Chapter 6: The Bullet

Joe didn't know where Scott's head was these days, but it was certainly not on History. It seemed like every time they went over another section, he forgot the previous one.

"So, who founded the Federalist party?"

"Uh...that guy, Patrick Henry?"

"No," Joe said with raised eyebrows. She shifted the textbook in her lap, closing it so she could focus on Scott instead. He sat on his bed, throwing and catching a tennis ball with one arm. "He founded the Anti-Federalist party. Alexander Hamilton founded the Federalist party. Do you remember what was special about the Federalist party?"

"Uh..." was Scott's only response and he fumbled the ball behind his bed. Joe waited while he tried to retrieve it, suspecting he was taking longer to have time to think of something. In the end he flopped back up, grimaced and said: "No?"

"It was the first political party in the US, opposed by the Jeffersonians - or later known as the Democratic-Republic party. George Washington, however, our first president was not member of either party as the US politics was not originally intended to be partisan. Are you listening to a single word I'm saying?"

Scott's head snapped around from where he had been staring out his window. "Huh? Yeah."

"I could ask you to repeat what I just said, but I have better things to do," Joe said with a sigh. She got up from the chair and threw the textbook at him, which he caught easily. "Try to at least read the summary and get a good night's sleep."

He set the book down in his own lap and gave her a soft smile. "Sorry, Joe. I'm just..."

"Distracted? No, really, I couldn't tell," Joe said with a roll of her eyes, but smiled to show she was not mad at him. "It's good you have a life. Just try to find balance."

"Balance, yeah."

"Good night, Scott," Joe called over her shoulder and went back to her own room. She had her own work, as Professor Kane wanted a first revision of her paper by tomorrow. By habit, she swung by Jimmy Carter's webpage. Nothing local; no new attacks or sightings. Maybe the mountain lion had found a new territory. No mention of her visit either, which she thought was a bit strange as he seemed to have no trouble referencing other 'Skeptics' when they opposed him.

Closing his webpage, she got started on her own writing instead, referencing her notes heavily, and trying to formulate sentences that did not run on for half a page at a time. Academic writing tried too hard sometimes. At around 2 AM, she was only halfway done and decided she needed caffeine if she was going to survive the night. Barefoot, she tiptoed out into the hallway, the cold hardwood making her toes numb. The rest of her froze solid at the sound of someone moving around in Scott's room. His door was only halfway up and she saw shadows move around. What was he doing up?

"Scott?" she whispered and opened his door slowly to check in on him. He was not in his bed and the window stood wide awake. What she had heard was him sneaking out. That was not the good night's sleep she'd ordered for him. Joe closed the door softly, as to not wake Aunt Mel. Despite her disappointment, she was not going to rat him out. She got her coffee and continued writing until a while later when she heard Scott return. Checking the clock, the deduced that was fast for a late night rendez-vous. Teenagers... Not her business, she reminded herself, and plugged in her headset to avoid further distraction.

As predicted, he was a mess at breakfast. Joe watched him over her own cup of coffee as he struggled to eat a bowl of cereal, slopping the soggy mess off his spoon. Joe did not hold high hopes for his test. Not that she held high hopes for herself either today. It was a little annoying that she had spent the afternoon helping him and then having to stay up all night to do her own work. Just a little though. She could not be irritated at Scott, not everyone prioritized their life like she had. One test would not be the end of the world for him and one more all-nighter would not be the end of her.

"Good luck!" she called after him as he went out the door, but he only grunted in return. Joe raised her eyebrows at herself in the reflection of her coffee. Well, he sort of had it coming by sneaking out. Coffee empty, she put on another pot and continued reading about reported gunshots in downtown Beacon Hills last night, where the police announced it was just a car backfiring. By her estimate, Jimmy Carter would have a blog post about it before the end of the day claiming it was all a hoax.

At noon, she had an online meeting with Professor Kane. She refrained from mentioning having met up with Jimmy Carter, in case the animosity between them went both ways. Kane was a little disappointed that the attacks had stopped, but otherwise felt they were in good shape with the paper. They agreed on a literature review to find lesser known similar happenings and Joe went straight to bed when the meeting ended.

Which was why she was asleep when her phone went off later in the evening. She groaned and saw that it was past 7 PM. The number was not saved as one of her contacts and she let it go to voice mail. It took two seconds before the ringing started up again.

Joe groaned, hit the answer-button and croaked: "Hello?"

"Joe? Joe! Are you home? Scott said there would be a spare key to the animal clinic in the box behind the dumpster but it's not there and he's not picking up and can you check if there's a second key in your house he's mentioned it before that-"

Joe held the phone away from her ear as Stiles did not even stop to breathe as he released an endless tirade of words. He always sounded a little spastic, but now it was intense. No end in sight, Joe rubbed her cheek free of crusted drool and sighed.

"Stiles?"

"YES!" Stiles exploded through the phone. "Yes, it's Stiles, please Joe, we need the key right now it's an emergency and Scott's stuck at the Argents' and can you please come over with it right-"

Someone talked in the background, too low for Joe to hear, but Stiles barked something about shutting up and that he had to improvise because of Scott's MIA.

"Why do you need to get into the animal clinic?" Joe asked, even as she got out of bed and put on the closest pair of pants, which happened to be pajama pants. They did have a spare key to the clinic hanging on the key holder by the stairs. "Did you call Dr. Deaton?"

Stiles did not appear to hear her questions and pleaded: "Just please get over here right now!"

"All right, all right," Joe said and figured she was fine just wearing a jacket over her pajama pants and t-shirt. The incessant babbling on the other side didn't stop. "Jesus, Stiles, I'm getting in the car right now. Yes, I got the key. Yes, I'm coming over right now. Right now, I swear, God!"

Stiles didn't have any pets as far as she knew, so she had no idea what kind of emergency this could be. On her way over, she tried calling both Scott and Dr. Deaton, but none of them picked up. The traffic through Beacon Hills was sparse this late, but still Stiles called her twice more to make her hurry up. Finally, she reached the clinic and spotted Stiles' babyblue Jeep that he hadn't parked as much as stopped right in front of the main entrance.

The boy in question paced back and forth by the rear entrance and did a celebratory whoop with his whole body when she parked her car next to his.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he repeated and bounced on his feet next by the door. Grumbling, she got the key out, but did not unlock. She looked straight at Stiles and was going to ask exactly what kind of emergency this was, but the words died in her mouth. Behind Stiles, she spotted Derek Hale.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"She needs to leave," moaned Derek Hale from his position on one of the large bags of animal food Dr. Deaton kept in the nook by the backdoor. Pale, sweaty, eyes dazed - he did not look too hot. He somehow managed to force himself into a standing position, but he practically swayed and Joe's knees jerked in response in case he would fall over and she needed to catch him. The scent she associated with him was present, it practically rolled off him, like enhanced by the sweat. It was wrong, though, tainted and almost rotten.

"Are you okay?" she asked, but was interrupted by Stiles who urged her to unlock the door. Derek never answered her question and she tried to address Stiles instead, while unlocking at the same time. He was better off indoors in his state. "What exactly is going on? Is he on drugs?"

"It's a long story," Stiles said and pushed the doors opened the second she unlocked them. He beckoned for Derek to get indoors and then he turned to Joe with a bright smile. "Scott can explain everything later."

"No!" groaned Derek as he passed them, grabbing onto the doorframe to remain standing. He hung there, his hair limp over his forehead, while he managed to bite out at her: "No later. Leave."

He stumbled inside, leaving Joe by the door. He reeked of death. Stiles bounded inside with his phone by his ear, evidently calling Scott again. Seconds later came the incessant swearing when no-one answered. Joe made up her mind and closed the doors behind them, trying to mute out the cats and dogs going insane in their cages. Something must have gotten them really riled up, maybe a fox or something naerby. A predator, no doubt.

"Uhm, why are you taking your shirt off?" she asked Derek, who indeed was wrenching off his shirt using only his left arm. He had a tattoo on his very muscled back and he practically shone under the harsh lightening; he was covered in thick film of sweat. When he turned, she saw the source of his ill condition. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?"

Angry black veins spread across his entire right arm, originating from a still open and bleeding wound, the size of her thumb. Derek put his arm on the operating table to get a good look at it under the light while Joe took a step back in repulsion. No wonder he stank, that was clearly infected!

Stiles gave up on calling Scott and leaned against the table to also look at the spoiled injury. "You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of."

"I'm sorry, why were you breaking into the animal clinic instead of taking him to a hospital?" Joe demanded of Stiles, seeing as Derek looked to be two seconds from fainting. "That needs to be looked at by a professional! Preferably right now!"

"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek bit out, ignoring both of them. He pushed himself off the table and went to rummage through the medical cabinets.

"Yes! Hence the 'right now'!" Joe repeated. Derek either didn't hear her, or did not care. She huffed and tore around to the lower cabinet where she knew Dr. Deaton kept his rubbing alcohol. It might not help, but it could not hurt.

Behind her, Stiles couldn't stand still, bouncing by the steel table with his phone clasped in one hand. "Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"

Joe got the rubbing alcohol and some cotton pads ready, while Derek and Stiles argued about some bullet? It had to be a code word for something. Derek looked to be close to death and the only way a bullet would help was to put him out of his misery as a last resort. As Joe soaked the cotton with alcohol, Derek eventually found what he was looking for. Triumphantly, he lobbed a bone cutting saw onto the table. Last resort was apparently cutting off his arm.

"Are you serious?" Joe grabbed the saw, put it at a distance and pressed the cotton directly onto the near pulsating wound on Derek's arm. He hissed and this close she could see every individual sweat drop trickle across his forehead. "Sorry, bit this stings. Keep pressure, we need to get you an ambulance."

"No," Derek groaned and pushed her away with his shoulder. He ignored the cotton stuck to his skin and started tying a tourniquet across his bicep.

Joe darted forward again, pushed her entire palm over the alcohol-soaked cotton and smacked at his hands that tried to tighten the knot on the tourniquet. She tried to crane her neck to establish eye-contact, a difficult task as his head hung low over the table. "Derek, listen to me, you need to go to a hospital!"

Derek's nostrils flared and he seemed to focus on her hand clasped over his wound. "No."

"Jesus frickin' Christ!" Joe swore and rearranged his tourniquet so it laid pressure onto the cotton and by extent his still bleeding wound. Satisfied with the compression, she got her phone out. "I'm calling 911!"

"Stop her," Derek ordered Stiles, but the latter was already bouncing over to Joe. He tried snatching the phone out of her hands, which she dodged. He was as tall as Scott, meaning bigger than her, and they wrestled over the phone, while he apologized incessantly.

"No, no, no, I'm sorry, it doesn't make sense, but I can't explain right now!"

"Back off my phone, Stiles, I swear to God I'll kick your bony ass! Let go!"

He managed to pry the phone out of her arms and in a classic-Stiles panic, he smashed it into the floor. Predictably, it shattered into pieces.

"What the hell, dude?!" Joe yelled and put both hands on her head. "What are you on these days?"

"No..." Derek groaned and swayed again. "No hospital."

"Why not?" Joe shrieked and used her entire body to gesture. "Why is having a goddamn high-schooler cut off your arm better than going to the ER?"

"She's got a point," Stiles conceded, still standing a few feet away in shame. He took a deep shaky breath and rubbed his face. "I mean, what if you bleed to death?"

Derek seemed to fight for every word he was saying. "It'll heal if it works."

"You two are absolutely insane!" Joe yelled, but they were too engrossed in fighting over whether or not Stiles actually would cut off the arm or not, not if they were gonna consider literally ANY OTHER ALTERNATIVE! Derek already wrestled with the tourniquet to get it further up on his arm. She threw her hands up in exasparation.

"Oh my God, what the hell is happening?" she mumbled to herself, sick to her stomach of the sweet rotten smell rolling off Derek's body. Options, she needed options...Joe backed out of the operation room and went to the front desk, praying that Dr. Deaton still had a landline connected. From inside, their voices rang out:

"...either you cut off my arm, Or I'm gonna cut off your head."

"Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying..."

Joe ignored their panicked voices and tore over the reception desk in search of the old-school handle phone. Lifting the receiver, she got the familiar steady beep signalling a connection and she thanked whatever deity was listening.

"Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

"Yeah, hi, my friend is hurt really bad, I need an ambulance to-"

The line went dead.

Joe took the receiver away from her ear and stared at it in confusion. No interruption tone, just complete silence. A movement in the corner of her eye made her look up from the phone only to see Scott. He had the unplugged phone wire in his hand. Too angry to speak, she watched him rush back into the operation room. His voice echoed from inside:

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Scott McCall, what in the actual hell are you- uwaa!" She followed Scott to the back, but slipped in something slick on the floor and almost crashed into the cabinets. She grabbed onto the table for balance. Something pitch black and gooey was in a large puddle of the floor. "What the hell is that?"

"Derek's body's attempt of healing itself," Stiles answered without missing a beat. Joe gagged at the smell of the infected blood vomit. "Yeah, I know, it's not good."

"Did you get it?" Derek asked Scott, who nodded and handed what looked like a rifle bullet to Derek.

A literal bullet. Joe tried to wipe her shoes off onto the floor, gagging again at the thought of the putrid liquid coming from Derek.

Stiles asked: "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'm gonna-" said Derek and swayed. "I'm gonna..."

They all started shouting at the same time as Derek's eyes slipped shut. Joe and Stiles both lunged for Derek's torso so he wouldn't crash straight to the floor, while Scott dived after the bullet that rolled under a cabinet.

"Whoa, easy, easy," Joe said and managed to get Derek lying down with Stiles' help. Her fingers slipped on his sweat-covered skin. He was not waking up, even as Stiles shook him. Joe put two fingers onto his neck - his skin burned against her fingers. "His pulse is weak. We need to call an ambulance right now!"

Stiles still tried to shake Derek awake, but there was no response. "He's not waking up, Scott! I think he's dying!"

Scott laid stretched out belly down on the floor, obviously straining to reach the bullet, and only grunted in response. Joe tried to turn Derek around to get him in a recovery position in case he threw up again, but he was way too heavy without Stiles' help. Okay, time for that half-day training in first aid. If he stopped breathing, she had to start CPR. Was it 15 or 30 to 2? What was she supposed to do if he kept breathing, but didn't wake up? Even if Scott got that stupid bullet, how was that gonna help? The black infected veins kept climbing up on Derek's arm at an alarming rate. Even if they got him to the hospital right away, it might already be too late.

"Oh! I got it! I got it!" cried Scott and emerged from the cabinet with the bullet in hand. It became clear that neither him or Stiles knew what to do with it. They needed Derek in a conscious state.

Stiles improvised and drew his fist back. "Please don't kill me for this!"

Joe gasped as he punched Derek straight in the face, something he regretted straight away as he yelped and cradled his hand. She did not remember that from her first aid course!

Derek opened his eyes, apparently unaffected by the punch, and momentarily only stared at Joe with confusion. She stared back at the light green eyes and could see how his pupiles dilated before he seemed to focus and pull it together.

"You need a hospital!" Joe insisted as she helped him stand, but he only shook his head and held out his good hand to Scott.

"Give me."

The second Derek got the bullet, he unscrewed it and poured the contents on the stainless steel table. With a lighter, he set it on fire. Joe's mouth dropped open when he shoved the remaining ashes into the open gaping bullet wound.

"Oh God," she said and gagged again. The ashes seemed to burn into Derek's wound and he screamed so hard the cabinets shook. Joe clutched her own arm, as if her empathy made her feel the same pain as him. He fell backwards on the floor, writhing and squirming, clutching his injured arm. Joe let go off her arm and used both hands to cover her ears as he screamed again, an overtone of an animalistic growl creeping in. She felt tears force themselves out of her eyes.

He was in so much pain!

"I can't watch!" She sought comfort in Scott's arms and buried her face into his chest to be spared the vision of Derek spasming on the floor. He was going to die. He was dying and there was nothing she could do! It - hurt - so- bad! Vision clouded with tears, she prayed that it would stop. Please make it stop. Please, please, please.

Her breath caught when her prayers were answered. The screaming stopped, leaving an empty space in the universe she wanted to scream into instead. A dead empty space. Dead. She sobbed into Scott's shirt, barely aware of Scott stroking her back.

"That. Was. AWESOME!" Stiles suddenly yelled out and whooped. "Yes!"

Joe pulled away from Scott in horror, ready to scream at Stiles. Rustles behind her made her turn around in a daze.

Derek was getting up from the floor. His arm was healed. He still looked pale and sweaty, but not in a near-death-way like before. She felt Scott's chest rumble as he asked: "Are you okay?"

"Well, except for the agonizing pain?" Derek panted and untied the bind around his arm.

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles quipped, but was mostly ignored. Joe could only stare at Derek, recovering each second. He was alive. But how? Before she could ask, Joe's body made her aware of more pressing concerns.

"I- I think I'm gonna be sick," Joe said, took two steps to the sink and threw up. The air still reeked with the smell of burnt flesh, and combined with the scent of Derek it was just too much. She vomited twice, before all she got was acid.

She felt Scott put a gently hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Joe nodded and rinsed her mouth. "I just need air." She took a deep breath, letting it drift back into the room. "And an explanation." Wiping her face, she turned around. "What just happened? In what universe does gunpowder ash clear up an infection?"

To her surprise, both Scott and Derek avoided her gaze, both looking away ashamed. Only Stiles smiled at her, but offered nothing in ways of explaing what they had just witnessed.

"Am I on drugs?" she asked, indicating herself with one hand. "Are we all on drugs?"

"No one's on drugs. Joe, I..." Scott gnawed on his lip. His hand seemed to linger on the wet stain on his shirt, left there after her tears. "There's something I need to tell you."

Derek growled. "Scott, don't."

"Look, we just saved your life!" Scott snapped and addressed the shirtless Derek. "Which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that? All of us!"

Derek's nostrils flared and he obviously bit back whatever retort he wanted to give. He tore around to pick up his discarded shirt, which had to be drenched in sweat.

"Joe," Scott began again, softly, as if she was too fragile to hear this. Joe raised both eyebrows at him, wondering how bad this would be. Was it drugs? Or something worse? Hard drugs? Whatever it was, Scott seemed to really have to think about it. He swallowed thickly before he started again. "Joe, I know it's hard to believe, but I don't know how else to say it. I'm...I'm a werewolf."

The room seemed to hold its breath for a few seconds while they awaited her response. Stiles had his arms folded over his head and peeked at her from underneath his arm.

"Are - you - kidding - me?" Joe snapped in a rising anger. She rolled her eyes and shook off his hand in a harsh motion. "Jesus Christ, Scott, read the room!"

"What? No! No, Joe, I am! I swear!"

"I can't," Joe said, mostly to herself, and held up her arms in defeat. "I just can't."

"Joe, listen to me, I really am a werewolf!" Scott pleaded to her back as she was on her way out of the clinic.

"No! You're not!" she called back with a roll of her eyes. Werewolf?! How stupid did he think she was? Goddamn teenagers. Fuming, she got back into her car and slammed the door shut. In the private of the gloomy interior, she mouthed the word again incredulously: "Werewolf! Ugh."

A little more Derek in this chapter. Thank you to everyone who left a review/favorited/followed :) Keeping my motiviation to write more up.