YEAR 22
Stiles was going to throw up. Or pass out – because dudes didn't feint like girls in period dramas. His hands were shaking as he held the bone saw against Derek's skin and turned it on. He really, really hoped that the roaring sound of it would cover up the crunch of sawing through a frickin werewolf arm.
He was so focused on what he was about to do, that he almost missed the girl who just sort of appeared into existence next to him.
The next second the saw was ripped out of his hands and thrown against the wall. She turned back to him and practically snarled at him before she began shrieking loud enough to make him cringe.
"What the ever-loving FUCK were you trying to do? Saw off his god damn arm?"
Stiles panicked – the chick was terrifying, holy crap – and when he turned to Derek for some kind of answer as to who she was, he almost started laughing out of shock. Derek Hale was staring at her with an expression of apprehension that someone got when they're caught doing something bad and waiting to be yelled at.
It became apparent that Stiles had read the expression correctly.
She whirled around and narrowed her eyes at the werewolf before saying in an annoyed voice, "Oh ho hooo, don't even get me started on you, Derek Andrew Hale. I don't care if you've banned me for the last three years, we are going to be having words as soon as we heal up your-" the girl paused and looked down to see the black vomit on the ground before turning back to meet Stiles gaze, asking in a questioning tone, "a string of monkshood wolfsbane, right?" He could only nod silently back at her, and at that moment their interaction was interrupted by Scott bursting into the room and shouting, "Stiles!"
When his friend came into the room, Derek whipped his head around to face him before asking, "Did you get it?"
Scott held up the bullet but was then distracted when he turned to the stranger and said in a bewildered tone, "Who are you?"
Trying to get back to the issue at hand, Stiles looked to Derek and demanded quickly, "What are you gonna do with it?"
Derek was beginning to answer, but he suddenly fell to the ground, unconscious.
Before either Scott or himself could react, the girl lurched toward his friend and snatched the bullet from him, saying, "give me that, puppy." Scott darted toward her – neither of them knew who the hell she was or what she was doing here – but when she quickly began fiddling with the bullet it became clear that she knew what she was doing and evidently trying to help Derek.
She pulled a – was that a paintbrush? – out of the pocket of the smock he now noticed she was wearing, twirling it in her fingers and revealing the blade of a knife on the other side.
Okay, that was kind of awesome.
Using the knife as a makeshift set of pliers, she wrenched the end of the bullet open, pouring the blue wolfsbane powder into the palm of her hand. Without any sort of hesitation, he and Scott watched in equal parts bafflement and fear on her behalf as she slugged Derek across his cheekbone twice. Hard.
The beating to the face made him sit up quickly, and as soon as his eyes focused she grabbed his chin with her free hand and forced his eyes to meet her before she quickly said, "Where's your lighter?"
"Front right pocket."
With an efficiency that made Stiles guess she had been through this process before, she reached into his pocket, lit the wolfsbane on fire, and then shoved it into his frickin bullet wound.
Derek began writhing on the floor, but soon seemed to have reverted to his usual self judging by how when Scott asked if he was okay and he retorted sarcastically with a lack of gratitude for the dudes who just saved his furry little werewolf ass. Well, with the help of the weird smoke monster girl thing that apparently knew Derek's middle name.
Hearing a light tapping sound, all the guys turned to see the girl standing with a hip cocked to the side and crossed arms, tapping her foot and wearing an annoyed expression.
Now that Stiles could examine her in detail, she didn't look like the kind of girl that would be a supernatural monster or anything – she kind of just looked like a hipster, an attractive one, even. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a red tank top, with a denim, paint covered smock, while her feet were bare and dirty. Her hair was dyed pink, and when he looked more closely he could see that she had tucked her knife-paintbrush thing behind her ear. An ear with an impressive amount of ear piercings.
Her tone was sugary sweet, obviously sarcastic when she said slowly, "Well, Derek, care to explain why you're in what looks to be a vet's office shot up with Northern blue monkshood – which we both know is an Argent calling card – and hanging out with a puppy and his horny friend?"
Stiles was so, so busted. But hey, a hot chick in charge had always been his thing, so who could really blame him?
The girl continued to grill Derek, not letting him get in a word when her tone turned acidic and she hissed, "Would you also like to explain why you didn't call on me until your body had to do so involuntarily because you were so close to death?"
Derek glared at her and sighed tiredly before muttering, "Let's not do the whole lecture, Hattie. I'm busy with this kid right now."
Without any sort of warning, the girl kicked the werewolf in between the legs. Derek went down, and both Stiles and Scott winced in sympathy when he groaned in pain.
She crouched down next to him and said, "Go fuck yourself."
Just a second later though, she leaned in and pecked his cheek, patting it softly when she pulled away.
Stiles could see the genuine affection and relief in her features when a small smile came over her face and she whispered, "I'm glad you're okay, Der."
Though he wish he could deny it, he let out a high pitched squeak when she suddenly turned into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated a moment later to reveal that she was gone.
In absolute awe, Stiles turned and met Derek's eyes before saying, "Duuuuude, your girlfriend is scary. But also hot. Scary hot –"
"Jesus Christ, she's not my –"
Scott chose this moment to interrupt, saying with a scowl, "Okay, can we get back to the actual issue?"
Just like that, the hot smoke monster thing named Hattie left the conversation.