Scott had been awake since he had heard the door to my room open and my heartbeat jump. He was quick to hide the fact that he was awake, and I was too distracted to notice that he had stirred. Derek probably noticed that Scott had woke up, his heartbeat speeding up from the normal sleeping rate. If he had noticed, he had ignored it. Scott had laid there, listening and keeping watch on the pounding of my heart during Derek's whole "visit" to make sure I was okay. After Derek had left and I rolled over he sat up, watching me in case anything were to happen until he had drifted off to sleep, when he was no longer to keep his eyes open. He had started out sleeping sitting up, and ended up face forward across the arm of his chair and partially onto my bed. He was lucky I didn't roll over or anything, or else I probably would've rolled on top of his head and arms.

"Nat?" Scott asked sleepily, yawning and sitting up, stretching his arms above his head. The bowl of popcorn fell from the spot it had been balancing on the chair, aided by his stretching, hitting Stiles and bouncing off him. That sent kernels all over the already popcorn-scattered floor. He rubbed his face and Stiles shot up, a clear reaction from the large plastic bowl hitting him. His arms and legs were flailing as he was startled awake, slowly making his way to a standing position after he had realized that the bowl had hit him. It was more than likely if he had been sleeping in one of the chairs that he would rolled out of it, and probably give himself a minor concussion by hitting his head on the tile floor.

"Five more minutes, dad, I'm awake," he uttered out, his brain clearly not processing the words before they had tumbled out of his mouth. "Ugh." Stiles rubbed his eyes and yawned, Scott catching the contagious muscle action and yawning himself again. Isaac was still asleep, now curled up in his chair, his head lolling off of the arm of the thing. "Dude, what time is it?" Stiles asked, dropping his hands from his face and arching his back, a few vertebrae making cracking noised in the process. Scott was too distracted to hear or even register what Stiles had said.

"Nat," Scott said again. There was no response from me. "Nat? Natalie?" Still nothing. There was a slight panic hinting in his voice, because my heartbeat had dropped to a rate just barely above the rate one would need to continue living and he had just registered that. I had dropped into unconsciousness during some point in my sleep, my condition taking a turn for the worse, for reasons unknown to me or Scott, or anyone for that matter.

"Scott, what's going on?" It was Stiles, and he had caught drift of the panic in Scott's voice. His tone was curious, edged with fear. If Scott was worried, something had to be wrong, or borderline about to be. Scott didn't answer him again, instead skirting around the edge of my bed to the side with the machines, and the direction I was facing. My face was pale and my breathing shallow, sweat beading across my forehead. A viscous black liquid dribbled from the corner of my mouth, dripping from there onto the pillow below my head in a constant beat. He ran his hands through his hair before he began muttering, "no, no, no, this can't be, no, she was fine last night, this can't be happening". He pulled the blanket that covered me back gingerly, rolling me over onto my back once the blanket was out of the way. Doing so revealed a large black stain on the white sheets, a similar but smaller stain decorating the side of my dressing down. Liquid was pouring slowly through the soaked side of the dressing gown and down my side to join the rest of the black stain, looking like someone had forced black maple syrup through a bed sheet.

Alarm or something similar must have registered on Scott's face, because Stiles had made his way around my bed to see what was the matter.

"Scott—oh my god."

. . . . .

Friday. It was Friday now. I had arrived at the hospital on Monday. Scott and Isaac had come to visit me on Tuesday, and had returned later that night with Stiles and we all watched Zombieland. Early Wednesday morning, Derek had bitten me. I had been unconscious since early Wednesday morning. My mom had visited on Thursday, and Scott and Melissa were quick to disguise that fact that I was oozing black liquid out of my side, Melissa especially. She was a bit jumpy and made a few "medical" excuses to keep my mom from getting close enough to me to see anything that might make her question Melissa. It was late Friday now, nearing eight o'clock or so, and Scott was in the hospital room with me. He was sitting in one of the chairs, resting his head in his arms on the side of my bed, watching me lay there. Not in a creepy sort of way, but in more of a "I hope you're going to be okay" kind of way. I had been changed out of my previous dressing down into a fresh one, and my sheets, blankets and pillows had all been swapped out for new ones as well. There was a thick piece gauze over my bite wound, which was still oozing the black liquid and didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime in the near future. The liquid had stopped dripping from the corner of my mouth, now only coming up when I would cough, but that didn't happen often. Every once in a while my face would pinch up, and Scott would grab my hand, taking away any pain that I had. It was very minimal from what I could tell, considering I was unconscious. Melissa had put me in isolation, with the exception of Scott and herself. The doctor and other nurse that had been assigned to me were no longer allowed into my room, and they both probably assumed it was a sort of last wish, that I wanted to be comfortable with people I knew instead of just the people that were assigned to me. I was nearing the brink of death after all, considering my "death day" was predicted to be Friday. Melissa had let Scott take off school, since he was the only one really qualified to do anything if something to do with werewolf business happened, with the exceptions to Derek and Deaton. Derek wouldn't step up to the plate, saying that I was Scott's responsibility. Deaton...ah, well, that would be tricky. Asking Deaton to help would most likely end up in a riddle with a hidden message that wouldn't help at all, unless you figured out the secret message within it.

Melissa would come into my room during her food breaks, bringing Scott some food for whatever meal it was, forcing him to leave my room and walk around, since he had been sitting in that chair for hours on end. Isaac and Stiles had both stopped by briefly earlier after they both got out of school to visit, but most likely to check on Scott, seeing how he was holding up with my chance of actually dying. After giving a few comforting words, they both left Scott and I to ourselves. Well, really leaving Scott to himself because I was about as conversational as a potato right about now. But that didn't stop him from talking. More like muttering to himself, actually.

"Hey, Nat, you're going to be okay, you're going to be alright."

I think most of the time he was trying to reassure himself that he did the right thing, that having Derek offer me the bite was the best option.

"Stiles said that when you wake up, he's going to take us all to McDonalds to celebrate."

And to cheer himself up.

"And Isaac said he was going to hold a checkers tournament, to see if he could finally beat you."

But probably just to reassure himself.

"If it's any consolation, I think you look pretty good for being on the brink of death."

To tell himself that everything was going to be okay.

"When you get out of here, you can meet my other friends besides Isaac and Stiles. There's Lydia and Allison. I think you'll like them."

And I'm honestly surprised that he didn't break down crying, because it really seemed like he was going to.

"I just hope you're going to make it, Nat, I really do."

.

He had continued his monologue until he ran out of things to say. Slowly but steadily his hand had drifted towards mine and he had grabbed it, rubbing the back of it with his thumb in a comforting way. For whom the comfort was for, I couldn't tell. It was later now, nearing eleven or so at night. I hadn't thought about it earlier, but it was a bit ironic that my day of death was supposed to be on a full moon. And I was most likely supposed to become a werewolf, to avoid death. It was just dripping with irony and lame jokes.

A wide stream of moonlight filtered through the single window in my room, casting a glow over Scott and myself. Scott had fallen asleep, his hand loosely wrapped around my own, claiming a little space on the side of my bed for his head and arms. Of course, he had enough control over his werewolf urges that he could sleep peacefully at night.

All of a sudden, my heart rate monitor sped up and my eyes flashed open, glowing a bright golden yellow. The bite had taken.