What…what…" Stiles couldn't form a sentence. He couldn't think of anything except - "What?"
Derek opened his eyes to stare back, squinting, and then his eyes shut, head lolling down as he stopped moving altogether.
"Hey! Derek, stay awake, buddy." Stiles rushed to the stack of smelly pet food, and found Derek smelled completely different and completely like a dead corpse than a living, breathing being.
Taking Derek's face in his hands, Stiles lightly tapped at his cheek, getting dull eyes to open with a gasp. "We can't stay here, okay?" Stiles said, keeping one hand gripping Derek's shoulder to keep him awake, gesturing at the exit with the other, and then the room next door. "That room has all kinds of sanitary products we might need…I don't know, maybe to keep your wound in a better state until Scott gets here. And - I don't have a clue about what to do with the bullet once Scott gets here, so you need to stay awake until we have this all done with. Sound good?"
A nod, and Derek tore his hand off his shoulder weakly, and was staring at him weakly, barely glaring. "Can we…rest? Just, a bit?"
Lips pursed, Stiles stared anywhere but the eyes wanting a break.
Oh, he couldn't say no to those eyes too similar to puppy-dog-eyes.
"Fine, but just a bit."
And so, Stiles went to Derek's right, leaning against the wall as he stood.
God.
Derek was dying.
…Scott needed to really, really hurry the hell up.
Getting his phone out, he texted with shaky hands.
You need to get here NOW
Stiles looked at the items around the room, and listened to the sounds of Derek's quickened breathing, and hoped it would all be okay.
A little while passed when Stiles saw Derek had ceased any movement. "Derek? You awake or…?"
"Yes." was the small word breathed out, and Derek slowly stood up, taking off his left arm from his long-sleeved shirt, just about fighting to take off the shirt, and grabbing at Stiles with his right hand.
"Dude?" Stiles complained with little heat, not very enjoying the sight of that wound nor his outfit being tugged at. But Derek had a great comeback - nothing.
Rolling his eyes - though, his concern only grew - Stiles walked towards the room, and wanted the guy off as soon as it looked like Derek could walk on his own. "Okay," he said quietly, then tried to rip off the hold Derek had on him. "Okay." Speaking louder this time, he successfully managed to take off the hold on him.
First move was to turn on the lights in this crazy-dark room.
Then, Stiles, saw as Derek was done taking off his shirt and carelessly throwing it aside on a counter, he saw a tattoo across his back, something that looked like three spirals.
Stiles had words all prepared to say, but found himself pausing as Derek seemed to steady himself, breathing heavily as he used the tabletop for balance with his right hand. And Stiles could clearly see the dark veins that were not supposed to be that shade. "You know that really…doesn't look like some echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of." Ugh he had planned on sounding confident and sure of himself - why did it sound like a question? He was trying to be optimistic here - maybe echinacea could help…There was always a chance a good night's sleep could fix everything…Right?
Think positive thoughts. That had to be the way to get things to go well, right?
He felt the frigid tabletop, and his hands felt cold against it, a chill settling in as he realised the person in front of him could die very soon.
Lips chapped, Derek huffed as he gave a small shake of the head. "When the infection reaches my heart," Inhaling, Derek said the cold truth with another breath. "It'll kill me."
When, Stiles thought. Not if. Derek said when the infection reaches his heart.
It all purely depended on time, then.
Short breaths escaping, Derek turned around to go through a cabinet as Stiles noticed how much of a real - very annoyingly enough, a pessimist the guy was. "Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary - is it?"
Shutting the cabinet, Derek said in one breath, "If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time," He gasped for air as he opened a drawer, holding the cabinet - again, worrisome. "Last resort."
"Which is…?" Stiles asked, yet something in his stomach twisted at the thought of getting an answer.
What could possibly be a good last resort for something like this? Derek hadn't been too keen on giving any details on his great 'last resort' back in the car, when Stiles asked - only to be threatened, remember?
Maybe Derek didn't believe it was a good plan.
Maybe Scott would come through the doors right now, and Derek could explain the plan with the magic bullet that he couldn't heal from, and then there would be no reason to use the last resort!
These situations basically never happened, and he was pretty sure these last resorts were anything but simple.
And, at the sight of that big-ass cutting thing - oh my God -...Was this what he expected to happen?
"You're going to cut off my arm." Derek said between breaths.
Holy shit.
Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but, but there was nothing. His mind was blank. Mouth agape, his eyes stared back at the unfortunately not delirious-like eyes. Had Derek been delirious, this would maybe make sense. Whoever asked to be dismembered in their right mind? Nobody-
Yet Derek seemed to be thinking a whole lot clearer than Stiles, because Stiles couldn't process the sentence.
No.
That wasn't what he just heard.
No way did he just hear that.
A part of his brain was obviously understanding the actual sentence spoken aloud, but, to do-
To cut off a limb!
No way in hell!
Yet, Derek was staring at him like this was the only option as a last resort.
Swallowing, Stiles tried to reason with the guy. "Are you sure this is a good plan? I mean - I'm sure you can come up with a better last resort than that…"
His words might have been spoken to a wall, because Derek had turned around, rummaging through the drawer, getting a blue elastic rubber band, swaying as he reached the table, staring at the tabletop that now had a blue rubber band left on it.
"Derek, I'm sure Scott probably will be here any moment…" Stiles tried again, doing his best to get Derek's attention. "Maybe think more on the subject, and you could find another last resort?"
Still Derek was not responding.
It would've been in the interest of both of them for Derek to understand that, hey, not that Stiles hadn't done crazy things in the past, he wasn't really all that much of a fan of…dismembering body parts!
Eyes of the werewolf blinked, then narrowed into slits as he swayed, throwing the large cutting instrument to the side, and slammed a hand on the tabletop, eyes flashing dangerously with rage. "I don't have time for your disagreement." Derek breathed out, the sign of a still existing strength of steel audible in his voice.
Stiles didn't take a step back as he should have from the frightening display of power, and instead leaned forward, and hissed the words at the idiotic werewolf. "I believe we still have time. Okay?" Relentlessly staring back, he insisted on the point he wanted to make. "You look like you're about to fall over, and, and Scott will be here soon enough - just, think about the last resort while you rest a little while?"
At the unreadable expression Derek wore, Stiles continued on the stare-down.
It continued on until Derek surprisingly looked away, putting his right hand over his mouth. Derek walked over to the drawer where he got the cutting tool, and leaned his back against it, his wound very visible from where Stiles was. Taking a deep breath always helped, so Derek did, and then waiting for the urge to cough up his nauseous insides was no longer an issue. It didn't take long for the feeling to go, but his head ached more, and he swallowed his fear that this would be the end, putting his hand over to the counter to better balance himself.
Exerting himself probably only made the toxin in his veins spread quicker.
Head leaned back, Derek had his eyes closed while breathing through his nose, counting the seconds in his mind.
Sure, the plan made was ridiculous - so, so risky, and so not good in terms of time-management, but it was only a hope that it worked. Derek couldn't be certain it would work. And while standing there, he felt the poison spreading, the prickling of a sting worsened over the day to an excruciating ache, and he could tell that time was almost up for waiting.
Silence was only accompanied by Stiles' thoughts, and Derek's breathing. All else was quiet in the animal clinic at this time, and their hearts beat loudly in their heads as they both knew of the possible scenarios that could occur very shortly.
"Okay." Derek finally said, taking one long inhale at the sharpness of the pain, gritting his teeth together so as to not make a sound.
"Time's almost up."
That said, he went to grab the item he had thrown, and did not mind the rant of Stiles Stilinski. "Come on - Derek! You can't be serious about this!"
"Deadly." Derek wheezed, coughing as a fit took over for a moment, and the hand he had put over his mouth he saw after was smeared with…
Wiping it at his leg, he grabbed the thing like an electric-saw.
No, he didn't find it shocking the kid Scott was later than Derek would've liked.
"Stiles, you will do this." He snapped, taking two deep breaths after. No time left.
And no, he wasn't angry.
Just tired.
Slowly standing up, he went to the table in the middle of the room, and putting the cutting-item as nicely as he could in his irritated state, he focused on the blue rubber tie he used to tie around his upper arm, using his teeth as a substitute for his left hand, which by now, he could barely move about.
He saw Stiles take the cutting-machine into his hand, and the whirring noise led to an unsurprisingly frightened comment - even a shaky voice. "Oh my God." Was Stiles really that scared of a little blood? Understandable, but this was not an easy decision to make, just, just a decision that had to be made to get the outcome that was most preferable - him being alive and, you know, not dying.
As he tied the blue rubber band, he heard the metal clinking as the cutting-machine was put down, and got an actual possibility that Stiles was on board with the plan when an actual proper question was asked. "What if you bleed to death?"
"It'll heal, if it works." He said through teeth biting at the blue rubber.
Always the chance it wouldn't work, and that thought nagged into the back of his mind.
Stiles then sighed - like he was the one dying and shot and tying something with one hand and teeth instead of the other hand. A tie being made was not easy, let alone without the use of a hand - when every movement caused a ripple of the poison to be felt, okay?
"Look," Stiles said quietly after a swallow, as though preparing to swim in lava. "I don't know if I can do this…" Seriously?
Derek was the one asking - it was his decision - Stiles had no reason to be so opposed to the idea of using the one possible chance to save a life. "Why not?" He said through gritted teeth, still holding the blue rubber band.
"Well," Stikes said immediately, putting his hand on the table, as though about to make a statement that made sense and was completely understandable to why he was against the idea. Derek could feel the way Stiles tried to get his eyes to stare at his, like there was something there that when Derek saw it, he'd be all 'okay, let's not do the one plan that could potentially save my life'. "Because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" The reasons were said, the last nearly rising his voice really up a pitch.
Dropping his left hand on the table, finally done with the tying, Derek stared at the kid who no doubt saw more bloody gore than imaginable. What was this about?
What - he exhaled irritably, and spoke. "You'll faint at the sight of blood?"
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!" Stiles stated, eyes wild, clearly not planning on doing this.
An inhale, and Derek started. "All right, fine…How about this?" This should work to get Stiles to look at who is who here. Stiles was a human high-schooler, but don't forget, Derek wasn't. "Either you cut off my arm," he began the warning, staring right back into those eyes, daring the high-schooler to go against him ."Or I'm gonna cut off your head."
Instead of just doing what Derek demanded, Stiles was talking again. "Okay, you know - I'm so not buying your threats anymore-" …Yeah, now Derek was getting angry.
So, he grabbed a hold of Stiles, pulling him towards his teeth, ready to act like he very well can. Not that he would.
Because even trying to get the slightest bit of his strength had him regretting the action.
The poison spread quicker when he used strength - yeah, he knew - but, always keeping that in mind wasn't easy. But he had. And now, his insides were churning.
Still, the hostile action got the intended effect. "Oh my God! Okay - Alright - Bought! Sold - totally! I'll do it - Kay? I'll do it!"
Maybe it wasn't worth the effort. Derek regretted so much even being shot - being out in the open and not checking his surroundings carefully…This was so bad.
And with those in mind, fighting the wish to cough up his lungs out, or throw up, or anything to make the sick feeling stop existing - he looked away from Stiles, to the table that seemed to be shining. "What? What are you doing?" Stiles asked, sounding confused, and then Derek couldn't stop himself.
Turning to the side, Derek puked out whatever came up, and tried to breathe slower, barely awake.
"Holy God - what the hell is that?" Stiles sounded like he wanted to throw up.
That made two of them.
"It's my body-" Breathing sure was not an easy thing to do today. "-It's trying to heal itself."
Trying meant there was time.
A little time.
"Well it's not doing a very good job of it-" Stiles said, his voice sounding like it was from further than it should be.
After another breath, Derek spoke between-breaths. "Now - you gotta do it now."
"Look - honesty? I don't think I can-." Stiles rambled, obviously not thinking about how this was now or never.
What an annoying-
"Just do it!"
"Oh my God - Okay…Okay - Oh, God- Okay - Here we go!"
Derek gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain to begin, feeling the cold metal cutter by his arm - but it never happened.
Because Scott had finally arrived.
"Stiles?"
"Scott?" He heard Stiles huff, and then footsteps from behind him somewhere neared. "What the hell are you doing?" Scott's voice sounded like that whiny child he always remained to be. It was very much annoying, all the while a near-laugh escaped Stiles.
Derek's throat remained dry, and he couldn't bring himself to speak, wanting to sleep on the cool surface of the table.
Stiles then spoke, and Derek slowly got himself to stand as he heard words that made him regret his actions even more. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."
Focus.
Focusing on the bullet - had Scott brought it?
"Did you get it?" His voice sounded weird, and he couldn't breathe right, wanting to forever rest on this table.
And Scott showed him the bullet, giving it.
The bullet! It was right here, finally! Derek stared at it as a pleasant successful feeling flowed in. Yes!
He could sleep and rest a bit later-
Right now, he had to stay awake-
-So he tried his best to keep his eyes open, every bit of strength he had left focused on staying awake.
"What are you gonna do with it?" He heard, but it sounded muffled, and he felt like he was underwater as his vision blurred, feeling himself swaying slightly, his hand shaky. "I'm gonna-"
Derek breathed out, tried to breathe right, but it wasn't working. His ears were filled with the noises of Scott's heart beating loudly, comparable to the one Stiles had beating loudly, and then - taste of blood, his blood in the air - stench of sanitizers - there was dogs and all around things so loud - he could hear the horn blaring of some vehicle far from where they were - he could smell the foods Scott had eaten - birds chirping outside somewhere - the clinking of glass as somebody in some house nearby was having food together with others, sounding happy and cheerful - the trees leaves brushing - and everything was so cold - he was sweating so much and it was also really hot-
Trying again, he huffed, "I'm gonna…"
Stiles waited for an answer, and waited with Scott, but neither of them got an answer.
Instead of getting the answer for his question, Stiles watched as the bullet dropped from Derek's hand down and rolled somewhere -
"No- No-" Scott began, hurrying to get it. "Nononono-"
Scott rushed to get it - but - but - Derek fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes - dropping limply, and remained motionless, the lighting in the room not helping him look any alive.
The bullet they needed and Scott was on it but - Derek!
Nearly tripping to reach his side, Stiles brought his hands to Derek's face, cupping his face in his hands. "Derek." It came out more like a question, trying to wake him up as he gave light taps on his cheek. "Derek, come on, wake up."
By now he'd have been awake.
By now, Derek would've pushed his hands away, or, or something.
The thoughts invading his thoughts were very much not acceptable for Stiles, so - he focused on stopping his hands from trembling as he held Derek's face in his hands, seeing the peaceful look - too peaceful - way too peaceful-
Stiles was, he really was doing his best to calm his racing heart, at the possibility of-
With his left hand, he checked for the heartbeat, but couldn't find one.
Oh - please, no-
"Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?!" he yelled, glancing at Scott, who, unhelpfully replied with, "I don't know!"
Both hands on Derek's head, he gave one more, slightly not-so-light tap on the cheek, and then another, but Derek still wouldn't get up and punch him - or weakly but still tear the hold Stiles had on him - just nothing - but Scott seemed to be trying to get the bullet - "Ugh - I can't reach it-"
Trying to get the bullet. Trying - so - hopeful?
Stiles put a hand behind Derek's head, feeling the soft hair, trying to find wet splotched of blood which could indicate possible concussion or maybe a head injury that could very well explain this not-waking-up thing that was obviously not due to-
"He's not waking up!" Stiles yelled, voice sounding terrified for some reason. His voice should be more full of hope, less full of dread-
Okay, maybe, maybe this was just a little passing-out-from-exhaustion-or-fatigue-or-bleeding-or-because-of-getting-shot and all, nothing too bad, so probably, Derek was just probably being dramatic - right?
His thoughts continued as he put his left hand by Derek's shoulder, right hand to where he vaguely recalled how to find a pulse.
Nothing too bad - maybe some hypovolemic shock - maybe just Derek fainting like a princess - what a freaking drama queen, right?
Oh, God - he couldn't - he couldn't find a pulse. "I think he's dying."
And his hand was shaking so bad by now - the cold skin, the cold, dead-like skin and cold, dead-like exterior Derek now had, literally looking like - Derek had an expression he'd never had while alive - so SO peaceful - nobody had that look of peace unless - and Derek looked - Derek looked dead - dead - dead - dead-
"I think he's dead-" He turned to Scott for a second to check if the other was successful.
Didn't seem so.
Stiles had his eyes burning, head heated up.
Should he start chest compressions? Should he?
Should he start doing chest compressions now?
This thought repeated in his head so much, and he found himself bringing his hands together, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking and he felt a lump in his throat, and he didn't know what to do - Noah Stilinski would've known what to do - his father would've known what to do - what should he do right now?
His hands, he kept in front of him, wringing them together, and he didn't have a clue on what to do.
Characters in movies always won - they saved the person that needed saving - Stiles had this to do - a life to save - and he was failing to save Derek's life-
Derek who had lost his entire family - and - Stiles couldn't imagine that - he knew the pain of losing a mother, but everyone?
Bringing his hands down, back to holding Derek's face, he tried lightly tapping, but he couldn't bring himself to-
Derek lost everybody - tried to even help them-
And they had - God, they had accused him of killing his own sister-
They dug her grave up-
They had him sent to the police-
They called the police on him and had hunters after him-
Hunters-
One of them shot Derek and now-
And now - Derek - Derek was-
"I got it!" Scott breathed, sounding more confident as he repeated it, rushing over to Stiles.
Maybe - he remembered at the sight of Scott's long, werewolf nails that were used in getting the bullet - maybe it was because Derek was a werewolf that the taps didn't work-
Not when he was completely out cold-
So-
Maybe-
"Please don't kill me for this." His voice was trembling, and he brought his fist back, putting all his strength into it as he punched Derek in the face.
The next few moments were a blur.
Derek had opened his eyes, staring widely at them, and then given the bullet he wanted, and Scott and Stiles quickly had him standing again, and Stiles could feel the aching of his right hand he actually punched the Derek Hale with, but then Derek had done some weird-ass thing with the bullet, and then, having a second to wait, with this expression of not-the-time for whatever - which he later assumed was a not-the-time-for-backing-off-because-of-the-painful-process - a very, very painful-looking thing with the ashes from the bullet, and then screaming - screaming in pain - and then there were blue light coming from the nearly blackened veins around the gunshot wound, and then Derek was on the ground-
Derek Hale was screaming in pain on the ground - writhing in pain - probably excruciating pain because Derek Hale never, ever screamed-
And then, shocking Stiles to the core, nearly getting him to fawn over Derek and be a fan and stare in probably something that looked like woah-that-is-so-cool kinda expression - was the actual, literal wolf growling he heard - sounding from an actual wolf - a roar kinda sound that was so cool-
And then - the most awesomest part-
-Ever -was the blackened veins were disappearing, and the wound was gone like it was never there! So the plan - the plan worked!
Derek was gonna be fine and they got to hear an actual sound from a wolf!
"That. Was. Awesome!" Stiles stressed every word, fist-bumping the air in the awesomeness of the whole thing. "Yes!" he said loudly, so glad the whole thing had a good ending than any other way.
Scott turned to Derek, and asked in a concerned voice, brows furrowed, "Are you okay?"
"Uh, except for the agonising pain?"
"Guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health." Stiles added helpfully, going against the very difficult need to grin widely, but the serious and really really tense expression Derek had with the soury look and the normal and very much alive look he had that was basically a glare - Derek glared, alive - alive.
Awesome.
